Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [73]
Perhaps Jack needed to do these things for himself, or at least to try, to find his own measure, succeed or fail. She would rather have protected him … from both dangers. Her son, Edward, was George’s son, not Jack’s, and there were times when she thought of him with the same fierce desire to shield him from harm, even from the necessary pains of growing. She had never considered herself maternal. The idea was ridiculous. Nobody was less so. She was practical, ambitious, witty, quick to learn, she could adapt to almost any situation, and she never told herself comfortable lies. She was a good-natured realist.
And yet that morning she quarreled with Jack. It was the last thing she had intended to do. He came into her dressing room almost the moment Gwen left. He stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the glass and smiling. He bent and kissed the top of her head without disarranging her hair.
She swiveled around on the seat, regarding him very seriously.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” she urged. “Keep Tellman with you. I know he’s a misery, but just endure it for the present.” She rose to her feet, unconsciously putting up her hands to straighten his lapels, although they were perfect, and dust off an imaginary fleck of cotton.
“Stop fussing, Emily,” he said quietly. “Nobody is going to attack me in public. I doubt anybody is going to attack me at all.”
“Why not? Don’t you think you can do whatever Ainsley Greville began? You were there all the time. I’m sure you can do as much as he could have.” Then she changed her mind, realizing what she had implied. “Although perhaps all you should really try to accomplish is keeping everyone from giving up. It could always be continued later, in London ….”
“When they can appoint a new chairman,” he said with a smile, but she saw the hurt in his eyes, self-mocking but very real.
“When they can take better care of your safety,” she corrected him, but she knew he did not believe her. What could she say to undo it? How could she make him believe that she had confidence in him, whatever anyone else thought? If she tried too hard she would only make it worse. Why did he have to want something so difficult? Perhaps it was more than he had the skill to achieve?
How could she persuade him she believed something she was not sure of herself? And all the time the sick fear for him crawled around inside her, gnawing away at everything else, stopping her from thinking clearly. She tried to tell herself it was foolish. But it was not foolish. The body of Ainsley Greville, lying in the icehouse, was horrible testimony of that!
“Thomas will take as good care of our safety as can be done,” he said after a moment’s silence. “The house is full of people. Don’t worry. Just see if you can keep Kezia and Iona from quarreling, and look after poor Eudora.”
“Of course,” she said as if it were a simple task. He did not even appreciate that the real struggle would be to keep the servants from quarreling, having hysterics, or walking out altogether.
“Charlotte will help you,” he added.
“Of course,” she agreed with an inward shudder. Charlotte would mean well, but her idea of tact could be a disaster. She would have to make sure she did not allow Charlotte anywhere near the kitchen. Charlotte’s confronting the cook would be the ultimate domestic catastrophe.
As it happened, breakfast was tense but passed off really quite well. All the men were concentrating on returning to the discussions and were finished and leaving when the women arrived, so Kezia and Fergal were able to avoid each other. Fergal and Iona cast burning looks as they passed in the doorway, but neither spoke. Eudora was still in her room. Piers and Justine were subdued, but Justine at least conducted herself with composure and sustained an agreeable conversation about trivia which drew everyone