Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [27]
“What ... ?” Sybilla was obviously surprised, confused. Her first thought had been for William, and she had not adjusted whatever threat had been in her mind. “What has happened?”
Vespasia reached forward and took the white hand that was closest to her, holding it hard. “George is dead, my dear. I am afraid he had a heart attack some time early this morning. There is nothing you can do, except to behave with the discretion you have so singularly failed to display so far—for Emily’s sake, and William’s, at least, if not for your own.”
“Dead?” Sybilla whispered, as if she did not understand. “He can’t be! He was so ... so healthy! Not George—”
“I am afraid there is no doubt.” Vespasia shook her head. “Now, I suggest you have your maid draw you a bath, get dressed, and remain in your room until you feel you have composed yourself sufficiently to face the family. Then come down and offer your assistance in whatever way it may be useful. I assure you, it is the best way in the world of overcoming your own distress.”
Sybilla smiled so slightly it was barely a shadow. “Is that what you are doing, Aunt Vespasia?”
“I suppose so.” Vespasia turned away, not wishing to betray the pain that was so close beneath the surface. “That should surely recommend it to you.”
She heard the slither of sheets as Sybilia got up, and then a minute later the movement of the bellpull. It would ring in the servants’ hall and in her maid’s room, and wherever the girl was, she would come.
“I must go and tell William,” Vespasia continued, trying to think what else there was to do. “And no doubt there will be arrangements, letters and so on.”
Sybilia started to say something; it was going to be about Emily. But her nerve failed her before the sentence was complete enough to be spoken aloud, and Vespasia did not press her.
The doctor came a little before noon, and Eustace met him and conducted him to the dressing room, where George was still precisely as Emily and Vespasia had found him. He was left alone, but for a footman to attend to any requirements he might have, such as hot water or towels. Eustace had no wish to be present for such a distressing matter, and he awaited the doctor’s remarks in the morning room with Vespasia. Emily and Sybilla were still in their respective rooms; Tassie had returned from the dressmaker and was in tears in the withdrawing room. Old Mrs. March was in the hot pink boudoir, which was her special preserve, being comforted by Jack Radley, whose attention she demanded. William was in the conservatory, the corner specially cleared for him to use as a studio. He had returned to his painting, pointing out that there was no purpose to be served by his sitting wringing his hands in the boudoir, and he found it more relief to his feelings to be alone and struggling with brush and color to translate some of his emotions into vision. He had two pictures in progress, one a landscape commissioned by a patron, the other a portrait of Sybilla for his own pleasure. Today he was working on the landscape; spring trees, full of April sunlight and sudden, stabbing cold. It was a mood evoking the frailty of happiness and the eternal imminence of pain.
The morning room door opened and the doctor returned. He had a deeply lined face, but they were all agreeable lines, marks of mobility and good nature. At the moment he looked profoundly unhappy. He closed the door behind him and turned from Eustace to Vespasia and back again.
“It was his heart, as you supposed,” he said gravely. “The only shred of comfort I can give you is that it must have been very quick—a matter of moments.”
“That is indeed a comfort,” Eustace acknowledged. “I am most obliged. I shall say so to Lady Ashworth. Thank you, Treves.”
But the doctor did not move. “Did Lord Ashworth have a dog, a small spaniel?”
“For heaven’s sake, what on earth does that matter?” Eustace was astounded by the triviality of the question at such a time.
“Did he?” the doctor repeated.
“No, my mother has. Why?”
“I am afraid the dog is also dead, Mr. March.”
“Well, that really