Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [73]
Pitt was staggered. It was something he had not even imagined. “William was going to divorce Sybilla?” he repeated stupidly. “No one said so.”
“Ah, no.” Eustace’s smile grew even more confidential and he leaned forward a little, taking his hands out of his pockets and placing one on the back of the chair to maintain his balance. “I daresay that was the quarrel Emily thought she overheard. Now that Sybilla is going to have a child at last, that naturally changes things. For the child’s sake, William has forgiven her and will take her back. And of course she is very grateful and repentant. I imagine her behavior in future will be all that can be desired.” His face shone with eminent satisfaction.
Pitt was speechless. He had no idea whether it was true, but he knew from his slight knowledge of the divorce laws that what Eustace said was correct: a man might divorce his wife and put her out on the street for adultery, but a woman could do nothing whatsoever by law. Adultery was beside the point, as long as it was he who committed it, and not she.
“I see you understand,” Eustace was saying, the words passing over Pitt’s head like the rattle of water. “Very wise. Least said the better. Treated you to a confidence. Know you won’t repeat it. Trust your discretion. Matters like that are between a man and his wife.” He spread his hands wide, palms up in a confidential gesture from one man of reason to another. “Just told you so you would understand. Poor William has had a lot to put up with, but he should be at the beginning of happiness now. Tragedy poor Emily couldn’t have kept her head—another few days and all would have been well. Tragedy.” He sniffed. “But you can rest assured we shall look after her; she’ll have the best of care.”
“I’m not leaving,” Pitt said, feeling foolish. He must look ridiculous in this sedate room, with its collection of family relics, and Eustace himself as solid as the hide chairs. Pitt had a tumble of hair, his tie was crooked and his coat hung askew, and he had two of George’s handkerchiefs in his pocket. Eustace’s boots were polished by the bootboy every day; Pitt’s were patched on the soles and cleaned by Gracie, when she remembered and had the time. “I’m not finished,” he said again.
“As you wish.” Eustace was disappointed, but not concerned. “Carry out whatever you think is necessary. Make it look fitting, by all means. Don’t want to lose you your job. I’m sure the kitchen will give you dinner, if you like. And your fellow, Stripe, of course.”
Stripe was delighted to have dinner in the kitchen, not because he had any hope at all that he would learn something of value to the case, but because Lettie Taylor was also there, neat and pretty as a cottage garden, and in Stripe’s opinion, every bit as pleasing. He kept his eyes deliberately on his plate, longing to look at her but furiously self-conscious. He was not accustomed to eating in such formal, even hierarchical, company. The butler sat at the head of the table like the father of a large family, and the housekeeper at the foot, as a mother would. The butler presided as if it were a function of great importance, and strict ritual was observed. The junior footmen and youngest maids did not speak at all unless they were spoken to. The lady’s maids, resident and visiting, seemed to be a class apart, both by the house servants’ reckoning and by their own. The senior footmen, kitchen maid, and parlormaid sat in the middle and volunteered a good deal of the conversation.
Table manners were quite as refined as those in the front dining room, and the discussion surely as stilted, but there was rather more of a domestic atmosphere. The food was complimented dish by dish as it was served, eaten, and cleared. The younger members’ manners were corrected gently but with a parental familiarity. There were giggles, blushes, sulks, just