Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [77]
She looked at Eustace, but he was busy again with his food. He had problems to consider: keeping his family from hysteria, preventing scandal in Society, and preserving the reputation of the Marches—especially of William and Sybilla, now that the longed-for heir was to come. Emily was an embarrassment, threatening rapidly, if the old lady were to be believed, to become something far worse. He sliced a piece of meat viciously, squeaking his knife on the plate, and his face remained in deep concentration.
Emily looked across the table at Jack Radley. His eyes were candid and startlingly soft. He had been watching her already, before she looked at him. She realized how often she had seen that expression in him recently. He was attracted to her, very strongly so, and it was deeper than the triviality of a flirtation.
Oh, God! Had he killed George for her? Did he really imagine that she would marry him now?
The room swayed around her and there was a roaring sound in her ears as if she were underwater. The walls disappeared and suddenly she could not breathe. She was far too hot ... suffocating ...
“Emily! Emily!” The voice was booming and fuzzy, and yet very close to her. She was sitting on one of the side chairs, half reclining. It was uncomfortable and precarious. She felt as if she might slide off if she were to move. It had been Charlotte’s voice. “You are perfectly all right,” she said quietly. “You fainted. We expected too much of you. Mr. Radley will carry you upstairs, and I’ll help you to bed.”
“I will have Digby bring you up a tisane,” Aunt Vespasia added from somewhere above her in an unfocused distance.
“I don’t need carrying upstairs!” Emily protested. “It would be ridiculous. And why can’t Millicent bring me a tisane—except that I don’t want one.”
“Millicent is upset,” Vespasia replied. “She weeps at the drop of a hat, and is quite the last thing you need. I’ve put her to the stillroom till she can take hold of herself. And you will do as you are told and not cause yourself any more distress by fainting again.”
“But Aunt Vespasia—” Before her argument was formed Charlotte’s borrowed silk was replaced by black barathea, and Jack Radley put his arms round her and lifted her up. “This is quite unnecessary,” she said irritably. “I am perfectly able to walk!”
He ignored her, and with Charlotte going ahead opening doors, Emily was carried out of the dining room, through the hallway, and up the stairs to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed, said nothing, but touched her arm gently and left.
“I suppose it’s a little late to think of it now,” Charlotte said, unbuttoning Emily’s dress. “But your excess of charm to win George back was bound to attract others as well. You shouldn’t really be surprised.”
Emily stared at the pattern on the coverlet. She allowed Charlotte to continue with the buttons. She did not want her to go.
“I’m frightened,” she said quietly. “Mrs. March thinks I killed George because he was making love with Sybilla. She as good as said so.”
Charlotte did not reply for so long that finally Emily swung round and stared at her. Her face was grave, and her eyes were blurred and sad.
“That’s why we have to discover exactly what did happen, painful as it will be—and difficult. I must talk to Thomas privately tomorrow and see what he has learned.”
Emily said nothing. She could feel the fear growing enormous inside her, roaring into the chasm of loneliness for George; the fierce, gripping pain was like ice. The danger was closing round her. If she did not learn the truth soon she would not escape it, perhaps not ever.
Charlotte woke in the night, her skin crawling with horror, her body rigid