Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [79]
“Perfectly all right,” he repeated yet again. He turned and looked at Charlotte and Vespasia, half apologetically. “Women seem to have such vivid dreams, but a tisane and a dose of laudanum, and in the morning you will have forgotten all about it. Sleep in, my dear,” he said again to Sybilla. “Have your breakfast sent up.” He stood, smiling benignly, but there was a tightness at the corners of his lips and an unusual color marking his cheeks. He looked shaken, and Charlotte could hardly blame him. It had been a terrible shriek in the depth of the night, and Jack Radley’s apparent behavior was inexcusable. Perhaps it was wise for Eustace to try to convince her it was fantasy, although her tight face and burning eyes betrayed her utter disbelief.
“Put it from your mind,” Eustace said carefully. “Right out.”
Involuntarily Charlotte looked at the doorway. William was standing just inside, his face crumpled in anxiety, staring past his father and Vespasia to Sybilla.
She smiled at him, and there was a softness in her face. Charlotte had not seen before. Charlotte knew without question that it was not something sudden, nor was William surprised to see it.
“Are you all right?” he said quietly. The words were simple, almost banal, but there was a directness in them quite unlike Eustace’s assurance. Eustace was speaking for himself; William was asking for her.
Her hands relaxed and she smiled back at him. “Yes, thank you. I don’t think it will happen again.”
“We trust it will not,” Vespasia said coldly, looking back towards the landing, where Charlotte could still see Jack Radley.
“It won’t!” he said a little more loudly than necessary. Looking past Vespasia into the bedroom, he met Sybilla’s eyes. “But if you have any more frights ... dreams”—he said the word heavily—“just scream again. We’ll come, I promise you.” And he turned and walked away, gracefully, the tails of his nightshirt round his bare legs, and disappeared into his own room without looking back.
“Good God!” Vespasia said under her breath.
“Well,” Eustace began awkwardly, rubbing his hands. “Well. All had a bit of a shock. Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Least said, soonest mended. We’ll not refer to it again. All go back to bed and try to get a little sleep. Thank you for coming, Mrs. Pitt, most thoughtful of you, but nothing you can do now. If you need a tisane or a glass of milk, just ring for one of the maids. Thank heaven Mama wasn’t disturbed. Poor woman has more than enough to bear—er ...” He faltered to a stop, looking at no one. “Well. Good night.”
Charlotte went to Vespasia and, without giving a thought to the familiarity of it, put her arm round her, feeling with a start how thin and stiff she was under her wrap, how unprotected her bones.
“Come,” she said gently. “Sybilla will be fine now, but you should have a hot drink. I’ll get you one.”
Vespasia did not shrug off the arm; she seemed almost to welcome it. Her own daughter was dead, now George was dead. Tassie was too young and too frightened. But she was used to servants. “I’ll ring for Digby,” she said automatically. “She’ll get me some milk.”
“No need.” Charlotte walked with her across the landing. “I can heat milk, you know. I do it all the time in my own house—and I’d like to.”
Vespasia’s mouth lifted in the wraith of a smile. “Thank you, my dear. I should appreciate it. It has been a distressing night, and I feel no comfort in Eustace’s rather sanguine hopes. He is quite out of his depth. I am beginning to fear that we all are.”
In the morning Charlotte got up late and with a splitting headache. Hot tea brought to her by Lettie did not help.
Lettie drew the curtains and asked if she might lay out any particular clothes, and if she should draw a bath.
“No, thank you.” Charlotte declined primarily because she did not want to take the time. She must see how