Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [80]
But Lettie remained in the middle of the sunlit carpet, her hands kneading her skirt under her apron.
“I expect the inspector understands a lot of things we don’t, ma’am,” she said quietly.
Charlotte’s first thought was that Lettie was frightened. In the circumstances it was hardly surprising.
“I’m sure he does.” She tried to sound reassuring, although it was the last thing she felt.
But Lettie did not move. “It must be very interesting ...” She hesitated. “Being married to a policeman.”
“Yes.” Charlotte reached for the pitcher of water and Lettie automatically poured it for her. She began to wash.
“Is it very dangerous?” Lettie went on. “Does he get-hurt, sometimes?”
“Sometimes it’s dangerous. But he hasn’t been badly hurt. Usually it’s just hard work.” Charlotte reached for the towel and Lettie handed it to her.
“Do you often wish he did something else, ma’am?”
It was an impertinent question, and for the first time Charlotte realized Lettie was asking because it was of some personal urgency to her. She put down the towel and met Lettie’s blue eyes with curiosity.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Lettie blushed, and looked away.
“No, I don’t,” Charlotte said honestly. “It was hard to get used to at first, but now I wouldn’t have him do anything else. It is his work, and he is good at it. If you love someone, you don’t want to change them from doing what they believe in. It makes no one happy. Why do you ask?”
Lettie’s blush deepend. “Oh, no reason, ma’am. Just ... just silly thoughts.” She turned away and began fussing with the dress Charlotte was to wear, tweaking unnecessarily at petticoats and removing imaginary specks of dust.
Charlotte learned from Digby that Emily was still asleep. She had taken laudanum and not woken in the night. Even Sybilla’s screams and the comings and goings on the landing had not disturbed her.
She expected Aunt Vespasia to have had breakfast sent up but actually met her at the top of the stairs looking ashen and hollow-eyed, holding on to the bannister, head erect, back stiff.
“Good morning, my dear,” she said very quietly.
“Good morning, Aunt Vespasia.” Charlotte had been intending to go to Sybilla’s room, if necessary to waken her and ask her about last night. Some pretext of concern for her would have been easy enough to find. But Vespasia looked so fragile, she offered her arm, instinctively, something she would not have dreamed of doing a week ago. Vespasia took it with a tiny smile.
“There is no point in speaking to Sybilla,” Vespasia said dryly as they went down. “If she had meant to say anything she would have done so last night. There is a great deal about Sybilla that I do not understand.”
Charlotte let her uppermost thought find words. “I wish we could prevent Emily from finding out. I could strangle Jack Radley myself, cheerfully. He is so abysmally—cheap!”
“I admit I am disappointed,” Vespasia agreed with an unhappy little shake of her head. “I had grown rather to like him. This, as you say, is quite remarkably shabby.”
Breakfast was extraordinary for Eustace’s absence. Not only were all the windows still closed and the silver dishes on the sideboard untouched, but he had sent for a tray in his room. Neither was Jack Radley present; probably too ashamed to face them, Charlotte presumed. Nevertheless she was annoyed. She had wished to make him aware of her contempt.
It was after eleven when she went into the morning room to fetch some more notepaper and found Eustace sitting at the desk, silver inkwell open and a pen in his hand, but the sheet in front of him virgin white. He turned round at the sound of her step, and she saw with incredulity that his right eye was swollen and darkened with an immense bruise and there was a graze on the side of his face. She was too amazed to think what to say.
“Ah, oh