Defend and Betray - Anne Perry [15]
“Nursing has improved immensely in the last few years,” she said with a smile. “It is now a profession.”
“Not for women,” Felicia said flatly. “Although I am sure your work was very noble, and all England admires it. What are you doing now you are home again?”
Hester heard Edith’s indrawn breath and saw Damaris swiftly lower her eyes to her plate.
“I am caring for a retired military gentleman who has broken his leg quite severely,” Hester answered, forcing herself to see the humor of the situation rather than the offense. “He requires someone more skilled in caring for the injured than a housemaid.”
“Very commendable,” Felicia said with a slight nod, sipping at her tea again.
Hester knew implicitly that what she did not add was that it was excellent only for women who were obliged to support themselves and were beyond a certain age when they might reasonably hope for marriage. She would never countenance her own daughters descending to such a pass, as long as there was a roof over their heads and a single garment to put on their backs.
Hester made her smile even sweeter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carlyon. It is most gratifying to be of use to someone, and Major Tiplady is a gentleman of good family and high reputation.”
“Tiplady …” Randolf frowned. “Tiplady? Can’t say I ever heard of him. Where’d he serve, eh?”
“India.”
“Funny! Thaddeus, my son, you know, served in India for years. Outstanding man—a general, you know. Sikh Wars—’45 to ’46, then again in ’49. Was in the Opium Wars in China in ’39 as well. Very fine man! Everyone says so. Very fine indeed, if I do say so. Son any man would be proud of. Never heard him mention anyone called Tiplady.”
“Actually I believe Major Tiplady was sent to Afghanistan—the Afghan Wars of ’39 and ’42. He talks about it sometimes. It is most interesting.”
Randolf looked at her with mild reproof, as one would a precocious child.
“Nonsense, my dear Miss Latterly. There is no need to affect interest in military matters in order to be polite. My son has very recently died”—his face clouded—“most tragically. As no doubt you are aware from Edith, but we are used to bearing our loss with fortitude. You do not need to consider our feelings in such a way.”
Hester drew breath to say her interest had nothing to do with Thaddeus Carlyon and long predated her even having heard of him, then decided it would not be understood or believed, and would appear merely offensive.
She compromised.
“Stories of courage and endeavor are always interesting, Colonel Carlyon,” she said with a very direct stare at him. “I am extremely sorry for your loss, but I never for a moment considered affecting an interest or a respect I did not feel.”
He seemed caught off balance for a moment. His cheeks grew pinker and he blew out his breath sharply, but glancing sideways at Felicia, Hester saw a flicker of appreciation and something which might have been a dark, painful humor, but it was too brief for her to do more than wonder at it.
Before any reply was required, the door opened and a man came in. His manner seemed on the surface almost deferential, until one observed that actually he did not wait for any approval or acknowledgment; it was simply that there was no arrogance in him. Hester judged he was barely an inch taller than Damans, but still a good height for a man, of very average build if a little round-shouldered. His face was unremarkable, dark eyed, lips hidden by his mustache, features regular, except that there was an aura of good humor about him as though he held no inner anger and optimism were a part of his life.
Damaris looked up at him quickly, her expression lightening.
“Hallo, Pev. You look cold—have some tea.”
He touched her gently on the shoulder as he passed and sat down in the chair next to hers.
“Thank you,” he accepted, smiling across at Hester, waiting to be introduced.
“My husband,” Damaris said quickly. “Peverell Erskine. Pev, this is Hester Latterly, Edith’s friend, who nursed in the Crimea with Florence Nightingale.