Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [6]
“The doctor will do all that can be done,” Charlotte said. “It would be best if we were to find a quiet place where we can await the outcome, don’t you think?”
“Yes—yes, of course,” Adolphus agreed. Again he looked at Juniper. “If … if there is anything, Mrs. Stafford? At least, please let me know … how he is.”
“Of course I will, Mr. Pryce. You are most kind.” Juniper looked at him with a sort of desperation. Then clinging to Charlotte’s arm she turned and walked away towards a small private room off the foyer where refreshments had been taken only an hour earlier. The manager stood in the doorway, wringing his hands and making inarticulate sounds of general anxiety.
It seemed an age to Charlotte that they sat there. Occasionally she took the goblet from Juniper, then handed it back, making small, meaningless remarks and trying to be of comfort without giving any foolish promises of a happy ending she believed could not possibly be.
Eventually Ignatius Livesey came. His face was very grave and Charlotte knew the instant she saw him that Stafford was dead. Indeed when Juniper looked up, the hope died out of her before she spoke. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, the tears brimming over and running down her cheeks.
“I am extremely sorry,” Livesey said quietly. “It pains me to have to tell you that he has gone. The only comfort I can offer you is that it was quite peaceful and he will have felt no pain or distress except momentarily, and that was so short as to be forgotten in an instant.” He filled the doorway, a figure of judicial calm, a stability in a dreadfully changing world. “He was a very fine man who served the law with great distinction for over forty years, and he will be remembered with honor and gratitude. England is a better place, and society wiser and more just because of his life. That must be of great comfort to you, when this time of grief has lessened, and it will lessen with time. It is a legacy not every woman may boast, and you may justly be proud.”
She stared at him. For a moment she tried to speak. It was painful to observe. Charlotte longed to help her.
“That is most generous of you,” she said to Livesey, gripping Juniper’s hand and holding it hard. “Thank you for coming on what must be a most difficult errand. Now perhaps if there is nothing more to do here, you would be kind enough to send a message so Mrs. Stafford’s carriage may be brought. I imagine the doctor will take care of—of arrangements here?”
“Indeed,” Livesey acknowledged. “But …” His face shadowed. “I regret the police may wish to ask a few questions, because it was so sudden.”
Juniper found her voice; perhaps surprise was momentarily greater than grief.
“The police? Whatever for? Who— I mean, why are they here? How do they even know? Did you …?”
“No—it is quite fortuitous,” Livesey said quickly. “It is Mr. Pitt, who came to your assistance.”
“What questions?” Juniper glanced at Charlotte, looking confused. “What is there to ask?”
“I imagine he will wish to know what Samuel ate or drank in the last few hours,” Livesey replied gently. “Perhaps what he had done during the day. If it is possible for you to compose yourself sufficiently to give him answers, it will help.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, a protest of sorts, but no words came to her that were not futile. Stafford had died suddenly and without any cause that could be identified. It was unavoidable that there should be some formal investigation. Livesey was right; the sooner it could be settled, the sooner some sort of natural grief could begin, and then in time the start of healing.
The door opened and Pitt came in, closely followed by Adolphus Pryce.
Juniper looked up quickly, but at Pryce; then as if by an effort of will, away again.
“Mr. Pitt?” she said slowly. “I understand you are from the police. Mr. Livesey tells me you need to ask me some questions about … about Samuel’s death.” She took a deep breath. “I will tell