Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [82]
What possessed Alys to have told him? How could she?
Mariah imagined telling Edward! Her face burned at the very idea of it. Would he have ever believed her? If it repelled him as it did her, then he would have been unable to accept it, and he would have considered her not only mad but dangerous.
But then if that same hideous seed were in him, he would have believed, and he would never have looked at her in the same way again. The image of “mother” would be gone and that other terrible one would replace it.
And that is how Caroline would be now. The old lady refused to think about it. Every shred of dignity, of human worth or value, would be stripped from her abjectly, and leave her grotesquely naked, as no living thing should be. It would be better to be dead. Except that she had not the courage. That was at the core of it, she was a coward— not like Alys.
Samuel was still talking about Alys, how beautiful she was, how brave, how everyone admired her, liked to be in her company. She was different, breathtaking, unbearably different, and the knowledge of it was like a red-hot knife twisting in an old wound, gouging deeper till it touched the bone.
They were still talking about the past, Caroline recounting some anecdote that had happened years before. She made it sound as immediate as yesterday. It could not go on. It was only a matter of time before the truth was said. That must be prevented—at any cost.
But nothing the old lady said now would make the slightest difference—the only means of stopping this conversation would be to make it necessary for Samuel to leave. If she retired from the room, surely he would go? He said he admired his mother so much, he would attempt to behave like a gentleman.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, rather more loudly than she had intended. “I feel a little faint. I think if you will ring for my maid, Caroline, I will retire to my room. At least until dinner. I shall see how I feel then.” She forced herself to look at Samuel. “Pardon me for ending your visit so abruptly. I have not the good health I used to.”
Caroline looked crestfallen. “I am sorry, Mama-in-law. Would you like a tisane sent up?” She reached for the bell as she spoke.
“No, thank you. I think a little lavender will suffice. It is one of the disadvantages of age, one has not the stamina one used to have.”
Samuel rose to his feet. “I hope I have not bored you, Mrs. Ellison. It was very thoughtless of me to have remained so long.”
She stared at him and said nothing. The man seemed impervious to suggestion.
The parlormaid opened the door, and Caroline asked her to send the old lady’s maid to assist her upstairs.
Samuel took his leave—he had no alternative. But even as she was climbing the stairs slowly, not having to ape the stiffness or fumbling hands on the banister—they were all too real—the old lady could hear Caroline inviting him to return and resume their conversation, and his acceptance. It was that which finally sealed the decision in her mind.
Since she had said she was ill, she was obliged to remain upstairs for the remainder of the afternoon, which was irritating because she had nothing to do and would either have to lie down and pretend to be resting, which would leave her thoughts free to torment her, or else create some task or other and affect to be busy with it. She did not want to face her decision—not yet.
Mabel was a good woman, both competent and tactful, which was the only reason she had survived in the old lady’s service for so long. She made no comment on the situation, simply brewed her a chamomile tisane, without asking, and brought her a lavender pillow. Both were refreshing, and had she suffered from the headache she professed, they would have helped her immensely.
She lay on the bed for nearly an hour, quite long enough to have recovered, then, feeling lonely and oppressed with useless thoughts and memories, she went to the small upstairs room where the maids mended the household linen and did a little dressmaking as was necessary. Most reasonably well-to-do