Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [89]
She would go down in five minutes, or maybe ten. How long would it take the servant to go to the theatre, and Joshua to read the letter and come back? He would come, surely? If he didn’t it would only be because he already suspected something and did not care. That was not true. He was certainly an actor, but he was a decent man, gentle, unusually honest. She had noticed that about him. He had unfortunately liberal ideas about some things, but he was essentially loyal and kind. He would care very much. No one could be betrayed without pain.
She refused to think of that. She was stupid to have allowed her mind to wander to such thoughts.
She watched the clock. Eight minutes, and she could not bear the tension. She went down the stairs again slowly, gripping the banister. She reached the bottom and crossed the hall.
What if he had mentioned the letter, even shown it to Caroline, and she had denied it? What if they had guessed the truth, and he was at this moment telling her all about his mother and why she had gone. The hall swam around the old lady. She struggled for breath.
She could not go in. She couldn’t bear it! There was nowhere to run. Her heart was pounding so violently her body shook. She could hear it in her ears.
She stood there paralyzed. Seconds ticked by. Or was it minutes?
She had to know. Nothing could be worse than this. It was as bad as knowing, and yet every so often there was this hope so sharp it was like sickness, leaving her dizzy. Knowledge, even despair, would be worse.
She walked towards the withdrawing room door and opened it. It was like a dream, like moving underwater.
Samuel was sitting in the chair Joshua usually chose, and Caroline was very upright in the one opposite. Her color was high, and they both turned rather quickly as they heard the door.
Mariah looked at Samuel. She did not want to meet Caroline’s eyes. He did not look any different. He seemed puzzled, but not contemptuous, not angry, certainly not knowing. He did not understand . . . not yet.
The old lady took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I have . . . a slight . . . headache,” she said with difficulty. She had meant it to sound casual, quite natural, but she had not the control of her voice she had wished.
Samuel murmured something.
“If you don’t mind,” she went on. “I shall go into the garden for a little while. I shall be just around the corner. The air might do me good.” And without waiting for either of them to reply, she crossed the room and went out of the French doors onto the small patch of grass, and down the steps out of sight.
It was another ageless fifteen minutes before she heard the voices and came back up the steps to eavesdrop at the French doors.
Joshua was standing just inside the withdrawing room. Samuel was by the fireplace and Caroline was in between them. Even from where she stood, Mariah could see the color high and bright in Caroline’s neck and staining her cheeks.
“Caroline, please leave us” Joshua said softly. From his tone and his gestures he was repeating himself.
She said something, a protest. She had her back to the window, and Mariah did not hear her words.
Joshua did not answer but stood very still, his face cold, eyes steady.
Caroline walked to the door and went out, closing it behind her.
“You were made welcome in my home, Mr. Ellison,” Joshua said in a tight, low voice. “But your behavior in visiting so frequently, and spending your time alone with my wife, is inappropriate and is compromising her reputation. I regret I must ask you not to call again. You have left me no room to do anything else. Good day, sir.”
Samuel stood perfectly still, his face scarlet. Once he made as if to speak, hesitated, then walked past Joshua to the door. Again he seemed about to say something.
“Good day, sir,” Joshua said again.
“Good day,” Samuel answered, and opened the door.
It was done, accomplished. Samuel Ellison had left and he would not return. He had been prevented from saying anything.
But Mariah did not feel any sense of elation. She was cold in the afternoon