Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [92]
“Thank you,” she said aloud.
Mabel looked startled.
“For your care,” the old lady said tartly. “Don’t look like that at me, as if I’d spoken to you in Greek!” She moved to get up, impatiently, and a stab of pain brought her up with a gasp.
“Would you like a doctor, ma’am?” Mabel asked helpfully.
“No, thank you, I would not! Here, give me your arm.” She took it and hauled herself heavily out of bed and stood up, steadying herself with difficulty. She really did feel unwell. She had had no idea her plan would leave her with this kind of reaction. She should have felt the weight lifted, not added to. After all, Samuel Ellison was gone. She was safe. She had achieved what she wanted to—no, needed to. It had been a matter of survival.
He had threatened to destroy her, unwittingly perhaps, but destroy her nevertheless.
But that did not relieve the darkness. In fact, it hardly seemed even to matter.
She dressed with Mabel’s help. Pity about the black. There would be nothing decent for Mabel to inherit when the time came. Perhaps that would not be long. What was she clinging to life for? She was old, worn out and unloved. Maybe she would wear something lavender or dark blue.
“Mabel!”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison?”
“I want three new dresses . . . or perhaps two new dresses and a suit . . . a skirt and jacket.”
“I’m making one now, ma’am. Is that three including that?”
“Not that one!” she said impatiently. “Three more. Put that aside for now. I want one in dark blue, one in lavender, and . . . and one in green! Yes . . . green.”
“Green! Did you say ‘one in green,’ ma’am?”
“Are you losing your hearing, Mabel? I would like a green dress, a dark blue one, and a lavender one. Unless you don’t care for lavender, in which case make it something else . . . burgundy, perhaps.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison.” The incredulity was high in her voice. “I’ll fetch some designs for you to look at.”
“Don’t bother, just do whatever you think is becoming. I trust your judgment.” Heaven forfend she chose something outlandish and the old lady lived long enough that she had to wear them! But an unbecoming dress was really the least of her worries now. Yesterday it would have been merely irritating, two weeks ago it would have been a major catastrophe. Now it was nothing at all. “See to it,” she added firmly. “I shall give you the money immediately.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison,” Mabel said quietly, her eyes wide.
But it was a wretched morning. It was impossible to concentrate on anything, not that she had any tasks of importance to do. She never had. Her entire life was a round of domestic trivialities that did not matter in the slightest.
She did not want to spend the morning with Caroline. She could not bear to see her, and sooner or later she would be bound to say something about yesterday’s disastrous events. What answer was there? She had thought she could cope with it, be evasive, or even tell Caroline she had brought it upon herself. But now that it was accomplished, she felt nothing but a black despair—and a weight of guilt that was like a physical pain.
She busied herself doing small domestic chores, to the considerable irritation of the maids. First she gathered several pieces of used string and undid the knots, all the while instructing the youngest maid how to do it herself in the future.
“Never throw away good string!” she said imperiously.
“It’s full o’ knots!” the girl pointed out. “I can’t get them undone! It’s more’n me fingers is worth!”
“That is simply because you don’t know how,” the old lady pointed out. “Here. Fetch me a wooden spoon. Quickly!”
“A wooden spoon?” The girl, who was perhaps thirteen, was nonplussed.
“Are you deaf, child? Do as you are told! And quickly! Don’t stand there all day.”
The girl vanished and returned in a few moments with a large wooden spoon. She offered it, handle first.
“Thank you. Now watch and learn.” The old lady took the first piece of knotted string,