Rutland Place - Anne Perry [74]
Then on the afternoon of the fourth day, a little after one o’clock, Charlotte was standing in the parlor opening the French doors onto the small back garden, breathing in the air that at last had warmth in it and the smell of sweet earth, when Gracie came in at a trot, her heels scuffing up the new rug.
“Oh, Mrs. Pitt, ma’am, there’s a letter come for you by special footman, in a carriage and all, and he says it’s terrible urgent. And please, ma’am, the carriage is still standing there in the street as large as life, and ever so grand!” She held out the envelope at arm’s length for Charlotte to take.
A glance was sufficient to see that it was Caroline’s writing. Charlotte tore the envelope open and read:
My dear Charlotte,
The most appalling thing has happened. I hardly know how to tell you, it seems so utterly tragic.
As you know, Eloise Lagarde was most distressed by Mina’s death and the circumstances of it, and Tormod took her to their country house to rest and recover her spirits.
My dear Charlotte, they have returned this morning after the most dreadful accident I have ever known! I feel quite sick to think of it, it is almost past enduring. While out driving, returning from a picnic one evening with friends, poor Tormod was at the reins of the carriage and he slipped from the box and fell, right under the wheels. As if that in itself was not terrible enough, a group of friends were right behind them. It was past dusk, and they did not see what had happened! Charlotte, they drove straight over him! Horses and carriage!
That poor young man, hardly older than yourself, is crippled beyond any hope! He lies on his bed in Rutland Place and, for all we can believe or pray, will do so for the rest of his life!
I am so distressed I cannot think what to say or do. How can we help? What response is there in the face of such total tragedy?
I felt you would wish to know as soon as possible, and I have sent the carriage for you, in case you wish to come this afternoon. I would dearly like your company, even if only to share with someone my shock at such pain. Your father is at business and shall be dining out this evening, and Grandmama is of no comfort at all.
I have also written to Emily and sent the letter by messenger.
Your loving mother,
Caroline Ellison.
Charlotte read the letter a second time, not that she doubted she had understood it, but to give herself time to allow its meaning, with the weight of pain it carried, to sink into her consciousness.
She tried to imagine the night, the dark road, Tormod Lagarde as she had last seen him, with his high, pale brow and wave of black hair, standing on the driving box; then perhaps a horse swerving, an unexpected turn in the road, and suddenly he was lying in the mud, the carriage above him, the noise and the rattle, the wheels passing over a leg or an arm, the crushing weight, bones snapped. A moment’s silence, the night sky, and then the smashing, pummeling hooves of the other carriage and the crushing weight, agony as his body was broken—
Dear God! Better, infinitely more merciful, if he had been killed outright, simply never to have known sensibility or light again.
“Ma’am?” Gracie’s voice came urgently. “Ma’am? Are you all right? You look terrible white! I think as you ought to sit down. I’ll get the salts, and a good cup of tea!” She turned to go, determined to rise to the occasion and do something useful.
“No!” Charlotte said at last. “No, thank you, Gracie. It’s all right. I’m not going to faint. It is most terrible news, but it is an acquaintance, not a member of my family or a close friend. I shall go and call upon my mother this afternoon. It is a friend of hers. I cannot say how long I shall be. I must put on something more suitable than this dress. It is far too cheerful. I have a dark dress which is quite smart. If the master comes home before I do, please show him this letter. I’ll put it in the desk.”
“You look terrible pale, ma’am,” Gracie said anxiously. “I think as you should have a nice cup of tea before you goes anywhere.