Rutland Place - Anne Perry [81]
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Alaric. It is kind of you to call.”
The sight of her face, stiff, eyes sunken with shock, affected him more than anything Charlotte could have said. He forgot his manners, a lifetime of polite expressions. There was nothing in him but untutored emotion.
He put out his hand and grasped hers, his other hand touching her arm gently, as if her skin might bruise.
“Eloise, I’m so sorry. Don’t give up hope, my dear. One cannot know what may be possible, with time.”
She stood quite still, not moving away from him, although it was not plain whether she was comforted by his closeness or simply oblivious to it.
“I don’t know what to hope for,” she said simply. “Perhaps that is very wrong of me?”
“No, not wrong,” Charlotte said quickly. “You would have to be omniscient to know what is best. You cannot blame yourself, and please do not even think of it.”
Eloise shut her eyes and turned away, pulling her arm from Alaric, leaving him standing confused, aware he was in the outside of some tremendous grief and unable to reach it or share it.
Charlotte felt a certain compassion for him, but her first feeling was for Eloise. She stood up and went to her, putting her arms around her and holding her tightly. Eloise’s body was yielding, lifeless, but Charlotte held on to her just the same. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alaric’s face, tight with pity, and then silently he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a tiny click as the latch went home.
Eloise did not move, nor did she weep; it was as if Charlotte were holding a sleepwalker whose nightmare imprisoned her mind and soul elsewhere. Yet Charlotte felt that her presence, the contact of her warmth, was worth something.
Minutes went by. Someone clattered up the back stairs. Rain drove in a gust against the windows. Still neither of them spoke.
At last the door opened and the maid spoke, then was overcome with embarrassment. “Mr. Inigo Charrington, ma’am. Shall I tell him you are not at home?”
“If you would inform Mr. Charrington that Miss Lagarde is not well,” Charlotte said quietly. “Ask him to wait in the withdrawing room, and I shall go to him in a few moments.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl withdrew gratefully, without waiting for Eloise to confirm the command.
Charlotte stood for a moment longer, then guided Eloise to the sofa and laid her on it, kneeling beside her.
“Do you not think you would be better to lie down for a while?” she suggested. “Perhaps a dish of tea, or an herbal tisane?”
“If you wish.” Eloise obeyed because she had no will to argue.
Charlotte hesitated, still not sure if there was anything else she could do, then accepted at last that it was futile and went to the door.
“Charlotte!”
She turned. For the first time there was expression in Eloise’s face, even her eyes.
“Thank you. You have been kind. I may not appear as if I value it, but I do. You are right. Perhaps I shall drink something, and sleep for a while. I feel very tired.”
Charlotte felt a surge of relief, as if hard knots inside her had slipped loose.
“I’ll tell your maid to see that no one else is admitted for today.”
“Thank you.”
After delivering the directions to the maid and the footman, Charlotte went into the withdrawing room where Inigo Charrington stood by the mantelshelf, his face creased with anxiety, his coat still over his arm as if he were unsure whether to stay or go.
“Is she all right?” he said without any pretense at formality.
“No,” Charlotte replied with equal honesty. “No, she isn’t, but I don’t know of anything else we can do to help.”
“Should you have left her?” Inigo’s face creased. “The last thing I want is for my calling to cause further distress.”
“I sent the maid for a dish of tisane. Then I think she will rest for a time. Sleep will not alter the facts; she will still have to face them when she awakes, but she may have a little more strength for it.”
“It’s absolutely bloody!” he said with sudden anger. “First poor Mina, and