Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [82]
Emily was startled into attention. She had been mesmerized for a moment by the steady, almost unblinking gaze in the glass.
“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed hesitantly. Surely it was a lie—wasn’t it? Or could the violent emotion between them be a form of love, of dependence and resentment? How should she answer this? She must behave like a maid and yet not lose the chance to learn. Did Loretta already know about Pitt’s visit? Emily must not be caught in a lie, or she’d be thrown out and would fail completely. “Of course I will do whatever I can,” she said, smiling back nervously. “The poor lady does seem ...” What word should she use? Frightened—terrified was the truth—but of what? Loretta was watching her, waiting. “Delicate,” Emily finished desperately.
“Do you think so?” Loretta’s perfect eyebrows rose. “What makes you say that, Amelia?”
Emily felt ridiculous. She could not possibly respond with the truth; she was left with fatuous answers. Was she being tested for loyalty, to see if she would recount Veronica’s fainting that afternoon, which Albert had seen and might have reported? There was no time for judgment. She answered instinctively.
“She was overcome with a faint this afternoon, ma’am. It passed quickly, and she seemed quite well again afterwards.” That would not be so remarkable. Ladies did faint; tight stays, waists pulled into a handspan often made one ill.
Loretta stopped fiddling with the pins in the silver tray on her dressing table. “Indeed? I didn’t know. Thank you for telling me, Amelia. You have done the right thing. In the future you will tell me anything else concerning Miss Veronica’s health and inform me if she is distressed or seems nervous, so I may give her all the assistance I can. This is a most important time in her life. She is shortly to become engaged to marry a very fine man. I am deeply concerned that nothing whatsoever should jeopardize her happiness. You understand me, Amelia?”
“Oh yes, ma’am,” Emily said with a sickly smile. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“Good. Now you may dress my hair, and you had better hurry because you have Miss Veronica’s to do as well.”
“Yes ma’am. It seems Edith is poorly again.”
Emily met Loretta’s eyes in the glass, and there was a dry humor in them, startling and unexpected; it indicated a sharpness of perception that was unnerving.
“She’ll be completely better tomorrow,” Loretta said with conviction. “I promise you.”
Edith was indeed up with the lark the next morning, but she was in a vile temper. Whatever had been said to her, she blamed Emily for it and held a bitter grudge. She followed Emily around, overseeing her work—especially the ironing, which she knew was her weakest point—criticizing the slightest error, until Emily lost her temper and told her she was a fat, idle, mischief-making slut, and if she put half as much effort into doing her own job as she did into meddling in other people’s, then no one else would need to cover for her.
Edith threw a bucket of cold water at her. Emily’s first thought was to retaliate by hitting Edith as hard as she could across her stupid face. But that would undoubtedly get her dismissed, and then she would discover nothing. She took the opposite course and stood in the middle of the laundry room floor, shivering and dripping. Joan, who had heard Edith shriek in fury, appeared in the doorway and saw Edith with the empty bucket in her hand and Emily’s pathetic state.
Emily thought for a moment what she must look like, how furious her mother would be and how absurd the whole situation was, and was terrified she would burst into giggles. To smother the slight hysteria she felt rising inside her she pulled her apron up to cover her face and stifled her laughter in its ample folds.
Joan disappeared, and two minutes later the butler came in, his face pink, his sideburns