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By Root 602 0

He looked solid and unhappy. It crossed Charlotte’s mind that perhaps he was used to death, even to violence, but not to the grief of those who had loved the dead. It was embarrassing to be obliged to watch grief one cannot help. She wondered if Pitt felt it, the helplessness, or if he were too busy trying to fit the pieces together: who was where; loves; hates; reasons. She suddenly realized how deeply she would dislike the task, how the responsibility would frighten her. All the neighbourhood looked to him to rescue them from their alarms, to find this creature, to prove it was not someone they loved, each of them with his separate loves, secret suspicions and desperate, unspoken fears. Did they look for miracles from him? He could not alter truth. Perhaps he could not even find it!

They were met at the door by the maid, red-eyed and nervous. Mrs. Lessing was in the front parlour, darkened in respect for the dead, gas lamps hissing on the wall. Mrs. Lessing was dressed in black, her face bleached pale, her hair a little untidy, as if she had not taken it down last night but merely pulled it back with a comb this morning and rearranged a few pins.

Caroline went straight over to her and put her arms round her, kissing her on the cheek. Verity had been an only child.

“My dear, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Can we help with anything? Would you like one of us to stay with you for a little while, to help with things?”

Mrs. Lessing struggled to speak, her eyes widening with surprise, then hope. Then she burst into tears and hid her face on Caroline’s shoulder.

Caroline put both her arms round her tighter and held her, touching her hair, arranging the stray wisps gently, as if it mattered.

Charlotte felt a painful welling up of pity. She remembered the last time she had seen Verity. She had been brusque with her, and had meant to apologize for it. Now there would be no chance.

“I’d like to stay, Mrs. Lessing,” she said clearly. “I was very fond of Verity. Please let me help. There will be a lot to do. You shouldn’t do it alone. And I know Mr. Lessing still has—duties—that cannot be left.”

It was several minutes before Mrs. Lessing gained control of herself. She turned to Charlotte, still struggling to master her tears, but unashamed of her grief.

“Thank you, Charlotte. Please—please do!”

There was little for the rest of them to say. Charlotte remained behind, not wishing to leave Mrs. Lessing alone, and it was arranged that Maddock would bring a box of clothes and toiletries for her within the next hour or two.

It was a very hard day. Since Mr. Lessing was sexton to the church, he had duties to perform which kept him from home the great part of it, and so Charlotte stayed with Mrs. Lessing to receive other callers who came to express their condolences. There was little to say, only a repetition of the same words of shock and sympathy, the same expressions of how well they had liked Verity, and the same fears of what horror might come next.

Naturally the vicar called. It was something Charlotte had dreaded but knew was inevitable. Apparently he had been the previous evening, when the news was first heard, but he came again in the late afternoon, bringing Martha with him. The maid let them in, and Charlotte received them in the parlour, Mrs. Lessing had at last agreed to rest on her bed, and had fallen into a light sleep.

“Ah, Miss Ellison.” The vicar looked at her with some surprise. “Are you also calling upon poor Mrs. Lessing? How good of you. Well, you may safely leave now; we will guide and comfort her in this terrible hour. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

“No, I am not calling upon Mrs. Lessing,” Charlotte replied a little sharply. “I am staying here to help her as I can. There is a great deal to be done—”

“I am sure we can do that.” The vicar was clearly annoyed, possibly by her tone. “I am somewhat more used to these types of arrangements than you are, at your tender years. It is my calling in life to comfort the afflicted, and to mourn with those who mourn.”

“I doubt you have time to govern