The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [94]
It was two days later, when she was visiting Martha Prebble on some parish business, that Mrs. Attwood, the invalid woman whom Papa had been visiting on the night Lily was killed, was mentioned.
“Poor soul,” Martha said with a slight sigh. “She really is a trial.”
Sarah recalled what Papa had said. “I hear she is prone to exaggerating rather a lot, and gets memory confused with imagination. A little wishful thinking, perhaps?”
Martha raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. When I saw her she just talked unceasingly, and always of past glories, although I must confess I didn’t trouble to listen closely enough to judge whether they were true or not. I imagine the poor creature is merely lonely.”
“Does no one visit her?” Sarah asked, feeling a quick pang of pity, and at the same time a reluctance to do it herself.
“Not many people, I’m afraid. As I said, she is more than a little trying.”
“I believe she is an invalid, restricted to the house?” Sarah felt obliged to pursue it. She would feel guilty if the woman were in need, and she had ignored her—especially if in the past her husband had really done Papa some favour.
“Oh no,” Martha was quite firm. “She suffers nothing more than the usual small ailments of age.”
“Not bedridden?” Sarah frowned. Could she have misunderstood Papa? She tried to remember exactly what he had said, and could not.
“Oh no, not at all. But I’m sure she would be most grateful if you visited her, just to talk a little while.”
“Is she in any need, I mean financially?” Sarah would rather have given practical help than her time.
“My dear Sarah, how very generous you are. It is so like you to want to help, not to spare yourself but to think only of others’ needs. But she is not poor, I assure you, except in spirit. She needs friends,” she said hesitatingly, her hands tightening on Sarah’s shoulders, “and a little warmth.” Her voice was suddenly husky, as though she were labouring under some strong emotion. For an instant Sarah was embarrassed, then she recalled the icy righteousness of the vicar, and tried to put herself in Martha’s place. Oddly enough, Dominic’s recent coldness helped her. She answered Martha’s grip by reaching out and touching her in return.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “We all do. I shall call on her this afternoon. I cannot take her anything this time; I will just visit socially, while I have the opportunity of using the carriage. But I will call another time, perhaps with Charlotte or Mama, and take her something, just as a token.”
Martha was staring at her, her eyes fixed.
“Do you not think that is a good idea?” Sarah asked, looking back at the pale face. “Should I not go until I have been introduced, do you think?”
Martha’s eyes cleared. “Of course,” she said, catching her breath. “You should go, yes, go today.”
“Mrs. Prebble, are you all right?” Sarah now felt anxious for her; she looked very strained, a little overwrought. Had Sarah said something to distress her? Or was it the sudden recollection of her own emotionally barren life?
Sarah put her hands over Martha’s and gripped them hard, then as she felt the older woman’s muscles tense, she leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek, and moved to the door.
“I shall tell you asked kindly after her. I’m sure she will appreciate it. You do so much for so many people, there can hardly be a house in the parish that doesn’t think of you with kindness.” And before Martha could fumble for a reply to this, she excused herself and took her departure.
Sarah did not know precisely what she had expected, but the woman who finally opened the door to her was such a surprise to her she could only stand and stare.
“Yes?” the woman raised her