The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [95]
Sarah swallowed and recollected herself.
“My name is Sarah Corde. I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before, but Mrs. Prebble spoke so well of you, I decided, if it would not be inconvenient to you, I would like to make your acquaintance?”
The woman’s face lightened immediately. She was a handsome creature, and perhaps twenty-five years ago she might well have been beautiful. The remnants of beauty were still there in the bones and the elegant sweep of hair, faded, but not yet thinning. There seemed nothing even remotely pathetic about her, and if she was lonely, it was not obvious.
“Please come in,” she invited, standing back so Sarah could accept the invitation.
The sitting room was small, and furnished with unusual simplicity, but Sarah had the impression that it was a matter of taste rather than poverty. She found the effect surprisingly pleasing. It was more restful than the usually crowded rooms she was accustomed to with dozens of photographs and paintings, stuffed birds, dried flower arrangements, embroidery samplers and ornaments, and furniture in almost every available space. This seemed much lighter, much less oppressive.
“Thank you.” She sat down in the offered chair. She was profoundly glad now that she had brought no gift of food; it would have seemed redundant here, perhaps even offensive.
“It was kind of Mrs. Prebble to speak well of me,” the woman said. “I’m afraid I don’t know her as well as I might. I find church functions—.” She stopped, obviously recollecting that Sarah probably attended them, and revising what she had been going to say.
Sarah found herself smiling. “Tedious,” she filled in for her.
The woman’s face relaxed. “Thank you so much for your frankness. Yes, I’m afraid so. She does a great deal of good work, but she must be a saint to persevere through all those endless idle conversations, and the gossip. And my dear, it isn’t even interesting gossip!”
“Is gossip ever interesting, except to those who are spreading it?”
“Of course! Some gossip has great wit, and of course some carries the burden of genuine scandal. Or it used to. I haven’t heard a good scandal for years. But then hardly anyone ever comes to see me these days. I have grown respectable. What a fearful epitaph.”
Sarah’s curiosity was mounting. Who, precisely, was this woman? So far she appeared nothing at all like the pathetic and wandering creature Papa had described. On the contrary, she was entertaining, and very much in command of herself.
“Isn’t an epitaph a little premature?” Sarah asked with a smile. “You are not dead yet.”
“I might as well be, sitting here in a room in Cater Street watching the world pass by outside. And I’ve no one to listen to me, even if I were able to make witty remarks! It’s a terrible thing, my dear, to have wit, and no one on whom to exercise it. May I offer you some refreshment, a dish of tea, perhaps? I have no maid, as you will have observed, but I can easily enough prepare it myself, if you will excuse me.”
“Oh no, please,” Sarah put out a hand as if to restrain her. “I have just taken tea with Mrs. Prebble.” That was a lie, but she did not want to disturb her. “Unless, of course, you wish it for yourself? In which case let me make it, and bring it to you?”
“Good heavens, child, you are anxious for good works! Very well, it would be most charming to be waited upon. You will find everything in the kitchen. If there is anything you cannot put your hand on, pray ask me.”
Fifteen minutes later Sarah returned with a large tray and tea set for two. She poured it herself, and they resumed their conversation.
“How long have you lived in Cater Street?” she asked.
The woman smiled. “Ever since my husband died, and dear Edward found me this place,” she answered.
“Edward? Is he your son?”
The woman’s graceful eyebrows arched in amused surprise. “Good heavens no! He was my lover. A long time ago now, over twenty-five years. I was forty then, and he was in his thirties.”
“You didn’t marry him?”
She gave a rich laugh. “Of course I didn’t marry him. He was