The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [97]
Her mind kept going back to the woman. What kind of a woman was she? Had she loved Edward, committed any lasting part of herself to him; or was it an affair, something to be set against profit and loss, so much social prestige, so much money or security, so much fun? What was it she gave him that Caroline could not?
She tried to think back to the way she had felt in those first years. Sarah must have been a small child, Charlotte newly born, Emily not yet thought of. Was that it? Had she been too involved with the children? Had she ignored him? Surely not. She thought she could remember many hours spent together, long evenings at home, nights out at dinners, parties, even concerts. Or were they later? Time was confused, telescoping.
Had he loved that other woman, or was she a diversion, something to fill a need, an appetite? Was all the past a lie?
The thought that he had loved Mrs. Attwood was appalling, something that hurt profoundly, altering years of feelings, shattering peace, destroying anything of tenderness or trust. Even if it had been appetite, was that any better?
She shivered. Suddenly she felt unclean, as if something soiled had entered her and she could not wash it out. The memory of his touch, of their familiarity, became offensive, something she wanted to forget, because she could not undo it.
She stood up, tidying her hair automatically, and pulling her dress straight. She must go downstairs and present a face to the family that masked at least some of the misery and the confusion inside her.
Grandmama knew there was something wrong with both Sarah and Caroline. At first she presumed they had had a quarrel of some sort, and naturally she wanted to know what it was about. Sarah was in the rear sitting room the following morning, and Grandmama went in, ostensibly to enquire about the arrangements for afternoon tea and what visitors they might expect, but actually to learn the facts of the quarrel.
“Good morning, Sarah, my dear,” she said purposefully.
“Good morning, Grandmama,” Sarah replied, not looking up from the letter she was writing.
“You look a little pale. Didn’t you sleep?” Grandmama pursued, sitting down on the sofa.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You seem a little agitated to me.”
“I’m perfectly all right, thank you. Don’t distress yourself on my account.”
Grandmama seized on the suggestion immediately.
“But I am distressed, my dear; I cannot help worrying about you when I see both you and your Mama looking tired and upset. If you have had some sort of disagreement, perhaps I can help to see that it is sorted out?”
If Sarah had been Charlotte, she would have said bluntly that Grandmama was more likely to add fuel to it than sort it out, but being Sarah she remained at least nominally polite.
“There is no quarrel, Grandmama; we are very close.” She smiled with unconcealed bitterness. “In fact we are fellows in misfortune.”
“Misfortune? What misfortune is that? I didn’t know anything had happened?”
“You wouldn’t. It happened twenty-five years ago.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Grandmama demanded. “What happened twenty-five years ago?”
Sarah retreated. “Nothing that need concern you. It is all over now.”
“If it still distresses you and your mother, it is not all over!” Grandmama said sharply. “What has happened, Sarah?”
“Men,” Sarah replied. “Life. Perhaps it even happened to you once.” She gave a tight little smile. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t be surprised at all!”
“What are you talking about? What about men?”
“They are shallow, disloyal and hypocritical!” Sarah said furiously. “They preach one thing and practice quite another. They have one set of rules for us and another for themselves.”
“Some men do, of course. That has always been the case. But not all. There