The Sins Of The Wolf Part 5

"Sad business," he said dolefully. "Very sad. Fine lady, no doubt. Still, nothing to be done now to 'elp 'er, poor soul. Where was you takin' 'er?"

"To meet her daughter and son-in-law," Hester replied. "They will be at the station...."

"Oh dear, oh dear. Well, nothing else for it." He shook his head. "We'll let all the other pa.s.sengers get orff, and we'll send for the stationmaster. No doubt 'e'll find this daughter. What's 'er name? D'ye know 'er name, miss?"

"Mrs. Griselda Murdoch. Her husband is Mr. Connal Murdoch."

"Very good. Well, I'm afraid the train is full, so I can't offer you another compartment to sit in, I'm sorry. But we'll be in London in another few moments. You just try to stay calm." He turned to the conductor. "You got something as you can give this young lady, medicinal, like?"

The conductor's bushy eyebrows shot up.

"Are you asking me if I got strong drink on me person, sir?"

"Of course I in't," the guard said smoothly. "That'd be agin company policy. But I just thought as yer might 'ave had summink medicinal on yer, against the cold, or shock, or summink. For pa.s.sengers, and the like."

"Well ..." The conductor looked at Hester's wan face. "Well, I suppose I might be able to find something-like ..."

"Good. You go and look, Jake, an' if you can, you give this poor soul a nip, right?"

"Yes sir! Right!"

And he was as good as his word. Having "found" the forbidden brandy, he gave Hester a br.i.m.m.i.n.g capful and then left her again, muttering unintelligibly about duty. It was a further quarter of an hour, during which she was s.h.i.+vering cold and feeling increasingly apprehensive, before the stationmaster appeared in the compartment entranceway. He had a bland, curious face, auburn hair and, at the present moment, a severe cold in the head.

"Now then, miss," he said, and sneezed violently. "You'd better tell us exactly what happened to the poor lady. Who is she? And for that matter, who are you?"

"Her name is Mrs. Mary Farraline, from Edinburgh," Hester replied. "I am Hester Latterly, employed to accompany her from Edinburgh to London in order to give her her medicine and see that she was comfortable." It sounded hollow now, even absurd.

"I see. What was the medicine for, miss?"

"A heart ailment, I believe. I was not told any details of her condition, only that the medicine must be given to her regularly, how much, and at what time."

"And did you give it to her, miss?" He regarded her under his eyebrows. "Ye'r sure you did?"

"Yes, absolutely sure." She rose to her feet and pulled down the medicine cabinet, opened it, and showed him the empty vials.

"There's two gone," the stationmaster observed.

"That's right. I gave her one last night, at about a quarter to eleven, the other they must have used in the morning."

"But you only joined the train yesterday evenin'," the conductor pointed out, peering over the stationmaster's shoulder. "'ad to 'ave. It don't start till evenin'."

"I know that," Hester said patiently. "Perhaps they were short of medicine, or the maid was lazy, and this was already made up, ready to use. I don't know. But I gave her the second one, out of this vial." She pointed to the second one in its bed. "Last night."

"And how was she then, miss? Poorly?"

"No-no she seemed very well," Hester said honestly.

"I see. Well, we'd best put a guard on duty 'ere to see she in't"-he hesitated-"in't disturbed, and you'd better come and find the poor lady's daughter who's come to meet her, poor soul." The stationmaster frowned, still staring at Hester. "You sure she didn't call out in the night? You were here, I take it-all night?"

"Yes I was," Hester said stiffly.

He hesitated again, then sneezed fiercely and was obliged to blow his nose. He looked at her carefully for several minutes, regarding her straight-backed, very slender figure, and making some estimate of her age, and decided she was probably telling the truth. It was not a flattering conclusion.

"I don't know Mr. and Mrs. Murdoch," Hester said quietly. "You will have to make some sort of announcement in order to find them."

"We'll take care of all that sort of thing. Now you just compose yourself, miss, and come and tell these poor souls that their mother has pa.s.sed over." He looked at her narrowly. "Are you going to be able to do that, miss?"

"Yes-yes certainly I am. Thank you for your concern."

She followed after the stationmaster as he backed out of the entrance and led the way to the carriage door. He turned and a.s.sisted her to alight onto the platform. The outside air was sharp and cold on her face, smelling of steam and soot and the grime of thousands of dirty feet. A chill wind whistled along the platform, in spite of the roof overhead, and the noise of trollies, boot heels, banging doors and voices echoed up into the vast overhead span. She followed the stationmaster jostling through the thinning crowd as they reached the steps to his office.

"Are they...here?" she asked, suddenly finding her throat tight.

"Yes, miss. Weren't 'ard to find. Young lady and gentleman looking to that train. Only 'ad to ask."

"Has anyone told them yet?"

"No, miss. Thought it better to learn that from you, seein' as you know the family, and o' course knew the lady herself."

"Oh."

The stationmaster opened the door and stood back. Hester went straight in.

The first person she saw was a young woman with fair auburn hair, waved like Eilish's, but much duller in color, sandy rather than burning autumnal. Her face was oval, her features good, but lacking both the pa.s.sion and the beauty of her sister. Compared with anyone else, she would have been handsome enough, in a quiet, very seemly sort of way, but having met Eilish, Hester could only see her as a shadow, a pale reflection. Perhaps in time, when her present condition had run its term and she was no longer plagued by anxieties, she could be more like Oonagh, have more vivacity and confidence in her.

But it was the man beside her who spoke. He was three or four inches taller than she, his face bony, with hooded eyes and a habit of pursing his lips, which drew attention to his well-shaped mouth.

"You are the nurse employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline on the train?" he demanded. "Good. Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about? Where is Mrs. Farraline? Why have we been kept waiting here?"

Hester met his eyes for a moment in acknowledgment that she had heard him, then turned to Griselda.

"I am Hester Latterly. I was employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline. I am deeply sorry to have to bring you very bad news. She was in excellent spirits last evening, and seemed to be quite well, but she pa.s.sed away in her sleep, during the night. I think she could not have suffered, because she did not cry out...."

Griselda stared at her as if she had not comprehended a word she had heard.

"Mother?" She shook her head. "I don't know what you are saying. She was coming down to London to tell me-I don't know what. But she said it would all be all right! She said so! She promised me." She turned helplessly to her husband.

He ignored her and stared at Hester.

"What are you saying? That is not an explanation of anything. If Mrs. Farraline was in perfect health yesterday evening, she wouldn't simply have"-he looked for the right euphemism-"have pa.s.sed over-without...For heaven's sake, I thought you were a nurse. What is the point of having a nurse to come with her if this is what happens? You are worse than useless!"

"Come now, sir," the stationmaster said reasonably. "If the good lady was getting on in years, and had a bad heart, she could have gone any time. It's something to be grateful for, she didn't suffer."

"Didn't suffer, man? She's dead!" Murdoch exploded.

Griselda covered her face and collapsed backwards onto the wooden chair behind her.

"She can't be gone," she wailed. "She was going to tell me...I can't bear this! She promised!"

Murdoch looked at her, his face filled with confusion, anger and helplessness. He seized on the refuge offered him.

"Come now, my dear. There is some truth in what the stationmaster says. It was extraordinarily sudden, but we must be grateful that she did not suffer. At least it appears so."

Griselda looked at him with horror in her wide eyes. "But she didn't-I mean, there wasn't even a letter. It is vitally important. She would never have...Oh this is terrible." She covered her face again and began to weep.

Murdoch looked at the stationmaster, ignoring Hester.

"You must understand, my wife was devoted to her mother. This has been a great shock to her."

"Yes sir, only natural," the stationmaster agreed. "'Course it is. Would to anyone, especially a young lady o' sensibility."

Griselda rose to her feet suddenly. "Let me see her!" she demanded, pus.h.i.+ng her way forward.

"Now really, my dear," Murdoch protested, grasping her shoulders. "That would do no good at all and you must rest. Think of your condition...."

"But I must!" She fought free of him and confronted Hester, her face so pale the dusting of freckles across her cheeks stood out like dirty marks. Her eyes were wild and staring. "What did she say to you?" she demanded. "She must have told you something! Something about her purpose in coming here-something about me! Didn't she?"

"Only that she was coming to rea.s.sure you that you had no cause for anxiety," Hester said gently. "She was quite definite about that. You need have no anxiety at all."

"But why?" Griselda said furiously, her hands held up as if she would grasp Hester and shake her if she had dared. "Are you sure? She might not have meant it! She could have been simply-I don't know-being kind."

"I don't think so," Hester replied quite frankly. "From what I saw of Mrs. Farraline, she did not speak idly in order to set someone's mind at rest; if what she had said was not completely true, she need not have mentioned it at all. Of course it is extremely difficult for you at such a dreadful time, but I should try to believe that you really do have no cause for concern."

"Would you?" Griselda said eagerly. "Do you think so, Miss ..."

"Latterly. Yes I do."

"Come, my dear," Connal said soothingly. "This is really not important now. We have arrangements to make. And you must write to your family in Edinburgh. There is a great deal to take care of."

Griselda turned to him as if he had been speaking a foreign language.

"What?"

"Don't worry yourself. I shall attend to it all. I shall write this morning, a full letter with all that we know. If I post it today, it will go on the night train, and they will receive it in Edinburgh tomorrow morning. I will a.s.sume then that it was very quiet and she almost certainly felt nothing." He shook his head a little. "Now, my dear, this has been a terrible day for you. I shall take you home where Mama can care for you." His voice held a sudden relief at having thought of the ideal way of releasing himself from a situation beyond his ability. "You really must consider your...health, my dear. You should rest. There is nothing you can do here, I a.s.sure you."

"That's right, ma'am," the stationmaster said quickly. "You go with your husband. 'E is absolutely right, ma'am."

Griselda hesitated, shot another anguished look at Hester, then succ.u.mbed to a superior force.

Hester watched her go with relief, and a sharp, sad memory of Mary saying how unnecessarily Griselda worried. She could almost hear Mary's voice in her head, and the very humor in it. Perhaps she should have said more to comfort her. She had seemed more devastated by the lack of rea.s.surance over her child than by her mother's death. But perhaps that was the easier of the two emotions to face. Where some people retreated into anger, and she had seen that often enough, Griselda was grasping on to fear. Being with child, especially a first, could cause all kinds of strange turmoils in the mind, feelings that would not normally be so close to the surface.

But Griselda was gone, and there was nothing she could add now. Perhaps in time Murdoch would think of the right things to say or do.

It was nearly another hour of questions and repeated futile answers before Hester was permitted to leave the station. She had recounted to every appropriate authority the exact instructions she had been given in Edinburgh, how Mary had seemed during the evening, that she had made no complaint whatever of illness, on the contrary, she had seemed in unusually good spirits. No, Hester had heard nothing unusual in the night, the sound of the wheels on the track had obliterated almost everything else anyway. Yes, without question she had given Mrs. Farraline her medicine, one vial as instructed. The other vial had already been empty.

No, she did not know the cause of Mrs. Farraline's death. She a.s.sumed it was the heart complaint from which she suffered. No, she had not been told the history of the illness. She was not nursing her, simply accompanying her and making sure she did not forget her medicine or take a double dose. Could she have done so? No, she had not opened the case herself, it was exactly where Hester had put it. Besides which, Mary was not absentminded, nor approaching senility.

At last, feeling numb with sadness, Hester was permitted to leave, and made her way to the street, where she hailed a hansom cab and gave the driver Callandra Daviot's address. She did not even consider whether it was a courteous thing to turn up in the middle of the morning, unannounced and in a state of distress. Her desire to be warm and safe, and to hear a familiar voice, was so intense it drove out normal thoughts of decorum. Not that Callandra was someone who cared much for such things, but eccentricity was not the same as lack of consideration.

It was a gray day, with gusts of rain on the wind, but she was unaware of her surroundings. Grimy streets and soot-stained walls and wet pavements gave way to more gracious squares, falling leaves and splashes of autumn color, but they did not intrude into her consciousness.

"'Ere y'are, miss," the driver said at last, peering down at her through the peephole.

"What?" she said abruptly.

"We're 'ere, miss. Ye goin' ter get out, or d'yer wanner stay sitting in 'ere? I'll 'ave ter charge yer. I got me livin' ter make."

"No, of course I don't want to stay in here," she said crossly, scrambling to open the door with one hand and grasp her bag with the other. She alighted awkwardly and, setting her bag on the pavement, paid him and bade him a good day. As the horse moved off, and the rain increased in strength, making broad puddles where the stones were uneven, she picked up the bag again and climbed the steps to the front door. Please heaven Callandra was at home, and not out engaged in one of her many interests. She had refused to think of that before, because she did not want to face the possibility, but now it seemed so likely she even hesitated on the step, and stood undecided in the rain, her feet wet, her skirts becoming sodden where they brushed the stones.

There was nothing to lose now. She pulled the bell k.n.o.b and waited.

The door opened but it was a moment before the butler recognized her, then his expression changed.

"Good morning, Miss Latterly." He made as if to say something further, then thought better of it.

"Good morning. Is Lady Callandra at home?"

"Yes ma'am. If you care to come in, I shall inform her you are here." He moved aside to allow her to pa.s.s, his eyebrows slightly raised at her bedraggled appearance. He took her bag from her and set it down gingerly, then excused himself, leaving her dripping onto the polished floor.

It was Callandra herself who appeared, her curious, long-nosed face full of concern. As always, her hair was escaping its pins as if to take flight, and her green gown was more comfortable than elegant. The wide skirts had become her when she was younger and slimmer, now they no longer disguised a certain generosity of hip, but made her seem shorter than she was. However, her carriage, as always, was excellent, and her humor and intelligence more than made up for any lack of beauty.

"My dear, you look awful!" she said with anxiety. "Whatever has happened? I thought you had gone to Edinburgh. Was it canceled?" For the moment she ignored the sodden skirt and the generally crumpled gown, the hair as untidy as her own. "You look quite ill."

Hester smiled in sheer relief at seeing her. It filled her with a sense of warmth far deeper than anything physical, like a homecoming after a lonely journey.

"I did go to Edinburgh. I came home on the overnight train. My patient died."

"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry," Callandra said quickly. "Before you got there? How wretched. Still-oh-" She searched Hester's face. "That's not what you mean, is it? She died in your charge?"

"Yes."

"They had no business to dispatch you with someone so ill," she said decisively. "Poor creature, to have died away from home, and on a train, of all things. You must feel dreadful. You certainly look it." She took Hester's arm. "Come in and sit down. That skirt is soaking wet. Nothing of mine will fit you, you'd step right through them. You'll have to make do with one of the maid's dresses. They are quite good enough until that dries out. Or you'll catch your-" She stopped and pulled a sorrowful face.

"Death," Hester supplied for her with a ghost of a smile. "Thank you."

"Daisy," Callandra called loudly. "Daisy, come here if you please!"

Obediently a slender dark girl with wide eyes came out of the dining room door, a duster in her hand, her lace cap a trifle crooked on her head.

"Yes, your ladys.h.i.+p?"

"You are about Miss Latterly's height. Would you be good enough to lend her a dress until hers is dried out. I have no idea what she has been doing in it, but it is shedding a pool of water in here, and must be as cold as Christmas to wear. Oh, and you'd better find some boots and stockings for her too. Then on your way ask Cook to send some hot chocolate into the green room."

"Yes, your ladys.h.i.+p." She bobbed in something like a half curtsy, and with a glance at Hester to make sure she had understood the instruction, led her away to fulfill the errand.

Ten minutes later Hester was dressed in a gray stuff gown which fitted her excellently apart from being a couple of inches short at the ankle, showing her borrowed stockings and boots, and sitting beside the fire opposite Callandra.

The room was one of her favorites, decorated entirely in dark green and white, with white doors and window embrasures, directing one's eye toward the light. The furniture was warm, dark rosewood, upholstered in cream brocade, and there was a bowl of white chrysanthemums on the table. She put her hands around the cup of hot chocolate and sipped it gratefully. It was ridiculous to be so cold; it was not even winter, and certainly far from frosty outside. And yet she was s.h.i.+vering.