The Face of a Stranger (22 page)

What soap was best for retaining the blush of youth? Were Dr.
So-and-so's pills really helpful for female complaints? Mrs. Wellings had it
that they were little less than miraculous! But then Mrs. Wellings was much
given to exaggeration. She would do anything short of standing on her head in
order to attract attention.

Frequently Hester caught Callandra's eyes, and had to look away in case
she should giggle and betray an unseemly and very discourteous levity. She
might be taken for mocking her hostess, which would be unforgivable— and true.

* * * * *

Dinner was a quite different affair. Effie turned out to be a very
agreeable country girl with a cloud of naturally wavy auburn hair many a
mistress would have swapped her dowry for and a quick and garrulous tongue. She
had hardly been in the room five minutes, whisking through clothes, pinning
here, flouncing there, rearranging everything with a skill that left Hester
breathless, before she had recounted the amazing news that the police had been
at the hall, about the poor major's death up in London, twice now. They had
sent two men, one a very grim creature, with a dark visage and manner grand
enough to frighten the children, who had spoken with the mistress and taken tea
in the withdrawing room as if he thought himself quite the gentleman.

The other, however, was as charming as you could wish, and so terribly
elegant—although what a clergyman's son was doing in such an occupation no one
could imagine! Such a personable young man should have done something decent,
like taking the cloth himself, or tutoring boys of good family, or any other
respectable calling.

“But there you are!'' she said, seizing the hairbrush and beginning on
Hester's hair with determination. "Some of the nicest people do the oddest
things, I always say. But Cook took a proper fancy to him. Oh dear!" She
looked at the back of Hester's head critically. "You really shouldn't wear
your hair like that, ma'am; if you don't mind me saying." She brushed
swiftly, piled, stuck pins and looked again. "There now—very fine hair you
have, when it's done right. You should have a word with your maid at home,
miss—she's not doing right by you—if you'll excuse me saying so. I hope that
gives satisfaction?"

"Oh indeed!" Hester assured her with amazement. "You are
quite excellent."

Effie colored with pleasure. "Lady Callandra says I talk too
much," she essayed modestly.

Hester smiled. "Definitely," she agreed. "So do I. Thank
you for your help—please tell Lady Callandra I am very grateful."

“Yes ma'am.'' And with a half-curtsy Effie grabbed her pincushion and
flew out of the door, forgetting to close it behind her, and Hester heard her
feet along the passage.

She really looked very striking; the rather severe style she had worn
for convenience since embarking on her

nursing career had been dramatically softened and filled out. Her gown
had been masterfully adapted to be less modest and considerably fuller over a
borrowed petticoat, unknown to its owner, and thus height was turned from a
disadvantage into a considerable asset. Now that it was time she swept down the
main staircase feeling very pleased with herself indeed.

Both Lovel and Menard Grey were at home for the evening, and she was
introduced to them in the withdrawing room before going in to the dining room
and being seated at the long, highly polished table, which was set for six but
could easily have accommodated twelve. There were two joins in it where
additional leaves could be inserted so it might have sat twenty-four.

Hester's eye swept over it quickly and noticed the crisp linen napkins,
all embroidered with the family crest, the gleaming silver similarly adorned,
the cruet sets, the crystal goblets reflecting the myriad lights of the
chandelier, a tower of glass like a miniature iceberg alight. There were
flowers from the conservatory and from the garden, skillfully arranged in
three flat vases up the center of the table, and the whole glittered and
gleamed like a display of art.

This time the conversation was centered on the estate, and matters of
more political interest. Apparently Lovel had been in the nearest market town
all day discussing some matter of land, and Menard had been to one of the
tenant farms regarding the sale of a breeding ram, and of course the beginning
of harvest.

The meal was served efficiently by the footmen and parlor maid and no
one paid them the slightest attention.

They were halfway through the remove, a roast saddle of mutton, when
Menard, a handsome man in his early thirties, finally addressed Hester directly.
He had similar dark brown hair to his elder brother, and a ruddy complexion
from much time spent in the open. He rode to hounds with great pleasure, and
considerable daring, and shot pheasant in season. He smiled from enjoyment, but
seldom from perception of wit.

"How agreeable of you to come and visit Aunt Callan-dra, Miss
Latterly. I hope you will be able to stay with us for a while?"

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," she said graciously. "That is very
kind of you. It is a quite beautiful place, and I am sure I shall enjoy
myself.''

“Have you known Aunt Callandra long?'' He was making polite
conversation and she knew precisely the pattern it would take.

"Some five or six years. She has given me excellent advice from
time to time."

Lady Fabia frowned. The pairing of Callandra and good advice was
obviously foreign to her. "Indeed?" she murmured disbelievingly.
"With regard to what, pray?"

"What I should do with my time and abilities," Hester replied.

Rosamond looked puzzled. "Do?" she said quietly. "I don't
think I understand." She looked at Lovel, then at her mother-in-law. Her
fair face and remarkable brown eyes were full of interest and confusion.

"It is necessary that I provide for myself, Lady Shel-burne,"
Hester explained with a smile. Suddenly Callan-dra's words about happiness came
back to her with a force of meaning.

"I'm sorry," Rosamond murmured, and looked down at her plate,
obviously feeling she had said something indelicate.

"Not at all," Hester assured her quickly. "I have already
had some truly inspiring experiences, and hope to have more." She was
about to add that it is a marvelous feeling to be of use, then realized how
cruel it would be, and swallowed the words somewhat awkwardly over a mouthful of
mutton and sauce.

"Inspiring?" Lovel frowned. "Are you a religious, Miss
Latterly?"

Callandra coughed profusely into her napkin; apparently she had
swallowed something awry. Fabia passed her a glass of water. Hester averted her
eyes.

"No, Lord Shelburne," she said with as much composure as she
could. "I have been nursing in the Crimea."

There was a stunned silence all around, not even the clink of silver on
porcelain.

"My brother-in-law, Major Joscelin Grey, served in the Crimea,''
Rosamond said into the void. Her voice was soft and sad. "He died shortly
after he returned home."

"That is something of a euphemism," Lovel added, his face
hardening. "He was murdered in his flat in London, as no doubt you will
hear. The police have been inquiring into it, even out here! But they have not
arrested anyone yet."

"I am terribly sorry!" Hester meant it with genuine shock. She
had nursed a Joscelin Grey in the hospital in Scutari, only briefly; his injury
was serious enough, but not compared with the worst, and those who also
suffered from disease. She recalled him: he had been young and fair-haired with
a wide, easy smile and a natural grace. "I remember him—" Now Effie's
words came back to her with clarity.

Rosamond dropped her fork, the color rushing to her cheeks, then ebbing
away again leaving her ash-white. Fa-bia closed her eyes and took in a very
long, deep breath and let it go soundlessly.

Lovel stared at his plate. Only Menard was looking at her, and rather
than surprise or grief there was an expression in his face which appeared to
be wariness, and a kind of closed, careful pain.

"How remarkable," he said slowly. "Still, I suppose you
saw hundreds of soldiers, if not thousands. Our losses were staggering, so I am
told."

"They were," she agreed grimly. "Far more than is
generally understood, over eighteen thousand, and many of them
needlessly—eight-ninths died not in battle but of wounds or disease
afterwards."

"Do you remember Joscelin?" Rosamond said eagerly, totally
ignoring the horrific figures. "He was injured in

the leg. Even afterwards he was compelled to walk with a limp—indeed he
often used a stick
to
support himself."

"He only used it when he was tired!" Fabia said sharply.

"He used it when he wanted sympathy," Menard said half under
his breath.

"That is unworthy!" Fabia's voice was dangerously soft, laden
with warning, and her blue eyes rested on her second son with chill disfavor.
“I shall consider that you did not say it."

"We observe the convention that we speak no ill of the dead,"
Menard said with irony unusual in him. "Which limits conversation
considerably."

Rosamond stared at her plate. "I never understand your humor,
Menard," she complained.

"That is because he is very seldom intentionally funny," Fabia
snapped.

"Whereas Joscelin was always amusing." Menard was angry and no
longer made any pretense at hiding it. "It is marvelous what a little
laughter can do—entertain you enough and you will turn a blind eye on
anything!"

"I loVed Joscelin." Fabia met his eyes with a stony glare.
"I enjoyed his company. So did a great many others. I love you also, but
you bore me to tears."

"You are happy enough to enjoy the profits of my work!" His
face was burning and his eyes bright with fury. "I preserve the estate's
finances and see that it is properly managed, while Lovel keeps up the family
name, sits in the House of Lords or does whatever else peers of the realm
do—and Joscelin never did a damn thing but lounge around in clubs and drawing
rooms gambling it away!"

The blood drained from Fabia's skin leaving her grasping her knife and
fork as if they were lifelines.

"And you still resent that?" Her voice was little more than a
whisper. "He fought in the war, risked his life serving his Queen and
country in terrible conditions, saw

blood and slaughter. And when he came home wounded, you grudged him a
little entertainment with his friends?"

Menard drew in his breath to retort, then saw the pain in his mother's
face, deeper than her anger and underlying everything else, and held his tongue.

"I was embarrassed by some of his losses," he said softly.
"That is all."

Hester glanced at Callandra, and saw a mixture of anger, pity and
respect in her highly expressive features, although which emotion was for whom
she; did not know. She thought perhaps the respect was for Menard.

Lovel smiled very bleakly. "I am afraid you may find the police are
still around here, Miss Latterly. They have sent a very ill-mannered fellow,
something of an upstart, although I daresay he is better bred than most policemen.
But he does not seem to have much idea of what he is doing, and asks some very
impertinent questions. If he should return during your stay and give you the
slightest trouble, tell him to be off, and let me know."

"By all means," Hester agreed. To the best of her knowledge
she had never conversed with a policeman, and she had no interest in doing so
now. "It must all be most distressing for you."

"Indeed," Fabia agreed. ."But an unpleasantness we have
no alternative but to endure. It appears more than possible poor Joscelin was
murdered by someone he knew.''

Hester could think of no appropriate reply, nothing that was not either
wounding or completely senseless.

"Thank you for your counsel," she said to Menard, then lowered
her eyes and continued with her meal.

After the fruit had been passed the women withdrew and Lovel and Menard
drank port for half an hour or so, then Lovel put on his smoking jacket and
retired to the smoking room to indulge, and Menard went to the library. No one
remained up beyond ten o'clock, each making some excuse why they had found the
day tiring and wished to sleep.

* * * * *

Breakfast was the usual generous meal: porridge, bacon, eggs, deviled
kidneys, chops, kedgeree, smoked haddock, toast, butter, sweet preserves,
apricot compote, marmalade, honey, tea and coffee. Hester ate lightly; the
very thought of partaking of all of it made her feel bloated. Both Rosamond and
Fabia ate in their rooms, Menard had already dined and left and Callandra had
not arisen. Lovel was her only companion.

"Good morning, Miss Latterly. I hope you slept well?"

"Excellently, thank you, Lord Shelburne." She helped herself
from the heated dishes on the sideboard and sat down. "I hope you are well
also?"

"What? Oh—yes thank you. Always well." He proceeded with his
heaped meal and it was several minutes before he looked up at her again.
"By the way, I hope you will be generous enough to disregard a great deal
of what Menard said at dinner yesterday? We all take grief in different ways.
Menard lost his closest friend also—fellow he was at school and Cambridge with.
Took it terribly hard. But he was really very fond of Joscelin, you know, just
that as immediately elder brother he had—er—" He searched for the right
words to explain his thoughts, and failed to find them. "He—er—had—"