‘What would hurt or frighten you?’ Emily’s voice was husky now. ‘You are beautiful, wealthy, admired by everyone, even those who envy you. You are safe. No one can take from you all the wonderful things you have done. See some people’s faces when you walk into a room. Everyone looks. No one ever thinks of ignoring you.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘You cannot lose who you are …’
‘Is that what frightens you, losing who you are?’ Vespasia looked at her carefully, searching her eyes. ‘What frightens me is no one else knowing who I am — not what I look like, or what I said that might have interested or amused them, but what I feel like inside.’ She gave a rueful little sigh. It was not the time for mock modesty. ‘It has always been pleasant to be beautiful; it is certainly not a gift one should be ungrateful for.’ She moved perhaps an inch. ‘But love concerns the beauty that is within — and the pain, the mistakes, the dreams, the things that make you laugh, and cry. It is about how you deal with failure and own your mistakes. It is about tenderness and the courage to admit your own need, to be grateful for passion and generosity of soul. That has nothing to do with whether your nose is straight or your complexion without blemish.’
Emily stared at her, tears welling up in her eyes.
‘I don’t know whether Jack still loves me or not,’ she whispered. ‘He doesn’t talk to me any more, not about things that matter. He used to ask my opinion. It’s … it’s as if I’ve already said everything he wants to hear, and I’m not interesting now. I look in the mirror and I see a woman who’s tired … and boring.’ She stopped abruptly, her silence begging for a reply.
Vespasia could not answer her immediately and in the way she wanted. But this was too deep an unhappiness to allow a quick remedy.
‘Are you bored, Emily?’ she asked. ‘There comes a time when Society is not enough, no matter how much you cannot afford to offend it. I remember very vividly when I arrived at that point the first time.’ That was absolutely true. She had been younger than Emily, and bored stiff with being ornamental but completely unnecessary. It was a time she preferred not to think of. She had children she loved, but their daily needs were cared for largely by servants. Her husband was not unkind — he had never been that — simply without the fire in his soul or the flight of imagination she hungered for. But none of that did she intend to tell Emily, or anyone else.
Emily’s eyes were wide, the tears forgotten. ‘I can’t imagine you bored. You are always so … so engaged in things. You are not just being … kind to me … are you?’
‘I think you mean “patronising”, don’t you?’ Vespasia asked frankly.
‘Yes, I suppose so, but I didn’t mean to say it,’ Emily admitted, then gave a small, very reluctant smile.
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Vespasia smiled back. ‘And no, I am not being either kind or, I hope, patronising. Do you imagine you are the only woman who finds mere comfort insufficient? Of course it is, when you don’t have it. But one can become accustomed to it very quickly. Perhaps a little downfall would be helpful? Not of the physical kind, but of the emotional sort? One can very quickly learn the value of something when you fear losing it. We take the light for granted, until it goes out. You are used to turning on the tap and getting water. You have forgotten what it is like to have to go to the well with a bucket.’
Emily’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do you think going to the well would make me feel better?’
‘Not at all. But if you did so a few times, turning on the tap certainly would. But I mentioned it only as an example. Tell me, is Jack going to work for Dudley Kynaston, do you know?’
‘No, I don’t know! That is one of the many things he has not discussed with me.’ There was a moment’s conflict in Emily’s face; then she made a decision. ‘I would like to tell you to ask Charlotte. She seems to know everything, but that would only cut off my nose to spite my face, as they say. Somerset Carlisle was asking questions about Kynaston in the House. Is there really something wrong?’ Now her concern was sharp and very visible.
Vespasia knew exactly what she was afraid of. It was not so long ago that Jack had looked for another promotion from a remarkable man, in high office, and who had favoured him. That man had proved to be a traitor, and Jack was fortunate to have escaped with his own reputation intact. Was history going to repeat itself? It was not an unreasonable fear.
‘I dare say Jack is as concerned as you are,’ Vespasia said. ‘He will feel that he has let you down if he makes another error of judgement. And yet Kynaston may be totally guiltless in the disappearance of this unfortunate maid. She may simply have gone off with a young man and be living happily somewhere well outside London.’ She sighed. ‘Or, of course, she may have made a most unfortunate choice of lover, and it was indeed her body in the gravel pit, and she would have been perfectly safe had she stayed at the Kynaston house. Maybe Jack is trying to postpone his decision until Thomas has proved the matter one way or the other.’
‘That would be pretty difficult,’ Emily pointed out. ‘It’s going to be obvious what he’s doing, and why. He would be letting the whole world know that he thinks Kynaston might be guilty.’
‘Quite so,’ Vespasia agreed. ‘And that is enough to embarrass him, and make him wish he could be more decisive. I would lie awake at night were I to be faced with such a decision.’
‘Then why doesn’t he ask me?’ Emily demanded.
‘Possibly because he is stubborn, and proud. And also perhaps because he does not wish to burden you with the choice, because if it should turn out badly he will take the blame himself.’
‘Do you think so?’ There was a lift of hope in Emily’s voice.
‘Expect the best,’ Vespasia advised. ‘Then you will not be filled with guilt if you receive it. In the meantime, for heaven’s sake find yourself something in which to be interested. You fear being boring because you are bored with yourself. And I do not mean that you should play at being detective! That would be dangerous, and highly undignified.’
‘What do you want me to do? Go and visit the poor?’ Emily’s face was filled with horror.
‘I don’t think the poor deserve that,’ Vespasia said drily.
‘Some of the poor are very nice!’ Emily protested. ‘Just because … oh! Yes. I see.’
‘Exactly my point, my dear,’ Vespasia replied. ‘They do not deserve to be patronised either. Do something useful.’
‘Yes, Great-aunt Vespasia,’ Emily said meekly.
Vespasia looked at her with alarm. ‘You intend to find out about Kynaston! Don’t you?’
‘Yes, Great-aunt Vespasia. But I shall be very careful, I promise you.’
‘Well, if you must meddle, find out about his wife. And if you say “yes, Great-aunt Vespasia” again I shall … think of something suitable to control your impudence.’
Emily leaned forward and kissed her gently. ‘Bed without any supper,’ she said with a smile. ‘Cold rice pudding in the nursery? I hate it cold.’
‘I dare say you are well acquainted with it!’ Vespasia observed, but she could not keep either the affection or the amusement out of her voice.
Chapter Nine
Emily’s resolve remained strong for at least two days. It crumbled only when she faced Jack across the breakfast table on the third morning. He sat studying a folded copy of The Times. At least he did not hold it open so that he was entirely hidden behind it, as she had seen her father do on more than one occasion.
‘Has something now occurred?’ she asked, trying not to sound either plaintive or sarcastic, which was not easy as she felt a little of each.
‘The world situation is worrying,’ he replied, without lowering the newspaper.
‘Is it not always?’ she asked.