The sun was setting earlier every day, and as dusk fell countless lamps and torches were lit in windows and over doors, flooding the streets with an uneven yellow light that glanced from the filthy water in the gutters and almost made it pretty. Rachel took a deep breath of the chilly air to rid her lungs of the dankness of Duncan Weekes’s room. She walked briskly until she was on better streets, and stopped off to buy a pie for supper, and once she was home she stoked up the stove to warm the kitchen-cum-parlour, and looked around with new appreciation of her home. She thumped the pillows on the bed to raise them, shook the spiders out of the drapes, scoured the pot and brewed tea, suddenly needing to be busy, and to have no time to stop and think about Duncan Weekes. Because if she thought too much about his sad eyes and the filth he lived in she might speak again, unbidden; and try as she might to be calm and courageous, the thought of another confrontation filled her with dread. She was so conscious of guarding her words that she said precious little when Richard did arrive home, only smiling and fetching him the things he wanted. But he was tired, and smelled of the inn, and did not seem to mind her silence.
The next day a card was delivered to the house, and Rachel found that while she should have been surprised, she was not surprised at all. It was an invitation to number one, Lansdown Crescent, that afternoon; an invitation addressed to her alone. Rachel ran her fingers along the crisp edge of the card, and wondered what it could mean. The parlour suddenly seemed every bit as still and watchful as the house on Lansdown Crescent, and her skin prickled. She waited for her husband to return, and practised what she would say when he did. She was almost sure that Richard would be happy to hear about it, but then, his own exclusion from the invitation might temper that. In the end, she was asleep before he came home. He woke her as he came to bed, clumsy and befuddled in the darkness, and she feigned sleep, until his hands, which had roved her body, went still, and he started to snore. Carefully, Rachel pushed his hands away from her and shifted to one side, so that no part of them touched.
‘You asked for me, madam?’ said Starling. Mrs Alleyn looked up from the silk divan she was seated on, and raised her eyebrows. Her eyes glittered.
‘You are well aware of the reason.’
‘Madam?’ said Starling.
‘Enough!’ Mrs Alleyn burst out, rising abruptly to pace the carpet. Starling’s stomach lurched, but she cleared her face of expression, and waited. ‘You yourself said she was a singular woman – the new Mrs Weekes. You herded me into meeting her with no warning of how greatly she resembled that wretched girl! You must have known what my shock would be.’ Mrs Alleyn glared at her kitchen maid. Though Starling bridled at the words that wretched girl, and the tone of bitter disgust with which they were spoken, she knew better than to argue. ‘Well? What say you?’
‘I only thought that you would be interested in meeting her, madam.’
‘Indeed. Have a care, Starling – you were her servant, before you were mine, I know, but you have been mine these twelve years since. I should have no cause to question where your loyalties lie.’
‘My loyalty is to you, madam. Always,’ Starling lied.
‘I should hope so. She abandoned you as callously as she abandoned my son, let us not forget. Your place in this household is a boon that can be withdrawn, let us also not forget. Few others would have taken you on, given the circumstances.’
‘I am grateful to you, madam.’
‘Well.’ Josephine Alleyn grew calmer. She sat back down on the divan. ‘The resemblance is truly uncanny. Upon first glance,’ she said.
That was true enough, Starling thought. She had watched from the stairs as Mrs Weekes was leaving, and this time she’d been able to pick out a few subtle ways in which the woman did not resemble Alice. It had not been quite the same as that first startling moment, when it had seemed as though the dead walked. ‘It is a strange world, when two people can be born so alike and yet be wholly unconnected to one another,’ said Mrs Alleyn.
‘Not wholly unconnected, madam. For now they have you in common,’ said Starling, carefully. This was the crucial time, the crucial moment, for if she could not convince her mistress that Mrs Weekes was of use to them, then any chance of using the woman to goad Jonathan, and make him betray himself, would vanish. Behind her shoulder, Starling could feel the painted eyes of Lord Faukes, Josephine Alleyn’s father, staring down at her from a large canvas above the fireplace. She felt her skin crawl. Starling didn’t like to look at his portrait; didn’t like to see the heavy paunch of a stomach, or the big blunt hands, or the way his smile crinkled his eyes in that kindly, treacherous way. Mrs Alleyn was looking at Starling strangely, and a flutter of nerves made her speak again, ill-advisedly. ‘It was my thinking that it could benefit your son, madam, to meet this woman who looks so like Alice-’
‘I will not hear that name!’ The words lashed out, sharp as a whip crack, and Starling cursed herself inwardly for forgetting.
‘I beg pardon, madam,’ she said hurriedly.
She waited in silence. Mrs Alleyn turned her head to gaze out of the window and did not speak again for some moments. In the wan light of the afternoon she was pale and lovely; eyes haunted by sadness, face haunted by beauty.
‘How do you think it could benefit my son to set eyes upon this creature who, though it be no fault of her own, is the very image of the one person at the root of his distress? The one person I should most like him to forget?’ She spoke without looking at Starling.
He’ll never forget her. I won’t let him. Starling fought to keep her tone neutral.
‘Well, madam… it seems to me that Mr Alleyn would benefit from company. You have said so yourself, time and again, that it would do him good to be out in society more, and to allow visitors to call on him…’
‘He will not hear of it, as you know. I have tried every argument.’ Mrs Alleyn bowed her head, and suddenly wore her despair quite openly. She drew in a long breath, and when she raised her face again it was marked by pain. ‘Upon occasion, he will not even see me. His own mother.’
‘Yes, madam. I had thought that… perhaps her familiar face might convince him to tolerate her,’ said Starling. Mrs Alleyn frowned, so she hurried on. ‘Al- the girl he once knew was most dear to him. At one time. And I know he thinks of her still…’
‘How do you know?’
‘He…’ Starling hesitated. If Mrs Alleyn knew of Alice’s letters, she would turn Jonathan’s rooms upside down to find and destroy them. ‘He mentions her sometimes, when I am in hearing.’
‘Go on.’
‘She was dear to him, and there is a chance, is there not, that he might permit Mrs Weekes to visit him, for that reason? She seems a gentle and godly sort. Might she not somehow draw him back to himself? It… it cannot have escaped your notice that Mr Alleyn has been declining of late. In his spirits, I mean.’ I must tread carefully. ‘Declining as he did at the time of the… accident.’ It was no accident that had opened Jonathan Alleyn’s veins with the broken neck of a glass bottle, five years earlier. They both knew what he had intended. Josephine paled.
‘You think he is that unwell again? You think he would… he might… do some harm to himself again?’ The fear was loud behind her words.
‘His descent has been rapid of late, madam, and it continues.’
‘But… I want him to forget her! That is the only way… She poisoned him! I have banished every trace of her from this house, and yet, and yet… still he mentions her? After the way she betrayed him? And all the years that have passed?’ There were tears in the older woman’s eyes; they sparkled, unshed, full of desperate disbelief.