‘He does, madam.’
‘Well, I cannot tolerate it – I cannot tolerate her. I have no wish to see that woman’s face again – it is not her fault, but the fact remains: she is a walking reminder of that blight on our lives, and I will not see her.’ The older woman’s voice shook just slightly. Starling felt desperation getting hold of her tongue again.
‘But only think what he might do, if he should decline any further, madam… Surely if it might raise his spirits, just a little, to see her…’
‘Do not press me, girl! You forget yourself! You may have known my son since you were a child, but you remain a servant in this house and I have no need of your counsel! Do you think yourself irreplaceable, because you do not fear to serve him?’
‘No, madam.’ Staring knew when to be meek.
The two women faced each in silence. Starling kept her eyes on her feet, where her scuffed leather shoes looked so out of place against the glorious patterns of the carpet, all purple and green and gold.
‘Is this some mischief of yours?’ Mrs Alleyn asked eventually. Her anger had gone; she sounded small, and afraid. Tears still glimmered in her eyes.
‘No, madam. I only want what’s best.’
‘And… you truly think it could help him to see her? To be reminded?’
‘Since time and… obliteration have not worked, madam, then perhaps Mrs Weekes… that is, perhaps a small taste of what was lost might give him ease instead.’ Mrs Alleyn’s tears never fell. She blinked them away, and gathered herself.
‘If you are wrong… if he is made worse by her…’
‘I am sure he will not be, madam,’ Starling lied again without a second’s hesitation. She gazed at her mistress, her face a perfect facsimile of sincerity. Mrs Alleyn thought for a second longer.
‘Very well, then. Perhaps it cannot hurt to try. I will invite her,’ she said, and Starling’s heart soared. Oh, but it can. It can hurt to try.
Starling shut the drawing room door quietly, her fingers fumbling with the handle. They were shaking. Her whole body was shaking; her pulse thumped loudly in her temples. She swallowed, and felt the dry skin of her throat pull tight. She poisoned him! The words rang in her ears. As if anybody who had ever known Alice could truly believe that. It baffled her that a lady like Mrs Alleyn could be so deceived. In the silence of the hallway she watched her hands as they juddered, fingertips and broken nails all blurred with movement. Then Alice’s hand took hers, and held it tightly. Starling shut her eyes and saw the palest golden hair lit up with sunlight, and smiling blue eyes with lashes like tiny feathers. Find me some poppies, my chuck, and I’ll make you a scarlet crown.
Alice could not see the red petals against the green grasses that grew along the river’s wide shoulders. Hand in hand, the two girls ran along, walked to catch their breath, then ran again. The ground was waterlogged, and seemed to bounce beneath their feet. There were cowpats here and there, bejewelled with amber dung flies. They shrieked and leapt and dodged them. Here! Here are some poppies! Starling heard her own voice, heard Alice laughing as they sat down abruptly, breathing in the warm smells of damp earth and trampled grass. The poppy stems were tough and hairy; she picked them and passed them to Alice, who plaited them into a garland. I shall have a crown of flowers like this when Jonathan marries me, said Alice. And so shall you. Whichever flowers you wish for, you shall have; and you shall carry my train for me all the way to the church.
‘Starling!’ An angry whisper startled her. Starling opened her eyes to the dim light of the hallway; golden hair and sunlit eyes faded away like spectres. Dorcas was glaring at her from the servants’ door. ‘Don’t tarry there! What’s in your head?’ she hissed. Starling didn’t stay to answer. Mrs Alleyn would surely invite Mrs Weekes again soon. She didn’t have much time to make ready; to make Jonathan Alleyn ready. She meant for him to be at his darkest when he first set eyes on the woman who was not Alice. She meant for him to be ready to break, and she meant to be there when he did.
Rachel felt the weightiness of things unsaid, hovering between herself and Mrs Alleyn. She wasn’t sure how long she could go on ignoring it. It was stormy outside, and her shoulders were damp with rain from her walk to Lansdown Crescent. When the wind blew it made the flames in the grate flutter; a draught curled in under the door, cold around their ankles. She tried not to shiver, sipping her tea. The pauses between their stilted exchanges were growing longer and longer every time. Mrs Alleyn cleared her throat delicately.
‘Tell me, what social engagements have you planned, Mrs Weekes?’ she said.
‘There is… nothing of note upcoming, I confess,’ said Rachel.
‘But you will be going to the assembly rooms, surely?’
‘I… do not know, Mrs Alleyn. Mr Weekes has made no mention of any such plans…’
‘Well, of course he hasn’t, my dear Mrs Weekes. He is a man, and men who are married have little need for dancing. But a woman must have such things to look forward to, and to dress for. Must she not? He must take you, tell him I said so,’ she declared. Rachel smiled politely.
‘I shall indeed tell him, Mrs Alleyn. Do you care for dancing, yourself?’
‘Yes, I… well. I used to, many years ago.’ Mrs Alleyn’s lovely face fell. ‘It has been a very long time since I danced. My husband loved to, even after we were married. He was such a happy soul, so full of merriment.’ She looked away across the room, and sighed slowly. ‘The last time I danced was with Jonathan, shortly before he went away to the war.’
‘And never since?’ said Rachel, guessing it to be well over ten years since that dance. Mrs Alleyn swallowed, and looked back at Rachel.
‘And never since,’ she said flatly.
There was another uneasy silence. Mrs Alleyn arranged and rearranged her hands in her lap, and moved to pour tea from the pot when their cups were already full.
‘And this fine gentleman here,’ Rachel gestured at the large portrait in oils that hung above the hearth. ‘Pray tell me, who is he?’
‘That is my father, Sir Benjamin Faukes. He was a great man… a very great man. He had a most distinguished career in the navy. I returned to live with him when my husband died, when Jonathan was still very young. He… he was a kind and very loving man.’ Mrs Alleyn paused. ‘I think he’d hoped I would marry again one day, and be happy, but it was not to be.’ Rachel studied the painting, which showed a corpulent but dignified man, jovial eyes couched deep above crimson cheeks.
‘He cuts a most handsome figure,’ she murmured. ‘I was also blessed with a kind and gentle father. He was a gentleman… master of a small estate to the north of the city. I grew up there, and my little brother too. For a time.’
‘You have lost him?’ Mrs Alleyn leant forwards slightly, her eyes keen.
‘When he was but a child, still. Such a dear boy. It was… very difficult for my mother and father.’
‘And for you, I dare say?’
‘Yes. And for me,’ said Rachel, quietly. Mrs Alleyn nodded in sympathy.
‘The world can seem cruel to inflict such losses, can it not?’
‘I am sure God has a plan for us all, Mrs Alleyn.’
‘Are you, indeed? Well spoken, Mrs Weekes,’ Mrs Alleyn murmured, in a tone that was hard to decipher.
Silence fell again; outside, the wind played a mournful note. ‘You must be wondering why I asked you to call again,’ Mrs Alleyn said at last. ‘So soon after our first meeting, I mean,’ she added, hurriedly. Rachel smiled at the unintentional slight.
‘I’m sure I was simply pleased to be invited,’ she demurred, and Mrs Alleyn gave her a knowing glance, tinged with apology.