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‘He is coming to us on Thursday, before noon.’
‘Good! So, then, am I!’ said his lordship. ‘After noon!’
‘Of course!’ she twinkled. ‘No need to tell me that! I only wish he may not arrive to find Felix at his very worst, but I’m much afraid that he will. Felix is already out of reason cross about it – declares he is in prime twig, and won’t let any doctor maul him! – and he won’t at all relish being made to stay in his bed until Sir William has examined him! Oh, well! If he becomes outrageous, I shall ask Harry to try if he can divert him!’
But when, on Thursday morning, Frederica, with a recalcitrant brother on her hands and various household duties left undischarged, desired Buddle to send Harry up to Felix’s room, Buddle said that he rather thought Mr Harry must have gone out.
‘Oh!’ said Frederica, rather blankly. She hesitated, wondering whether to send for Charis. But as Charis had chosen this, out of all other mornings, for a display of affliction, weeping over the tea-cups, and refusing all sustenance at the breakfast-table, she decided against it.
‘I fancy he must have taken Miss Charis out for an airing, ma’am, for she is not in the drawing-room,’ volunteered Buddle.
Frederica’s brow cleared. She had been nursing some uncharitable thoughts about Harry – so careless as to go off to amuse himself when his little brother was to be examined by one of the first physicians of the day! – but she realised at once that she had been doing him an injustice: he was clearly trying to be helpful, by taking Charis off her hands! She said: ‘Ah, very likely! Never mind: I’ll go up to Master Jessamy’s room.’
She found Jessamy immersed in his books, but he agreed at once to try what he could do to entertain Felix; and, when she apologised for disturbing him, said, with one of his darkling looks: ‘It is time one of us did something to help you!’ He then stalked out of the room, with Lufra at his heels.
Touched by this outburst, Frederica called after him that it wouldn’t be for long, since Sir William might be expected at any minute; and went downstairs, to discuss with her housekeeper the various things that must be done to set the house in order before they left it.
She had not far to go. Mrs Hurley, a stout woman, having toiled upstairs from the basement in search of her, had halted on the first floor, to recover her breath before attempting to mount the next flight.
‘Oh, Hurley, you shouldn’t have come up all those stairs!’ Frederica said. ‘I was on my way down to you!’
‘No, ma’am, I know I shouldn’t, not with my palpitations,’ said Mrs Hurley. ‘But I thought it my duty to let you know at once!’
This time-worn phrase, which in general heralded the disclosure of a very minor household disaster, did not strike dismay into Frederica’s bosom. She said: ‘Oh, dear! Is something amiss? Come into the drawing-room, and tell me about it!’
‘Dear knows, Miss Frederica,’ said Mrs Hurley, following her into the room, ‘I wouldn’t trouble you with it, with all the trouble you have to worrit you already, if I didn’t feel in my bones that you’d wish to be told immediately.’
Broken china! thought Frederica.
‘But,’ pursued Mrs Hurley, ‘the instant Jemima brought it to me, her only being able to read print – and not much of that either – I said to myself: “Doctor or no doctor, Miss Frederica must see this at once!” Which is what it’s my belief you weren’t meant to do, ma’am. And nor you would have if I hadn’t sent Jemima up to Miss Charis’s room to take down the curtains to be washed, for the room was swept and the bed made while Miss Charis was at her breakfast, so that there was no reason for her to think anyone would go into it again this morning.’
‘Miss Charis?’ Frederica said sharply.
‘Miss Charis,’ corroborated Mrs Hurley. ‘There was this, laying on the dressing-table, and Jemima, thinking it was a letter for the post, brought it down to me. It’s for you, Miss Frederica.’
‘For me – !’ Frederica almost snatched it out of the housekeeper’s hand.
‘And Miss Charis’s brush and comb aren’t on the table, nor the bottle of scent you gave her, ma?
?am, nor anything that should be on it,’ pronounced the voice of doom inexorably.
Frederica paid no heed, for the information was unnecessary. The letter in her hand had evidently been written under the stress of strong emotion. It was freely blotched with tears, and largely illegible, but its opening sentence stood out boldly.
Dearest, ever-dearest Frederica, Charis had written, with painstaking care, By the time you read this I shall be married, and many miles away.
After that, the writing deteriorated into a wild scrawl, as though Charis, having made this promising beginning, had not known how to continue, and had finally dashed off the rest in a hurry.
But the beginning was all that mattered to Frederica. She stood staring at the words until they danced before her eyes, unable, in the first moments of sickening shock, to believe their incredible message.
Mrs Hurley’s hand on her arm recalled her to her senses. ‘Do you sit down, Miss Frederica, my dear!’ Mrs Hurley said. ‘I’ll fetch you up a glass of wine directly: no need to tell Buddle!’
‘No, no, I don’t want a glass of wine! I must think – I must think!’
She allowed herself to be pushed into a chair, and tried to decipher the rest of the letter. It seemed to consist entirely of pleas for forgiveness, mingled with assurances that only desperation could have driven the writer to take so dreadful a step. At first glance, Charis appeared to have subscribed herself, Your wicked Charis; but closer scrutiny revealed that the word was not wicked, but wretched. Frederica thought bitterly that wicked more exactly described her sister.
She raised her eyes to Mrs Hurley’s face. ‘Hurley – I don’t know what can be done – if anything, but say nothing of this, I beg of you!’
‘Certainly not, ma’am! That you may depend on!’
