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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?"
"T
hank 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."
