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At last, feeling numb with sadness, Hester was permitted to leave, and made her way to the street, where she hailed a hansom cab and gave the driver Callandra Daviot’s address. She did not even consider whether it was a courteous thing to turn up in the middle of the morning, unannounced and in a state of distress. Her desire to be warm and safe, and to hear a familiar voice, was so intense it drove out normal thoughts of decorum. Not that Callandra was someone who cared much for such things, but eccentricity was not the same as lack of consideration.
It was a gray day, with gusts of rain on the wind, but she was unaware of her surroundings. Grimy streets and soot-stained walls and wet pavements gave way to more gracious squares, falling leaves and splashes of autumn color, but they did not intrude into her consciousness.
“ ‘Ere y’are, miss,” the driver said at last, peering down at her through the peephole.
“What?” she said abruptly.
“We’re ’ere, miss. Ye goin’ ter get out, or d’yer wanner stay sitting in ’ere? I’ll ’ave ter charge yer. I got me livin’ ter make.”
“No, of course I don’t want to stay in here,” she said crossly, scrambling to open the door with one hand and grasp her bag with the other. She alighted awkwardly and, setting her bag on the pavement, paid him and bade him a good day. As the horse moved off, and the rain increased in strength, making broad puddles where the stones were uneven, she picked up the bag again and climbed the steps to the front door. Please heaven Callandra was at home, and not out engaged in one of her many interests. She had refused to think of that before, because she did not want to face the possibility, but now it seemed so likely she even hesitated on the step, and stood undecided in the rain, her feet wet, her skirts becoming sodden where they brushed the stones.
There was nothing to lose now. She pulled the bell knob and waited.
The door opened but it was a moment before the butler recognized her, then his expression changed.
“Good morning, Miss Latterly.” He made as if to say something further, then thought better of it.
“Good morning. Is Lady Callandra at home?”
“Yes ma’am. If you care to come in, I shall inform her you are here.” He moved aside to allow her to pass, his eyebrows slightly raised at her bedraggled appearance. He took her bag from her and set it down gingerly, then excused himself, leaving her dripping onto the polished floor.
It was Callandra herself who appeared, her curious, long-nosed face full of concern. As always, her hair was escaping its pins as if to take flight, and her green gown was more comfortable than elegant. The wide skirts had become her when she was younger and slimmer, now they no longer disguised a certain generosity of hip, but made her seem shorter than she was. However, her carriage, as always, was excellent, and her humor and intelligence more than made up for any lack of beauty.
“My dear, you look awful!” she said with anxiety. “Whatever has happened? I thought you had gone to Edinburgh. Was it canceled?” For the moment she ignored the sodden skirt and the generally crumpled gown, the hair as untidy as her own. “You look quite ill.”
Hester smiled in sheer relief at seeing her. It filled her with a sense of warmth far deeper than anything physical, like a homecoming after a lonely journey.
“I did go to Edinburgh. I came home on the overnight train. My patient died.”
“Oh my dear, I’m so sorry,” Callandra said quickly. “Before you got there? How wretched. Still—oh—” She searched Hester’s face. “That’s not what you mean, is it? She died in your charge?”
“Yes.”
“They had no business to dispatch you with someone so ill,” she said decisively. “Poor creature, to have died away from home, and on a train, of all things. You must feel dreadful. You certainly look it.” She took Hester’s arm. “Come in and sit down. That skirt is soaking wet. Nothing of mine will fit you, you’d step right through them. You’ll have to make do with one of the maid’s dresses. They are quite good enough until that dries out. Or you’ll catch your—” She stopped and pulled a sorrowful face.
“Death,” Hester supplied for her with a ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”
“Daisy,” Callandra called loudly. “Daisy, come here if you please!”
Obediently a slender dark girl with wide eyes came out of the dining room door, a duster in her hand, her lace cap a trifle crooked on her head.
“Yes, your ladyship?”
“You are about Miss Latterly’s height. Would you be good enough to lend her a dress until hers is dried out. I have no idea what she has been doing in it, but it is shedding a pool of water in here, and must be as cold as Christmas to wear. Oh, and you’d better find some boots and stockings for her too. Then on your way ask Cook to send some hot chocolate into the green room.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” She bobbed in something like a half curtsy, and with a glance at Hester to make sure she had understood the instruction, led her away to fulfill the errand.
Ten minutes later Hester was dressed in a gray stuff gown which fitted her excellently apart from being a couple of inches short at the ankle, showing her borrowed stockings and boots, and sitting beside the fire opposite Callandra.
The room was one of her favorites, decorated entirely in dark green and white, with white doors and window embrasures, directing one’s eye toward the light. The furniture was warm, dark rosewood, upholstered in cream brocade, and there was a bowl of white chrysanthemums on the table. She put her hands around the cup of hot chocolate and sipped it gratefully. It was ridiculous to be so cold; it was not even winter, and certainly far from frosty outside. And yet she was shivering.
“Shock,” Callandra said sympathetically. “Drink it. It will make you feel better.”
Hester sipped again, and felt the hot liquid down her throat.
“She was so well the evening before,” she said vehemently. “We sat up and talked about all sorts of things. She would have talked longer, only her daughter instructed me she should not stay up later than quarter past eleven at the outside.”
“If she was well until the very last evening of her life, she was most fortunate,” Callandra said, looking at Hester over the top of the cup. “Most people have at least some period of illness, usually weeks. Of course it is a shock, but in a little while it will seem more of a blessing.”
