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“Caleb lives in Limehouse, doesn’t he?” Hester remembered.
“I believe so.” Genevieve’s body tensed and her hands stopped moving her fork. “Why? I certainly haven’t heard it from him. I only met him once or twice. I barely even knew him!” The fear and the horror were sharp in her face, and a loathing too great for words.
Hester felt ashamed for having brought up the name of the man who had taken so much from her. Instinctively she put out her hand and touched Genevieve’s where it lay on the table.
“I’m sorry. I wish I had not spoken of him. There must be pleasant things for us to discuss. I met Mr. Niven in the hall yesterday as I was leaving. He seems a very gentle man, and a good friend to you.”
Genevieve flushed. “Yes, he is,” she admitted. “He was very fond of Angus, in spite of the … the business misfortunes which befell him because of Angus’s greater skill. He really is quite able, you know. He has learned from his incautious judgments.”
“I’m glad,” Hester said sincerely. She had liked Niven’s face, and she certainly liked Genevieve. “Perhaps he will yet find a position where he can mend his situation.” Genevieve looked down. There was an awkwardness in her, but her short chin was set in determination, and there was tenderness and grief in her wide mouth.
“I … I am considering offering him the management of my business … that is … that is, of course, if I am permitted to.” She gazed at Hester. “You must think me very cold. No one has yet proved what happened to my husband, although I know in my heart. And here I am discussing who I will put in his place.” She leaned forward, pushing her unfinished plate out of the way. “I cannot help Angus anymore. I tried everything I knew to persuade him not to go to Caleb, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Now I have to think of my children and what will happen to them. The world won’t wait while I grieve.” Her eyes were steady, and, gazing back at her, Hester realized some of the strength in her, the power of the resolve which had made her what she was and which now drove her on to rein in her own pain, guard and control it, for the sake of her children.
Perhaps some of her admiration was plain in her expression, because the defensiveness eased out of Genevieve and she smiled ruefully, a little at herself.
Genevieve seemed such a formal name for such a woman, almost an earthy woman, one with such a vivid reality. In the lamplight Hester could see the shadow her lashes cast on her cheek and the very faint down on the skin. Had Angus called her Genny?
Genny … Ginny?
Was that where it all came from, the explanation for her acutely observed understanding of the people of Limehouse and their like, and the terror of poverty? Was it a dreadful familiarity which set her determination, that at almost any cost she would not allow her children ever to be cold, hungry, frightened and ashamed as she had been? The squalor and despair of the Limehouse slums was huge in her memory, and no present comfort would ever expunge it. Perhaps she was the girl Mary had spoken of, who had escaped Limehouse to marriage?
“Yes,” Hester said quietly. “Yes, I see. I am sure Monk will do everything he can to prove Angus’s death. And he is extremely clever. If he cannot do it one way, he will find another. Don’t despair.”
Genevieve looked at her, hope in her eyes, and curiosity. “Do you know him well?”
Hester hesitated. What was the answer to that? She was not sure she even knew it herself, much less that she was prepared to share it. What did she know of him? The areas she did not know were vast, cavernous; perhaps they were even areas he did not know himself?
“Only professionally,” she replied with a tight smile, leaning back in her chair, away from Genevieve and the quick perception in her face. Her mind was filled suddenly with the memory of those few moments in the closed room in Edinburgh, of the feel of his arms around her and that one passionate, sublime kiss. “I have seen him work in other cases,” she hurried on, knowing her face was hot. Could Genevieve see how she was lying? She thought so. “Do cling onto hope.” She was talking too much, trying to turn the subject. “At least it seems he has learned the truth. He will find a way to prove it, sufficient for the authorities to—” She stopped.
Genevieve was smiling. She said nothing, but her silence was eloquent and full of pleasure.
Hester felt trapped, not by Genevieve but by herself.
“You came from Limehouse, didn’t you?” she said quietly, as a matter of confidence, not accusation. Half of her knew it was an attack to defend herself.
Genevieve flushed, but her eyes did not evade Hester’s, nor was there anger in them.
“Yes. It seems like another life now, it was so different, and so many years ago.” She moved a little and the lamplight changed on the planes of her face, throwing the strength into relief. “But I won’t let anything drive me back. My children will not grow up there! And I won’t have Lord Ravensbrook feed them and clothe them, and dictate what manner of people they shall be. I won’t let him hug them, to fill Angus’s place.”
“Would he do that?” Hester said slowly, picturing Ravensbrook’s dark, patrician face in her mind with its arrogance and charm.
“I don’t know,” Genevieve confessed. “But I’m afraid of it. I feel terribly alone without Angus. You see, he understood me. He knew where I came from, and he didn’t mind my occasional mistakes.…”
A whole vision of fear and humiliation opened up in front of Hester. With a breathtaking vividness she perceived what it would be like for Genevieve at Ravensbrook House night and day, watched at every meal, observed and quite soon criticized. Not only would Ravensbrook himself notice all the tiny errors in even the most carefully produced etiquette or grammar, but perhaps even worse, so would the staff, the careful butler, the supercilious housekeeper, the giggling maids. Only possibly Enid would not care.
“Of course,” she said with intense feeling. “You must keep your own home. Mr.—”
She was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door and the housekeeper walking in, her face grim, the keys at her belt jangling.
“There is a person to see you, Miss Latterly,” she announced. “You had better use the butler’s pantry. Mr. Dolman says as he doesn’t mind. Begging your pardon, Mrs. Stonefield.”
“What kind of a person?” Hester asked.
The housekeeper’s face did not change in the slightest, not a flicker of her expression moved.
“A male person, Miss Latterly. More than that you will have to find out for yourself. Please be advised we do not allow the female staff to have followers, and that also applies to you while you are resident here, whatever your purpose.”
/> Hester was stunned.
