‘What happened?’ I asked.
Dr Milne gathered up a sigh as from the pit of his being. ‘An all too common affair, my dear. The girl had got herself into trouble and tried to get herself out of it again. Mrs Duffy found her and sent for me, but by the time I got there it was far too late.’
‘Good Lord,’ I said. ‘Good God in heaven. So, is this the second inquiry that poor Lena has had to go through? It’s very odd, you know, because no one in the town has said anything and one would have thought, human nature being what it is…’
I fell silent, perplexed by the way Dr Milne was fidgeting and by the flood of colour turning his always ruddy face an even deeper shade.
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘There was no need for that, thankfully. We, that is I, I managed to avoid any question of that. She wasn’t a local girl, you know. Came down with the ladies from Edinburgh.’ He busied himself draining the last of his coffee even though it must surely have got quite cold. ‘Anyway, it was all – as I’m sure you can imagine, Mrs Gilver – it was all most upsetting for her. The more so for not being able to speak of it, being alone with the girls. I fear the delayed reaction to that has coincided with the shock and distress of the fire, not to mention the grief, and really laid her low. So,’ he started to gather himself ready to leave, ‘just be warned. She is not herself and must not be worried or bothered in any way.’ With all this talk he apparently managed to regain some of his composure and bowing curtly – and rather awkwardly I thought, a bow hardly being his usual method of leave-taking – he departed.
For a while, I was unable to move. Or no, that is far too melodramatic, but I was disinclined to stir myself. I felt a sturdy reluctance to finish my little cake, dab my lips and stand up, as though that would constitute an acceptance of the ways of the world and my place in it. I was, quite simply, furious. No inquiry, no investigation, no questions asked, for this poor creature. Then less than a fortnight later, the full might of the Law grinding into high gear for Cara. And to top it all, the placid assumption that I should share the common view and hold my tongue. I would, of course, but I was glad the good doctor was rattled. No wonder he had felt the need to unburden himself. The poor creature – what an end! And yet, what had been her alternatives? I remembered a nursery nurse of my own, fatter and fatter and then suddenly gone and not to be spoken of in front of the grown-ups ever again. Helpless, I took the last bite of my little cake, dabbed my lips and stood up.
Despite knowing that Lena’s indisposition was emotional rather than physical, I feared the smell of a sickroom, and I had to pause outside her door to ensure no sign of my distaste for the visit showed on my face. Thankfully, though, the room had no hint of the invalid about it. The shades were drawn up to let in the light and the bottom sashes were open a few inches letting the soft morning air flutter Mrs McCall’s muslin curtains in the most cheerful way. Mrs Duffy was propped up cosily in bed, her breakfast tray pushed away, looking more like herself than I could have hoped for, only rather pale and without her accustomed dignity, owing chiefly to her hair lying over her shoulder in a thin plait. I went to sit on a little armchair, but she stretched out her hand to beckon me towards her and so, having removed the tray, I sat on the edge of her bed and let her take her hands in mine.
Close to, she looked rather less composed. Her mouth quivered as she tried to speak and her eyes, which she kept lowered, were pink-rimmed and puffy. I could hear Mr Duffy moving around in the adjoining room and I spoke very softly, asking her how I might help.
‘Alec,’ she said. For a fleeting moment I panicked, but thankfully before I could tell her gently that I was not Alec, she went on: ‘Dandy, please speak to Alec for me, for Cara’s father and me. I know she sent a silly letter and I know the dear boy will want to tell them all about it, with no thought for himself, but would you please tell him from both of us, that we will quite understand if he says nothing.’
It had not occurred to me that the inquiry would delve so far into such personal aspects of Cara’s life, but I agreed instantly that it would be intolerable. Alec should not expose himself to the ridicule and pity of the townspeople in the role of a jilted lover.
‘I’ll tell him,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it will be a great relief not to have to read out the letters.’ At that moment, I felt Mrs Duffy’s fingers contract in a spasm just as the door to Mr Duffy’s room opened and he walked in. Seeing me, he stopped short, and swept from his head the tall silk hat which completed the suit of old-fashioned mourning clothes he wore. Mrs Duffy’s hand grew slick with sweat and I thought in passing how right of Dr Milne to fear for her health. She might look calm and be eating her meals but the woman was a bag of nerves.
‘Mrs Gilver,’ said Mr Duffy, grave and polite, as I jumped up from his wife’s bedside with a few words of incoherent greeting and apology.
‘I’m so pleased to have something I can do to help,’ I said at last. Mr Duffy frowned slightly at me and glanced towards his wife, and I thought once again how self-centred I seemed to be. He was about to go to the inquiry into the death of his child and Alec’s letters were only a tiny part of his worries. Why could I not take care of this one little matter for them without pushing myself forward and demanding thanks? ‘Please put it out of your minds,’ I said, seemingly unable to stop talking. I drew a deep breath. ‘Mr Duffy, may I say once again how very, very sorry I am. And I hope this morning won’t be too dreadful.’ Mr Duffy gave a vague smile and took the hand I was proffering.
‘I’ll leave you now,’ I said, turning back to Lena. ‘But if you or Clemence should want me this morning while your husband is away, I’ll be here. Just send Mrs McCall to fetch me.’
‘Clemence is summoned to the inquiry,’ said Lena, her voice quivering. ‘I can scarcely believe it, but it’s true. A court! I have tried my whole life to protect her from ugliness and now she must go to a court!’ She turned to her husband and spoke piteously. ‘Are you quite, quite sure that you could not have got her out of it somehow?’
Mr Duffy’s face was unreadable as he regarded her, then he turned to me and thanked me for my visit. I took the hint.
I had been keeping my distance from Alec, as I say, but coming downstairs I caught sight of his blurred profile through the fancy glass of the public bar and, thinking I might as well get it over with, I pushed open the door. This was less startling behaviour than it may sound for apart from Alec the bar was completely empty. It had been so for a day or two now; I assumed that the newsworthiness of the incident at the cottage was outweighed by the sheer quelling doom of the Duffys’ presence. It was much to the credit of Mrs McCall, however, that she seemed unconcerned by the quietness of her usually thriving bar trade, but turned her hand with great readiness away from pints of beer and hearty sandwiches and on to bowls of thin soup.
The public bar was rather a disappointment if the truth be told. No spittoons, I noticed, no questionable prints and no stronger a whiff of beer than there is in my own servants’ hall at Christmastime. I joined Alec at the bar, resting my elbows on its glossy surface and hooking my foot over the brass rail momentarily until, at the upward lift of his eyebrow, I removed it.
‘Are you going?’ he asked, looking at my grey day dress and hatless head. He was dressed in only slightly less extravagant mourning clothes than Mr Duffy, his own silk hat sitting incongruously on the bar beside his glass of beer.