“I’m so pleased.” A moment’s hesitation and Lucy reached out to take Saffy’s hands lightly in her own. “Everything’s going to be perfect, you see if it isn’t. Such a special night, having Miss Juniper back from London at last.”
“I just hope the weather doesn’t hold up the trains too long.”
Lucy smiled. “You’ll be relieved to have her home safe and sound.”
“I haven’t slept a single night through since she’s been away.”
“The worry.” Lucy shook her head sympathetically. “You’ve been a mother to her, and a mother never sleeps easy when she’s worried for her babe.”
“Oh, Lucy”—Saffy’s eyes glazed—“Ihavebeen worried. So worried. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for months.”
“There haven’t been any episodes, though, have there?”
“Mercifully not, and I’m sure she would have told us if there had. Even Juniper wouldn’t be untruthful about something so serious—”
The door blasted open and they each straightened as sharply as the other. Lucy squealed and Saffy almost did, remembering this time to swipe the can and hide it behind her back. It was only the wind picking up outside, but the interruption was sufficient to sweep away the pleasant atmosphere inside and take Lucy’s smile with it. And then Saffy knew what it was that had Lucy on tenterhooks.
She considered saying nothing, the day was almost over and sometimes least said really was soonest mended, but the afternoon had been so companionable, the two of them working side by side in the kitchen and in the parlor, and Saffy was eager to set things to rights. She was allowed to have friends—sheneededto have friends—no matter what Percy felt. She cleared her throat gently. “How old were you when you started here, Lucy?”
The answer came quietly, almost as if she’d expected it: “Sixteen.”
“Twenty-two years ago, was it?”
“Twenty-four. It was 1917.”
“You were always one of Father’s favorites, you know.”
Within the oven, the pie filling had begun to simmer inside its pastry casing. The former housekeeper’s back straightened and then she sighed, slowly and deliberately. “He was good to me.”
“And you must know that Percy and I are both very fond of you.”
With the eggs all bundled, Lucy could find no further occupation at the far bench. She crossed her arms and spoke softly. “It’s kind of you to say, Miss Saffy, and unnecessary.”
“Only that if you ever changed your mind, when things are more settled, if you decided you’d like to come back in a more official—”
“No,” Lucy said. “No. Thank you.”
“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Saffy started. “Forgive me, Lucy dear. I wouldn’t have said a word, only I don’t like to think of you misunderstanding. Percy doesn’t mean anything by it, you see. It’s just her way.”
“Really, there’s no need—”
“She doesn’t like change. She never has. She almost died pining when she was sent away to hospital with scarlet fever as a girl.” Saffy made a weak attempt to lighten the mood: “I sometimes think she’d be happy for we three sisters to remain together here at Milderhurst forever. Can you imagine? All of us old ladies with hair so long and white we could sit on it?”
“I should think Miss Juniper would have something to say about that.”
“Quite.” As would Saffy herself. She had a sudden urge to tell Lucy all about the flatlet in London, the desk beneath the window, the wireless on the shelf, but she suppressed it. This wasn’t the time. Instead, she said, “Anyway, we were both sorry to see you leave us after so many years.”
“It was the war, Miss Saffy, I needed to be doing something to help, then with Mother passing as she did and Harry—”
Saffy waved her hand. “There’s no need to explain; I understand completely. Affairs of the heart and all that. We all of us have lives to lead, Lucy, particularly at a time like this. War makes one see what’s important, doesn’t it?”
“I should get on.”
“Yes. All right. And we’ll see each other again soon. Next week perhaps, to make some piccalilli for the auction? My marrows—”
“No,” said Lucy, a fresh note tightening her voice. “No. Not again. I shouldn’t have come today, only you sounded beside yourself.”
“But, Lucy—”
