‘Good morning, Mrs Devereux,’ Florence said politely.
The woman started violently and dropped one of her gloves, along with her prayer book. Florence picked them up for her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, giving Florence a puzzled look, as if trying to place her.
‘Florence Minton,’ she said helpfully. ‘I work at Island House, and my Billy runs the bread shop.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Clutching her handbag to her, the woman looked a regular bundle of nerves and appeared desperate to get away from Florence, as though she might catch something from her.
‘Ah, hello Mrs Devereux!’ chimed the vicar, as they moved forward, ‘what a pleasure to see you; it’s good of you to join us this morning. Mr Devereux not with you?’
‘He ... he’s in London. Business matters ... he’s always so busy.’
‘I hope he’s not suffered anyill-effects from the smog while there. It was bad enough what drifted our way here in dear old Melstead St Mary. We must give thanks that it’s now dissipated. Will you and Mr Devereux be here for Christmas? And your young son, Charles?’
Whatever her answer was, Florence didn’t hear the woman as she seemed intent on escaping as quickly as possible. Florence followed soon after and caught up with her on the gravel pathway where she was blowing her nose. But just as Florence was about to pass by, she realised Julia was crying. She slowed her step.
‘Everything all right, Mrs Devereux?’
Again Julia started. The woman was as nervous as a rabbit! ‘I’m ... fine,’ she stuttered, fumbling with the handkerchief. ‘It’s the cold, it always gets in my eyes like this.’
Florence wasn’t convinced, but it wasn’t her place to press the point. Even so, she couldn’t just walk away. The woman looked so distressed. To Florence’s knowledge she had no friends in the village. Romily had often invited Julia to join them at Island House for lunch or dinner when Arthur was away, as he often was, but the invitations were always declined.
‘If there’s anything you need, Mrs Devereux,’ Florence said, ‘you only have to ask.’
The comment drew a stifled sob from her, much like the sound Florence had heard when the vicar had announced they should pray for Hope.
‘Excuse me,’ Julia muttered, ‘I need to get home before—’ her words ground to a halt as she pressed the handkerchief against her mouth.
Her misery was horrible to see. ‘Before what?’ Florence said gently. Before Julia broke down completely? Before that unpleasant housekeeper could look down her snooty nose at Julia?
In the last twelve months since Miss Casey had started working at the Hall, she had gained herself a reputation for being rude andstand-offish. Nobody in the village had warmed to her.
But without answering Florence, Julia wheeled away sharply and set off down the road. Florence watched her go. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for her going back to that great mausoleum of a house. It must be a lonely life there for her.
ChapterFifty-Six
Island House, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Romily
Conscious that Edmund was at the end of his tether worrying about Hope, Romily had invited him and Annelise for Sunday lunch, along with Kit and Evelyn, and Stanley. Had Pip and Em not been away in Lincolnshire for a house party to celebrate a friend’s birthday, the invitation would have included them too.
The meal of roast pork now served, and with plates and glasses filled, the talk around the table turned to theever-reliable topic – when the mood was awkward – of the weather.
‘They say it’s going to become a lot colder,’ said Evelyn.
‘I read in the newspaper it’s going to snow,’ agreed Kit.
‘I read that too,’ remarked Romily.
‘A white Christmas is on the cards,’ said Stanley.
The stilted conversation moved on to snatches of village gossip, but it was desperately forced and through it all Edmund remainedtight-lipped, his expression impassive. But was it any wonder when there was still no improvement in Hope’s condition and optimism was fast running out? Annelise was also quieter than usual, and to Romily’s eye, the girl didn’t look well. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes which emphasised just how pale she was.
‘Evelyn and I saw Julia walking home on our way here,’ said Kit, when the conversation ran dry and a jarring silence had fallen on them. ‘I stopped the car to say hello, but she behaved most oddly.’
