“I must have just missed you.”
“I’ve …” Susan looked away. “I’ve felt guilty about Harriet.”
“Why on earth? Doctor Lewis said you and the princess saved her life.”
“I only mentioned the walk to see if she’d accept, knowing Princess Louise was among the party.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “A heartless, private amusement that ended in a shooting. And Harriet is a harmless creature, really.”
“Well, this is a confessional afternoon. I’ve had similar regrets about FitzGerald. I’ve had a running joke for weeks with Inspector Tennant about his probable guilt in all this business.”
“You don’t believe he—”
Lionel shook his head. “He’s certainly no Fenian. All those lesser FitzGeralds in the Leinster clan would be poor as church mice if the Irish nationalists clawed back their land. No, it was a harmless joke about a man I dislike. Now, it seems callous.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
“Let us say that I have my reasons. Did you see him at the hospital?”
“Yes. He’d taken the afternoon train from Windsor and was there all night. He was still at Harriet’s bedside this morning.”
FitzGerald’s face had looked like bleached driftwood washed up on a strand: stiff, white, with lines deeply etched. Peter had followed Susan out the door and then stood silent, searching for words. “I’ve not been good to her.” He touched her arm. “Nor to you. Have you forgiven me?”
“Of course. It was a long time ago.” When he took his handaway, Susan realized she’d felt nothing for him but compassion.
At the end of a slight pause, Lionel looked around the room and said, “I like the way you’ve arranged things.”
Susan smiled wryly. “My sister-in-law asked if I would be more comfortable with the furniture from my old rooms. When I accepted, it arrived with almost indecent haste.”
“Ah. And was she right?”
“Yes, as it happens.”
“And shall you enjoy living on your own?”
“It’s strange, but I’ve felt less alone here than amongst the multitudes in other people’s houses. I think my nature is solitary.”
“Hmm … not much chance of solitude at Windsor Castle. Why has the queen sent you a summons, do you know?”
Susan shrugged. “I’ll find out. I have a five o’clock audience with Her Majesty.”
“How long will you be away?”
“I wish I knew. My waiting for Alix is nearly over—next week, the end of January. Another lady-in-waiting shuttles in on the first day of February.”
“You certainly got more than you bargained for, but never mind the calendar. If Her Majesty commands, you wait,” Lionel said.
“Whileyouwait, let me pour you a sherry in one of your beautiful glasses.”
Susan went to the drinks cabinet, set out a glass, and struggled with the seal on the bottle’s neck. She froze when she felt hands on her shoulders, trying to turn her. Susan jerked away, smashing the bottle into a glass and breaking its bowl.
Lionel stepped back instantly. Crimson surged into his face. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lionel. It’s … it’s not you. Not yourfault.” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. She looked up. “If only I could explain.”
“Come,” he said, standing carefully to one side, touching only her elbow. He led her to a chair, and she sat. “I won’t press you. But if you’d like to tell me, please know that you can trust me.”
“Yes. Yes, I know that.” She looked up with streaming eyes. Lionel fished out his handkerchief, and she wiped away her tears.
He said quietly, “Tell me.”
