“Aunt—”
“No, no, I know. I did wonder perhaps if…but yes, now I see that you would not quite suit. It is a little awkward, to be sure.”
“I can dissuade the man without hurting his feelings. I have done so before. As you know.”
“Yes…you always do it so very delicately, but…”
The wheels kept turning. It was a fishing net winch, dredging the bottom of the sea. It was very dark down there, in the sunless mud. It was full of death, and bones, and…
She sucked in a breath, and fixed her eyes to the window, though she saw nothing but the smear of dust on the glass.
“The reverend did make some good points, if it is…if it’s guilt which holds you back…”
Always shocking, how much saltwater could sting.
“It is not guilt.” She would keep her voice firm, each word hard and smooth as beach pebbles. “I do not remarry because I have no wish to remarry. Alfred is my husband. He was and is the only man I could ever love.”
Tears were salty too. Only one of them reached her lips. Her aunt couldn’t see it, not with her head turned this way to the window, and there was no trace of it in her voice.
“You know me well enough to know I will never marry without love.”
There was no anger in her aunt’s sigh, not even irritation, only a wash of sympathy and sorrow. “I know. I know, my dear. And you know me well enough to know I’ll always hope you are loved, loved steadily and surely for all the years of your life…”
“I am.”
“By more than your family—”
“Alfred loves me. He swore it, and death isn’t going to stop him.” Her finger traced the glass, though the dust was all on the other side and she left no mark. “He’s out there…up there…if I don’t believe that, I have nothing. So that is what I believe.”
The cobbles rattled on, the street as dirty as a thousand men and horses could make it. A church spire shot up, visible for a moment as they passed a gap between two buildings. All those spires reached for the sky, to the porcelain whiteness, clouds obscuring what lay above. But they were grasping dark fingers; all those spires were winter-bare trees, bony as the reverend’sclutch would no doubt be. It had been a long time since she’d been inside a church and felt anything but hollow. And she, a parson’s daughter! But in this world of orphans and beaten children and dead men, faith wore thin as smoke. Sometimes a fell wind blew it away completely.
At times like this, she found her faith in people. In her aunt, whose indefatigable goodness came from within, not any external force. Many people did good things, entirely unprompted by reference to greater beings. Some people, like Lord Cotereigh, did good things without even having good feelings. He was helping the boy; who knew why? It only mattered that he did.
Nowtherewas a man who wouldn’t blink if she admitted the crime of having lost her faith. If he judged, it would only be to wonder why she’d taken so long or why she cared at all. She could rant at him and lose her temper, as she several times had; she could admit that she was bitter and angry and tired, and he’d only smirk and say something worse.
But where would that lead, both of them taking turns at the shovel, digging downwards into the dark?
Her aunt gave up, sighing and sad, and the carriage rolled on.
When they arrived later at Lord Cotereigh’s house, a flustered porter opened the door, and they found something Madelaine had never expected to find in those cool, immaculate environs.
Pandemonium.
Or as good as, in that pristine hallway of beeswax polish and gleaming marble. Servants hurried this way and that, up and down the stairs. Loud voices came from some room further in the house, not angry but urgent.
“…tried the stables, and they swear he ain’t been there—”
“Then try again.” That was Lord Cotereigh. “And ask in the back lanes. Send people to look.”
A murmur, the porter interrupting, informing him of their visitors. A moment later, Lord Cotereigh appeared, striding down the hallway towards them, tugging his waistcoat, his sleeves, as though the frenetic disorder in his house was a contagion he sought to clean himself of.
He bowed, short and efficient. “Lady Pemberthy, Mrs Ardingly.”
“Do we come at a bad time?” No point standing on ceremony and uttering polite nothings. They were past that, surely. “Whatever is the matter?”
The slightest of pauses. “Tom has gone missing.”
Her heart pinched. Her aunt let out a gasp of dismay. Lord Cotereigh’s mouth was pulled tight—he looked annoyed, annoyed at himself, but it was only a mask for the deeper, darker worry hiding in his eyes. He didn’t quite look at her.
