Anne Perry - The Face of a Stranger

"I'm sorry," Rosamond murmured, and looked down at her plate, obviously feeling she had said something indelicate.

"Not at all," Hester assured her quickly. "I have already had some truly inspiring experiences, and hope to have more." She was about to add that it is a marvelous feeling to be of use, then realized how cruel it would be, and swallowed the words somewhat awkwardly over a mouthful of mutton and sauce.

"Inspiring?" Lovel frowned. "Are you a religious, Miss Latterly?"

Callandra coughed profusely into her napkin; apparently she had swallowed something awry. Fabia passed her a glass of water. Hester averted her eyes.

"No, Lord Shelburne," she said with as much composure as she could. "I have been nursing in the Crimea."

There was a stunned silence all around, not even the clink of silver on porcelain.

"My brother-in-law, Major Joscelin Grey, served in the Crimea,'' Rosamond said into the void. Her voice was soft and sad. "He died shortly after he returned home."

"That is something of a euphemism," Lovel added, his face hardening. "He was murdered in his flat in London, as no doubt you will hear. The police have been inquiring into it, even out here! But they have not arrested anyone yet."

"I am terribly sorry!" Hester meant it with genuine shock. She had nursed a Joscelin Grey in the hospital in Scutari, only briefly; his injury was serious enough, but not compared with the worst, and those who also suffered from disease. She recalled him: he had been young and fair-haired with a wide, easy smile and a natural grace. "I remember him-" Now Effie's words came back to her with clarity.

Rosamond dropped her fork, the color rushing to her cheeks, then ebbing away again leaving her ash-white. Fa-bia closed her eyes and took in a very long, deep breath and let it go soundlessly.

Lovel stared at his plate. Only Menard was looking at her, and rather than surprise or grief there was an expression in his face which appeared to be wariness, and a kind of closed, careful pain.

"How remarkable," he said slowly. "Still, I suppose you saw hundreds of soldiers, if not thousands. Our losses were staggering, so I am told."

"They were," she agreed grimly. "Far more than is generally understood, over eighteen thousand, and many of them needlessly-eight-ninths died not in battle but of wounds or disease afterwards."

"Do you remember Joscelin?" Rosamond said eagerly, totally ignoring the horrific figures. "He was injured in the leg. Even afterwards he was compelled to walk with a limp-indeed he often used a stick to support himself."

"He only used it when he was tired!" Fabia said sharply.

"He used it when he wanted sympathy," Menard said half under his breath.

"That is unworthy!" Fabia's voice was dangerously soft, laden with warning, and her blue eyes rested on her second son with chill disfavor. “I shall consider that you did not say it."

"We observe the convention that we speak no ill of the dead," Menard said with irony unusual in him. "Which limits conversation considerably."

Rosamond stared at her plate. "I never understand your humor, Menard," she complained.

"That is because he is very seldom intentionally funny," Fabia snapped.

"Whereas Joscelin was always amusing." Menard was angry and no longer made any pretense at hiding it. "It is marvelous what a little laughter can do-entertain you enough and you will turn a blind eye on anything!"

"I loVed Joscelin." Fabia met his eyes with a stony glare. "I enjoyed his company. So did a great many others. I love you also, but you bore me to tears."

"You are happy enough to enjoy the profits of my work!" His face was burning and his eyes bright with fury. "I preserve the estate's finances and see that it is properly managed, while Lovel keeps up the family name, sits in the House of Lords or does whatever else peers of the realm do-and Joscelin never did a damn thing but lounge around in clubs and drawing rooms gambling it away!"

The blood drained from Fabia's skin leaving her grasping her knife and fork as if they were lifelines.

"And you still resent that?" Her voice was little more than a whisper. "He fought in the war, risked his life serving his Queen and country in terrible conditions, saw blood and slaughter. And when he came home wounded, you grudged him a little entertainment with his friends?"

Menard drew in his breath to retort, then saw the pain in his mother's face, deeper than her anger and underlying everything else, and held his tongue.

"I was embarrassed by some of his losses," he said softly. "That is all."

Hester glanced at Callandra, and saw a mixture of anger, pity and respect in her highly expressive features, although which emotion was for whom she; did not know. She thought perhaps the respect was for Menard.

Lovel smiled very bleakly. "I am afraid you may find the police are still around here, Miss Latterly. They have sent a very ill-mannered fellow, something of an upstart, although I daresay he is better bred than most policemen. But he does not seem to have much idea of what he is doing, and asks some very impertinent questions. If he should return during your stay and give you the slightest trouble, tell him to be off, and let me know."

"By all means," Hester agreed. To the best of her knowledge she had never conversed with a policeman, and she had no interest in doing so now. "It must all be most distressing for you."

"Indeed," Fabia agreed.."But an unpleasantness we have no alternative but to endure. It appears more than possible poor Joscelin was murdered by someone he knew.''

Hester could think of no appropriate reply, nothing that was not either wounding or completely senseless.

"Thank you for your counsel," she said to Menard, then lowered her eyes and continued with her meal.

After the fruit had been passed the women withdrew and Lovel and Menard drank port for half an hour or so, then Lovel put on his smoking jacket and retired to the smoking room to indulge, and Menard went to the library. No one remained up beyond ten o'clock, each making some excuse why they had found the day tiring and wished to sleep.

Breakfast was the usual generous meal: porridge, bacon, eggs, deviled kidneys, chops, kedgeree, smoked haddock, toast, butter, sweet preserves, apricot compote, marmalade, honey, tea and coffee. Hester ate lightly; the very thought of partaking of all of it made her feel bloated. Both Rosamond and Fabia ate in their rooms, Menard had already dined and left and Callandra had not arisen. Lovel was her only companion.

"Good morning, Miss Latterly. I hope you slept well?"

"Excellently, thank you, Lord Shelburne." She helped herself from the heated dishes on the sideboard and sat down. "I hope you are well also?"

"What? Oh-yes thank you. Always well." He proceeded with his heaped meal and it was several minutes before he looked up at her again. "By the way, I hope you will be generous enough to disregard a great deal of what Menard said at dinner yesterday? We all take grief in different ways. Menard lost his closest friend also-fellow he was at school and Cambridge with. Took it terribly hard. But he was really very fond of Joscelin, you know, just that as immediately elder brother he had-er-" He searched for the right words to explain his thoughts, and failed to find them. "He-er-had-"

"Responsibilities to care for him?" she suggested.

Gratitude shone in his face. "Exactly. Sometimes I daresay Joscelin gambled more than he should, and it was Menard who-er…"

"I understand," she said, more to put him out of his embarrassment and end the painful conversation than because she believed him.

Later in a fine, blustery morning, walking under the trees with Callandra, she learned a good deal more.

"Stuff and nonsense," Callandra said sharply. "Joscelin was a cheat. Always was, even in the nursery. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he never grew out of it, and