William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

Crimea, so I am used to injury and the shock and distress it causes. One can take some time even to desire to recover.”
    “In the Crimea? How useful.”
    Hester was surprised. It was an odd comment to make. She looked more carefully at Beatrice’s sensitive, intelligent face with its wide eyes, jutting nose and fine lips. She was far from a classic beauty, nor did she have the rather heavy, sulky look that was currently much admired. She appeared far too spirited to appeal to many men, who might care for something a great deal more domestic seeming. And yet today her aspect completely denied the nature implicit in her features.
    “Yes,” Hester agreed. “And now that my family are dead and were not able to leave me provided for, I require to remain useful.”
    Beatrice sat up again. “It must be very satisfying to be useful. My children are adult and married themselves. We do a great deal of entertaining—at least we did—but my daughter Araminta is highly skilled at preparing guest lists that will be interesting and amusing, my cook is the envy of half of London, and my butler knows where to hire any extra help we might need. All my staff are highly trained, and I have an extremely efficient housekeeper who does not appreciate my meddling in her affairs.”
    Hester smiled. “Yes, I can imagine. I have met her. Have you taken luncheon today?”
    “I am not hungry.”
    “Then you should take a little soup, and some fruit, It can give you very unpleasant effects if you do not drink. Internal distress will not help you at all.”
    Beatrice looked as surprised as her indifference would allow.
    “You are very blunt.”
    “I do not wish to be misunderstood.”
    Beatrice smiled in spite of herself. “I doubt you very often are.”
    Hester kept her composure. She must not forget that her primary duty was to care for a woman suffering deeply.
    “May I bring you a little soup, and some fruit tart, or a custard?”
    “I imagine you will bring it anyway—and I daresay you are hungry yourself?”
    Hester smiled, glanced around the room once more, and went to begin her duties in the kitchen.
       It was that evening that Hester made her next acquaintance with Araminta. She had come downstairs to the library to fetch a book which she thought would interest Beatrice and possibly help her to sleep, and she was searching along the shelves past weighty histories, and even weightier philosophies, until she should come to poetries and novels. She was bent over on her knees with her skirts around her when Araminta came in.
    “Have you mislaid something, Miss Latterly?” she asked with faint disapproval. It was an undignified position, and too much at home for someone who was more or less a servant.
    Hester rose to her feet and straightened her clothes. They were much of a height and looked at each other across a small reading table. Araminta was dressed in black silk trimmed with velvet with tiny silk ribbons on the bodice and her hair was as vivid as marigolds in the sun. Hester was dressed in blue-gray with a white apron, and her hair was a very ordinary brown with faint touches of honey or auburn in it in the sun, but excessively dull compared with Araminta’s.
    “No, Mrs. Kellard,” she replied gravely. “I came to find something for Lady Moidore to read before she retires, so it might help her to sleep.”
    “Indeed? I would think a little laudanum would serve better?”
    “It is a last resort, ma’am,” Hester said levelly. “It tends to form a dependency, and can make one feel unwell afterwards.”
    “I imagine you know that my sister was murdered in this house less than three weeks ago?” Araminta stood very straight, her eyes unwavering. Hester admired her moral courage to be so blunt on a subject many would consider too shocking to speak of at all.
    “Yes I am,” she said gravely. “It is not surprising that your mother is extremely distressed, especially since I understand the police are still here quite often asking questions. I thought a book might take her mind off present grief, at least long enough to fall asleep, without causing the heaviness of drugs. It will not serve her to evade the pain forever. I don’t mean tosound harsh. I have lost my own parents and a brother; I am acquainted with bereavement.”
    “Presumably that is why Lady Burke-Heppenstall recommended you. I think it will be most beneficial if you can keep my mother’s mind from dwelling upon Octavia, my sister, or