William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

servant, it is far more likely to be Fenella! Except that I doubt she would ever have inspired a passion which drove anyone to murder—unless it was to murder her. Nor would she have changed her mindand resisted at the last moment. I doubt Fenella ever declined anyone—” Her face twisted in distaste and incomprehension.
    His expression mirrored an equal disgust, mixed with an anger that was no sudden flash but came from deep within him.
    “Vulgarity is most unbecoming, Beatrice, and even this tragedy is no excuse for it. I shall admonish Fenella if I think the occasion warrants it. I take it you are not suggesting Fenella killed Octavia in a fit of jealousy over the attentions of the footman?”
    It was obviously intended as sarcasm, but she took it literally.
    “I was not suggesting it,” she agreed. “But now that you raise the thought, it does not seem impossible. Percival is a good-looking young man, and I have observed Fenella regarding him with appreciation.” Her face puckered and she shuddered very slightly. “I know it is revolting—” She stared beyond him to the dressing table with its cut glass containers and silver-topped bottles neatly arranged. “But there is a streak of viciousness in Fenella—”
    He stood up and turned his back to her, looking out of the window, still apparently oblivious of Hester standing in the dressing room doorway with a peignoir over her arm and a clothes brush in her hand.
    “You are a great deal more fastidious than most women, Beatrice,” he said flatly. “I think sometimes you do not know the difference between restraint and abstemiousness.”
    “I know the difference between a footman and a gentleman,” she said quietly, and then stopped and frowned, a curious little twitch of humor on her lips. “That’s a lie—I have no idea at all. I have no familiarity with footmen whatsoever—”
    He swung around, unaware of the slightest humor in her remark or in the situation, only anger and acute insult.
    “This tragedy has unhinged your mind,” he said coldly, his black eyes flat, seeming expressionless in the lamplight. “You have lost your sense of what is fitting and what is not. I think it will be better if you remain here until you can compose yourself. I suppose it is to be expected, you are not strong. Let Miss—what is her name—care for you. Araminta will see to the household until you are better. We shall not be entertaining,naturally. There is no need for you to concern yourself; we shall manage very well.” And without saying anything further he walked out and closed the door very quietly behind him, letting the latch fall home with a thud.
    Beatrice pushed her unfinished tray away from her and turned over, burying her face in the pillows, and Hester could see from the quivering of her shoulders that she was weeping, although she made no sound.
    Hester took the tray and put it on the side table, then wrung out a cloth in warm water from the ewer and returned to the bed. Very gently she put her arms around the other woman and held her until she was quiet, then, with great care, smoothed the hair off her brow and wiped her eyes and cheeks with the cloth.
       It was the beginning of the afternoon when she was returning from the laundry with her clean aprons that Hester half accidentally overheard an exchange between the footman Percival and the laundry maid Rose. Rose was folding a pile of embroidered linen pillowcases and had just given Lizzie, who was her elder sister, the parlormaid’s lace-edged aprons. She was standing very upright, her back rigid, her shoulders squared and her chin high. She was tiny, with a waist even Hester could almost have put her hands around, and small, square hands with amazing strength in them. Her cornflower-blue eyes were enormous in her pretty face, not spoiled by a rather long nose and overgenerous mouth.
    “What do you want in here?” she asked, but her words were belied by her voice. It was phrased as a demand, but it sounded like an invitation.
    “Mr. Kellard’s shirts,” Percival said noncommittally.
    “I didn’t know that was your job. You’ll have Mr. Rhodes after you if you step out of your duties!”
    “Rhodes asked me to do it for him,” he replied.
    “Though you’d like to be a valet, wouldn’t you? Get to travel with Mr. Kellard when he goes to stay at these big houses for parties and the like—” Her voice caressed the idea, and listening, Hester could envision her eyes