William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

head very slightly. “I fear you have quite a way to go.”
    Hester achieved the last of these admonitions instantly, and kept her temper in spite of monstrous provocation.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Moidore,” she said after taking a deep breath. “I fear perhaps I am destined to remain single, but I shall not forget your advice.”
    “Oh, I hope not,” Romola said with deep sympathy. “It is a most unnatural state for a woman. Learn to bridle your tongue, Miss Latterly, and never give up hope.”
    Fortunately, upon that final piece of counsel she went back to the withdrawing room, leaving Hester boiling with words unsaid. And yet she was curiously perplexed, and her temper crippled by a sense of pity that did not yet know its object, only that there was confusion and unhappiness and she was sharply aware of it.
       Hester took the opportunity to rise early the following day and find herself small tasks around the kitchen and laundry in the hope of improving her acquaintance with some of the other servants—and whatever knowledge they might have. Even if the pieces seemed to them to be meaningless, to Monk they might fit with other scraps to form a picture.
    Annie and Maggie were chasing each other up the stairs and falling over in giggles, stuffing their aprons in their mouths to stop the sound from carrying along the landing.
    “What’s entertained you so early?” Hester asked with a smile.
    They both looked at her, wide-eyed and shaking with laughter.
    “Well?” Hester said, without criticism in her tone. “Can’t you share it? I could use a joke myself.”
    “Mrs. Sandeman,” Maggie volunteered, pushing her fair hair out of her eyes. “It’s those papers she’s got, miss. You never seen anything like it, honest, such tales as’d curdle your blood—and goings-on between men and women as’d make a street girl blush.”
    “Indeed?” Hester raised her eyebrows. “Mrs. Sandeman has some very colorful reading?”
    “Mostly purple, I’d say.” Annie grinned.
    “Scarlet,” Maggie corrected, and burst into giggles again.
    “Where did you get this?” Hester asked her, holding the paper and trying to keep a sober face.
    “Out of her room when we cleaned it,” Annie replied with transparent innocence.
    “At this time in the morning?” Hester said doubtfully. “It’s only half past six. Don’t tell me Mrs. Sandeman is up already?”
    “Oh no. ‘Course not. She doesn’t get up till lunchtime,” Maggie said quickly. “Sleeping it off, I shouldn’t wonder.”
    “Sleeping what off?” Hester was not going to let it go. “She wasn’t out yesterday evening.”
    “She gets tiddly in her room,” Annie replied. “Mr. Thirsk brings it to her from the cellar. I dunno why; I never thought he liked her. But I suppose he must do, to pinch port wine for her—and the best stuff too.”
    “He takes it because he hates Sir Basil, stupid!” Maggie said sharply. “That’s why he takes the best. One of these days Sir Basil’s going to send Mr. Phillips for a bottle of old port, and there isn’t going to be any left. Mrs. Sandeman’s drunk it all.”
    “I still don’t think he likes her,” Annie insisted. “Have you seen the way his eyes are when he looks at her?”
    “Perhaps he had a fancy for her?” Maggie said hopefully, a whole new vista of speculation opening up before her imagination. “And she turned him down, so now he hates her.”
    “No.” Annie was quite sure. “No, I think he despises her. He used to be a pretty good soldier, you know—I mean something special—before he had a tragic love affair.”
    “How do you know?” Hester demanded. “I’m sure he didn’t tell you.”
    “ ‘Course not. I heard ’er ladyship talking about it to Mr. Cyprian. I think he thinks she’s disgusting—not like a lady should be at all.” Her eyes grew wider. “What if she made an improper advance to him, and he was revolted and turned her down?”
    “Then she should hate him,” Hester pointed out.
    “Oh, she does,” Annie said instantly. “One of these days she’ll tell Sir Basil about him taking the port, you’ll see. Only maybe she’ll be so squiffy by then he won’t believe her.”
    Hester seized the opportunity, and was half ashamed of doing it.
    “Who do you think killed Mrs. Haslett?”
    Their smiles vanished.
    “Well, Mr. Cyprian’s much too nice, an’ why would he anyway?” Annie dismissed him. “Mrs. Moidore never takes that much notice of anyone else