Page 22 of Trouble

‘Miss Edwards?’

It was not Captain Edwards who had spoken; it was Joe, from the other direction. He sounded gruff as ever, but with an undercurrent of urgency. He had a crumpled list in his hand, as if he, too, might have been looking for Meera.

‘Are you unwell?’

‘I fell,’ said Grace, with a shrug. ‘Don’t tell Father. He’s .?.?. busy.’

Joe was too preoccupied to notice that Captain Edwards was still standing just ten feet above them. Emily glanced back at him; his mouth was open as if he had been about to speak, but he closed it abruptly again. He seemed to have forgotten Emily entirely – he was watching Grace, his eyes tight as Joe went to help her up.

A second later, he had turned on his heel and vanished.

‘Come on,’ said Joe. ‘Take my arm. Miss Laurence, get Meera.’

‘It’s all right, Joe, really,’ said Grace, as he helped her to her feet. ‘There is no need for all this fuss. I felt light-headed. I suppose I didn’t have enough breakfast.’

‘Well, what did you do that for?’ Joe said amiably, as they very slowly started to ascend the stairs. ‘It was plum cake. Youlikeplum cake. What was wrong with my plum cake, eh?’

By the time Emily had found Meera, who was trying to fix one of the shutters in the parlour, she had almost forgotten about the note. After relaying Grace’s small collapse, Emily pressed it into her hand as an afterthought. Meera tucked it away into her apron and then went to see about the doctor.

Emily was familiar with the strange hush that fell over a house when a doctor came to call. It pulled to the surface a sickly anxiety that drowned out everything else and made her feel distracted and brittle. She was so desperate not to be there to see him come that she went down to the servants’ dining room, found the discarded pack of playing cards that the others had probably been gambling merrily with the night before, and set up a game of patience.

She was somehow losing to herself when Meera discovered her.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Meera said, without prompting. Her apron was coming untied on one side, and she seemed to have a smear of preserve on her arm; she noticed both at once and tried to rectify them simultaneously. ‘She has just overdone it a little, and needs rest.’

Emily nodded. ‘What did Captain Edwards say?’

‘Say? I don’t know,’ said Meera, as if this were a very odd question.

Emily supposed it was. She just couldn’t get the picture of the captain standing silently at the top of the stairs out of her head. What sort of father wouldn’t come rushing to his daughter’s aid? Would sneak away rather than extend a hand, or a kind word? Even Emily’s own father would have done better, although his only comfort would likely have been a ruffling of her hair and gruff advice to get straight back on her feet.

‘Grace didn’t want him to know,’ said Emily, and Meera sighed.

‘I do not encourage the keeping of secrets in this house,’ she said.

It felt pointed enough that heat rose in Emily’s cheeks, but Meera did not seem to be accusing her of anything. She sat down opposite Emily, taking the weight off her feet and letting out a long breath.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Me?’ said Emily, blindsided.

‘Are you settling in? Sleeping? Eating enough? Is there anything you miss from home, perhaps, that I could request from Joe?’

‘Oh,’ said Emily. She had barely spared a thought for any of this; she was eating, she was sleeping, but whether it wasenoughhad never been worth considering. ‘No. I mean .?.?. yes.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Meera, studying her. Emily thought of the barmaid’s not particularly flattering description of the new governess at Fairmont House, and wondered if they all saw her that way: pale and ugly and strange, in dire need of feeding up. ‘Well, let me know if you need anything. And if .?.?. well, I can fetch you something from the stillroom if you’d like something for the .?.?. the rash, on your hands.’

Emily’s hands curled protectively like startled hedgehogs. There was no rash, just the healing calluses from hard days of menial labour – but she was struck with suspicion that Meera had already guessed this, and was trying to be delicate about it.

It was ridiculous. Her hands were fine.

‘I don’t need anything,’ she said, and Meera looked at her far too closely before giving a little shrug and getting to her feet.

‘In my experience, that is very rarely true,’ she said, ‘but each to their own, I suppose. Right, I ought to start the tea. I shouldn’t think you’ll be needed for lessons tomorrow morning, but Grace might wish for some company in the afternoon. Oh, and be careful if you show your face above ground – Aster is in a bit of a difficult mood.’

There was a letter addressed toMiss Laurencewaiting in Emily’s room when she finally ascended the stairs, keeping an eye out for Aster all the while, like a vole scanning for owls. As soon as she saw Amy’s handwriting she snatched it up and took it to her bed, so that she could read it slowly from the comfort of her blankets.

Dear Emily,