In another quarter of an hour, we reached the doctor’s surgery, a cottage set back from the road behind a garden gate. It was a small place, almost lost in the dark and shadows of tall trees.
No one appeared to assist us, and Cynthia, never liking to wait for that sort of thing, shoved the door open and leapt to the ground. She released the catch on the coach’s side to yank down the steps, and served as footman to hand us down. She shouted at the coachman to wait and opened the gate to lead us through the tiny garden.
The front door of the surgery was unlocked, and we entered a large and pleasantly furnished room with an open doorway leading to what looked like a consulting room. A staircase led upward on the left wall, and voices floated down from above.
Lady Covington hastened up the stairs, followed by Cynthia and then me. Harriet remained below, mumbling that she was useless in a sickroom.
The first person we saw in the narrow corridor at the top of the stairs was Jonathan. His face was chalk white, his eyes red rimmed. “Mama, it is bad.”
Lady Covington drew a breath. She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it as though trying to comfort him. Then she straightened her back and walked to the door at the end of the hall.
“Your sister is downstairs,” I said to Jonathan.
“Is she?” Jonathan scowled at me. “Bloody Harriet. Damn the lot of them. Oh, sorry, Cyn. I need a drink.”
He pushed past Cynthia and clumped down the stairs. I heard the front door bang, sending a draft up the stairwell.
Cynthia peered after him. “Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said.”
I did not have time to wonder about Jonathan, because Mr. Fielding emerged from the room at the end of the corridor. He had a prayer book in his hand, his expression uncharacteristically sober.
“She’ll not last,” he said. “The poor little thing. Who would do this? It’s monstrous.”
“A tragic accident,” I said. “Inflicted on her by a cruel person.”
Cynthia folded her arms, her pale hair glistening like spun flax. “I know that look, Mrs. Holloway. Whoever did this will not be safe.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I agreed softly.
Cynthia gave me a decided nod. “Or I.”
The doctor opened the door. “Vicar. Quickly.” He gazed past him at me. “Are you the cook? She’s asking for you.”
I swallowed. Like Harriet, I did not relish sickrooms, but I did not want one of Erica’s last wishes to go unfulfilled. I gathered my skirts and followed Mr. Fielding into the room.
I knew at once that Mr. Fielding’s assessment of Erica’s condition was correct. Her breathing was swift and shallow, her face a bloodless gray. Lady Covington held her hand, a look of vast pity on her face. Mr. Fielding moved to Lady Covington’s side, opening his book and clearing his throat.
I went to the other side of the bed and took Erica’s ice-cold hand in mine. “Mrs. Hume?” I said softly. “You asked for me.”
“Cook?”
“Yes, dear.” Unlike when Jonathan or Lord Clifford had addressed me by my title, I was not in the least offended by Erica’s pathetic gasp. “I’m here.”
“You promise?”
I recalled her plea for me to look after Henry, whoever he was. I doubted she’d be able to tell me more about him now.
“Of course. I promise.”
Mr. Fielding was already speaking, reading words of comfort. “Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world, in the name of God the Father Almighty . . .”
Erica let out a breath. “Thank you. I won’t tell. It’s not your fault . . .” Another breath. “I love you, Mama.”
It was the last thing she said. The exhale became a rattle, and she lay very still.
Mr. Fielding continued to read. I’d never observed him in his full role as vicar, but now he intoned the blessing in a deep and soothing voice. Whether he believed the phrases he spoke or not, he showed nothing but calm sincerity. Lady Covington bowed her head and whispered along with him.
The doctor closed Erica’s eyes, and there was nothing more to do.
* * *
* * *
Lady Covington remained in Sydenham for the night at a nearby hotel, which had been built to house the tourists who came to visit the Crystal Palace. The doctor kept Sir Arthur at his surgery, which was also the doctor’s home, to keep an eye on him. Sir Arthur had recovered somewhat, but was still pale and sickly.
Cynthia and I would be journeying to London—Lady Covington had sent us away, saying she’d not be poisoned by the hotel’s food. Cynthia had argued, but Lady Covington had been firm.
Jonathan and Harriet remained with their mother, but George declared without inflection that he’d return to London alone and begin preparing for Erica’s funeral.
“He’s a chilly cove,” Mr. Fielding said to me as Cynthia and I rode with him in the hired coach Jonathan had commandeered. No one balked at a respectable vicar volunteering to accompany a young lady and her domestic to the train. “Covington’s behaving as though his sister’s sudden death is simply another business matter.”
“Some people hide behind a cool mask,” Cynthia said charitably, “when they lose a loved one.”
“You did not see him in the room when I was finishing the last prayers. Oh well, nothing to be done, says he. Perhaps it’s for the best. Bloody cold fish. A man who doesn’t value another’s life is a dangerous one.”
“He said it was probably for the best?” Cynthia’s brows rose. “Ah, I see. She was unmarried, a widow, yes, but her husband hadn’t amounted to much. Better she’s out of the way than continues living, a burden to her family for the next decades.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Fielding removed a flask from his pocket and drank deeply.
“Who is Henry?” I broke in.
Both Mr. Fielding and Cynthia stared at me blankly.
“Henry?” Cynthia repeated.
“Mrs. Hume asked me to look after someone called Henry,” I explained. “Had she mentioned anyone by that name, Lady Cynthia?”
Cynthia pondered a moment. “No, I’m sure she didn’t. I’ve not heard the name Henry mentioned in the house.”
“Could be anyone then,” Mr. Fielding said. “Her secret lover? Her budgerigar?”
“She has no pets,” Cynthia said. “No one in the family does. Lord Covington—the deceased one—couldn’t abide them. Didn’t like animals unless they were useful, mostly as meat. There was a lively discussion about it the other evening.”