Page 140 of A Sudden, Fearful Death (William Monk 4)

She followed after the stationmaster as he backed out of the entrance and led the way to the carriage door. He turned and assisted her to alight onto the platform. The outside air was sharp and cold on her face, smelling of steam and soot and the grime of thousands of dirty feet. A chill wind whistled along the platform, in spite of the roof overhead, and the noise of trollies, boot heels, banging doors and voices echoed up into the vast overhead span. She followed the stationmaster jostling through the thinning crowd as they reached the steps to his office.

“Are they … here?” she asked, suddenly finding her throat tight.

“Yes, miss. Weren’t ’ard to find. Young lady and gentleman looking to that train. Only ’ad to ask.”

“Has anyone told them yet?”

“No, miss. Thought it better to learn that from you, seein’ as you know the family, and o’ course knew the lady herself.”

“Oh.”

The stationmaster opened the door and stood back. Hester went straight in.

The first person she saw was a young woman with fair auburn hair, waved like Eilish’s, but much duller in color, sandy rather than burning autumnal. Her face was oval, her features good, but lacking both the passion and the beauty of her sister. Compared with anyone else, she would have been handsome enough, in a quiet, very seemly sort of way, but having met Eilish, Hester could only see her as a shadow, a pale reflection. Perhaps in time, when her present condition had run its term and she was no longer plagued by anxieties, she could be more like Oonagh, have more vivacity and confidence in her.

But it was the man beside her who spoke. He was three or four inches taller than she, his face bony, with hooded eyes and a habit of pursing his lips, which drew attention to his well-shaped mouth.

“You are the nurse employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline on the train?” he demanded. “Good. Perhaps you can tell us what this is all about? Where is Mrs. Farraline? Why

have we been kept waiting here?”

Hester met his eyes for a moment in acknowledgment that she had heard him, then turned to Griselda.

“I am Hester Latterly. I was employed to accompany Mrs. Farraline. I am deeply sorry to have to bring you very bad news. She was in excellent spirits last evening, and seemed to be quite well, but she passed away in her sleep, during the night. I think she could not have suffered, because she did not cry out….”

Griselda stared at her as if she had not comprehended a word she had heard.

“Mother?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you are saying. She was coming down to London to tell me—I don’t know what. But she said it would all be all right! She said so! She promised me.” She turned helplessly to her husband.

He ignored her and stared at Hester.

“What are you saying? That is not an explanation of anything. If Mrs. Farraline was in perfect health yesterday evening, she wouldn’t simply have”—he looked for the right euphemism—“have passed over—without … For heaven’s sake, I thought you were a nurse. What is the point of having a nurse to come with her if this is what happens? You are worse than useless!”

“Come now, sir,” the stationmaster said reasonably. “If the good lady was getting on in years, and had a bad heart, she could have gone any time. It’s something to be grateful for, she didn’t suffer.”

“Didn’t suffer, man? She’s dead!” Murdoch exploded.

Griselda covered her face and collapsed backwards onto the wooden chair behind her.

“She can’t be gone,” she wailed. “She was going to tell me … I can’t bear this! She promised!”

Murdoch looked at her, his face filled with confusion, anger and helplessness. He seized on the refuge offered him.

“Come now, my dear. There is some truth in what the stationmaster says. It was extraordinarily sudden, but we must be grateful that she did not suffer. At least it appears so.”

Griselda looked at him with horror in her wide eyes. “But she didn’t—I mean, there wasn’t even a letter. It is vitally important. She would never have … Oh this is terrible.” She covered her face again and began to weep.

Murdoch looked at the stationmaster, ignoring Hester.

“You must understand, my wife was devoted to her mother. This has been a great shock to her.”

“Yes sir, only natural,” the stationmaster agreed. “ ’Course it is. Would to anyone, especially a young lady o’ sensibility.”

Griselda rose to her feet suddenly. “Let me see her!” she demanded, pushing her way forward.

“Now really, my dear,” Murdoch protested, grasping her shoulders. “That would do no good at all and you must rest. Think of your condition….”

“But I must!” She fought free of him and confronted Hester, her face so pale the dusting of freckles across her cheeks stood out like dirty marks. Her eyes were wild and staring. “What did she say to you?” she demanded. “She must have told you something! Something about her purpose in coming here—something about me! Didn’t she?”