Chapter 2

A knock came at the door: the Harrow carriage had left, and Lydia was safely home.

Arthur called back an acknowledgment and stood. "Sleep in the study tonight. In the morning I'll have these trunks moved to the storeroom on the south side. It's dry there; the clothes will keep."

He bent to fasten the trunk lock, perfectly at ease. He assumed this was nothing more than a fit of temper; by morning I would carry the trunks back. It did not occur to him to ask why there was not a single piece of his clothing inside.

At first light, the kitchen sent up a bowl of vermicelli soup. A poached egg rested on top, with a small dish of chopped pickles on the side.

Arthur could not cook, except for this one thing. In the first year of our marriage, just after I had left the Harrow house, I often woke in the middle of the night. He never minded being disturbed. He would pull on his dressing gown, go down to the kitchen to boil water, and bring me a bowl of half-raw vermicelli.

His cooking never improved, but in time I learned to sleep through the night.

Today's bowl was plainly not his work. Chopped onion floated in the broth, and I never ate onion.

The maid who brought it said, "The master left very early. He made a point of telling the kitchen to prepare as usual."

"Where has he gone?"

"Miss Harrow had a nightmare last night. Mrs. Harrow asked him to look in on her."

I picked the onion out and set it on the side plate. Halfway through the meal, Hobbs came in with an armful of account ledgers and asked me to check the month's household expenses.

Arthur's father had died young; the household was small, and I had always kept the books. Arthur disliked poring over figures. Even a rise of a few shillings in the price of coal tried his patience. By the second month of our marriage, he had handed me every key in the house.

He said that husband and wife should be able to entrust each other with their very lives, so the household keys were the least of it.

I believed him for seven years.

"From now on, take these ledgers to the front hall," I said.

Hobbs assumed I was still upset about the previous night and coaxed me with a smile. "The master cannot manage without you. If you let go, he won't even know how much to pay the servants next month."

"Then he will have to learn."

The smile faded from Hobbs's face.

I unfastened the keys from my waist and laid them on the topmost ledger. "I've written down how much flour is left in the storeroom, which roof needs new tiles, and when to order the winter coal. It's all in the back."

"Ma'am, are you saying...?"

"I'm tired. I need a rest."

Footsteps sounded outside. Hobbs quickly covered the keys with the ledger.

Arthur came through the door with a paper twist of sweets. He saw the leftover soup on the table and frowned. "You've barely eaten again."

"The kitchen put onion in it."

"I forgot to remind them."

He took an empty dish and tipped the sweets onto it. They were lemon drops from the confectioner's near the Harrow house, Lydia's favorite. I found them too sharp.

Arthur tried one and winced, reaching at once for my tea. "Lydia says this shop makes them well. I picked up a bag for you on the way."

I pushed the teacup toward him. "Keep them for yourself."

"Still angry?"

Arthur glanced at Hobbs, who took the hint and left with the ledgers. Once the door was shut, Arthur lowered his voice. "I know it was wrong to leave you behind at the Harrow house, but Lydia cried the whole way. I could hardly put her out of the carriage."

"You could have sent the carriage back."

"She refused to ride alone."

"The Grants have other carriages."

He had no answer. He rolled the lemon drop between his fingers and, after a pause, said, "Everything was in such confusion. It didn't occur to me."

Arthur always wore that helpless look, turning a hurtful choice into an honest oversight. In the past I would have finished the sentence for him: it doesn't matter, it's over now, just remember next time.

Today I simply waited.

The room was quiet for a long time before he finally tossed the sweet back onto the dish. "The Harrow family was humiliated enough last night. Why must you keep harping on every little thing?"

"Which of those was a little thing?"

Arthur looked up. I did not wait for his answer. "Lydia wanted the old house; I gave it to her. My name on the family announcement has been struck out. If there is anything else you need from me, say it all now."

"She would like to invite several painters to view the old house. Your mother is afraid you will change your mind, so she asked me to have you go in person."

"When?"

"The day after tomorrow."

The day after tomorrow was the very day the municipal works committee would seal the house.

I looked down at the vermicelli softening in the bowl. "I won't go."

"If you aren't there, Lydia will read too much into it."

"Let her."

Arthur seemed taken aback. He stood, paced two steps, and stopped beside the table. "Eleanor, you were never like this. You know Lydia had a miserable start in life. You never used to hold things against her."