Mrs Nesham turned her dark eyes upon me. ‘Do you wish to accuse me of something, Miss Lawless?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That evidence amounts to little. I just wanted to tell you what I know.’
Across the paths, Lucia waved and called out to her mother from behind some shrubs.
‘You do not have a sister, Miss Lawless?’
‘I do not.’
She nodded. ‘All my life, I could not recall a time that she was not at my side. We shared a room, we shared clothes and books. She was my only and constant companion, yet she was all I ever needed.’ Mrs Nesham picked a leaf from the slats and let it fall to the ground. ‘Mr Darby took her away to the mountains and she died.’
She rose and departed without another word. Martha noticed her mistress walking in the direction of their home. The maid took Lucia by the hand, and they followed in her wake.
I rejoined Clarissa on the path, and we continued on.
She said, ‘What did you say to her?’
‘I just gave her my condolences.’
As we passed in front of Charlemont House, a footman hurried from the door. He entered the park, bowed to us both, and then turned to Clarissa. ‘From Mr Caulfeild,’ he said, handing her a note.
She glanced at me, broke the seal and began to read. I surveyed the windows of the townhouse. Was James up there, looking down on us? After a moment, Clarissa showed me the note. It was an invitation to a gathering at Marino House the next weekend, addressed to Clarissa alone. How she would have longed for such an invitation a few weeks ago. Perhaps she still did.
She returned the note to the messenger. ‘Please give my apologies to Mr Caulfeild,’ she said, taking my arm. ‘Tell him that I shall be engaged in needlework with Miss Lawless.’
After another circuit of the park, Clarissa said that she would have to run home for a shawl. She kissed my cheek, and we agreed to meet again tomorrow. I hurried between the carriages on the street, and saw a cabbie parked outside our house. Jimmy was in the parlour, cleaning out the fireplace, a streak of soot on his chin.
‘Has the cab been here long?’ I asked.
He said only a short while. ‘I shall be helping Mr Weir with his trunk in a minute.’
Upstairs, Mrs Perrin stood on the threshold of Ewan’s room, giving him a parcel of hard cheese and sliced meat for his journey. It was rather large, and he was having trouble fitting it into his trunk.
I continued to my room, fetched a new edition of Maria Edgeworth’s latest that I had tied in a ribbon, and returned to the hallway.
From the door to his room, I said, ‘I almost forgot, Mr Weir. A gift for Hannah.’
He smiled at me as he took it, ran his finger over the letters on the binding, then placed it on top of his clothes in the trunk.
‘I don’t know how I shall close it now.’
Mrs Perrin said, ‘Well, I must check on the supper, so I shall leave you to it.’
Ewan shut the lid and pushed down upon it, but the catches were still inches from their clasps.
‘Why are you bringing so much? You will be back for the new term in a month or two.’
‘I am just taking what I need.’
‘Are you sure you need those shoes?’
‘I like those shoes.’
He sat on the lid, which improved matters, but still not quite enough.
‘Make room,’ I said, and I sat beside him. Our combined weight did the trick, and we each worked on a clasp, clicking them into place, and smiling together at our small triumph.
I did not want him to go. Even if it was only for a short time. I would miss his presence in the house, the company he gave to my father, his playful manner with Jimmy. I would miss seeing him at the breakfast table, or traipsing through the yard towards the workrooms, or reading by the fire in the parlour. Many times he had risked his well-being and reputation for me, and I knew in that moment that whatever might happen, I would not forget.
Our shoulders were touching, and I leaned over to kiss the corner of his mouth. He remained still at first, then pressed his face closer. His fingers moved over mine, and we remained sitting like that with our lips touching for several seconds.
Jimmy’s footsteps sounded on the landing. ‘Ewan,’ he called. ‘The cabbie says if you don’t come now he’s going without you.’
We parted and stood up and stepped away from the trunk just as Jimmy pushed open the door and stuck his head in.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Jimmy came in and grabbed one handle.
Ewan had remained looking at me. He fixed a button on his waistcoat, and said, ‘I shall write.’
I smiled and said, ‘Yes, I know.’
He took the other side of the trunk, and I stayed in the room while they brought it downstairs, with many bumps and mild oaths. From the window, I watched them emerge on the front steps. The cabbie assisted with the trunk, and then climbed back up to his seat. Father came on to the steps. He shook Ewan’s hand, and patted his shoulder, and they had a few words together. Before Ewan stepped into the cab, he looked up at the window. I raised my hand, and he smiled, then he disappeared beneath the roof, and pulled the door closed. The cabman set off at once. I stayed at the window and watched them rattle down the hill towards Sackville Street.
Father was still in the hallway leafing through some letters when I went downstairs. He looked at me over his spectacles. ‘Now,’ he said, you shall have the run of the house once again.’
‘Yes, there is that.’
‘Abigail, I shall be going to a demonstration in York Street on Sunday evening. You can accompany me if you like. “On presentations of poison by nitrate of silver”. It should be quite stimulating.’
‘I had hoped to attend the promenade this Sunday with Clarissa.’
‘Ah,’ he said, and he clasped his hands. ‘That is even better.’ He kissed my forehead as he passed me by, and then took the stairs to the basement.
I went to my room and shut the door. Kepler lay crouched on my bed, his tail swishing languidly back and forth. His eyes were fixed on the newcomer in the corner: the canary in its cage by the window. I sat beside Kepler and scratched beneath his chin. ‘Leave poor Cavendish in peace,’ I said. He closed his eyes and flattened his ears, but gently nipped at my finger when he’d had enough.
I opened a drawer in my dressing table, took out a pincushion, and removed each needle. I dug my thumb into its middle to leave an indentation, then went to my wardrobe to find the dress that I had worn in Wicklow weeks before. It was hanging at the back, still grimy with stains of blood and muck. I felt inside the pocket sewn behind the waistline, and took out Devlin’s eye.
Flecks of gold in the dark green iris caught the sunlight. I breathed on the glass and polished it against my arm. It fitted neatly in the hollow of the pin-cushion. Newly mounted, I found space for it on the shelf above my desk, next to the skeletal hand in its glass jar. I stood up to admire them, and the eye stared back. They looked quite well together. The beginnings, perhaps, of an intriguing collection. Through the window I could see Father make his way along the garden path and past his workrooms. He unlatched the back gate and held it open, just as the cadaver cart trundled into the yard.
ALSO BY ANDREW HUGHES
Lives Less Ordinary:
Dublin’s Fitzwilliam Square 1798-1922
The Convictions of John Delahunt
THE CORONER’S DAUGHTER
Pegasus Books Ltd
148 West 37th Street, 13th Floor
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Hughes
First Pegasus Books hardcover edition May 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole
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ISBN: 978-1-68177-411-4
ISBN: 978-1-68177-474-9 (e-book)
Distributed by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
The Coroner's Daughter Page 29