Betsey moved into the light, and Melisande could see that the child had been crying as well, and her own heart turned over. “I couldn’t sleep, miss. I curl up down here when I can’t. That way, when Aileen comes back, she’ll be able to find me right away.”
It took all Melisande’s self-control not to wail. Aileen wasn’t coming back; of that one thing she was absolutely certain. Whether the Heavenly Host had murdered her, or Aileen had simply run off to a place where she didn’t have to work quite so hard, Melisande didn’t know. She only knew she wouldn’t be back.
“You need your bed, child.”
“You do, as well, your ladyship.”
Melisande smiled briefly. For once Betsey had got it right. “I’ll tell you what. You and I will both go up to our beds. I’ll leave word with Mrs. Cadbury that you’re to be allowed to sleep late today, and by the time we’re both up and dressed we’ll both be feeling much better. Does that sound like a good idea?”
Betsey looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t think I’ll be feeling better until Aileen comes back. I don’t know what I can do if she doesn’t come home.” She yawned unselfconsciously, and for the first time that morning Melisande felt like smiling.
“You can stay here for as long as you want to,” she said, and paused. “If Aileen doesn’t come back, you still have more than twenty women who’ll be your older sisters.”
“Not Cook,” Betsey said judiciously. “She says I get in the way. She’s more like a mum. But she says I might not be a total disaster in the kitchen.”
Melisande did smile then. “That’s good news. If you learn to cook you’ll always have a job.”
“Violet says working’s harder than lying on your back. I think she’s wrong, though.”
“She is wrong. If you don’t feel like sleeping, you could go down to the kitchens. Cook is usually awake by now, starting the bread. She could use the help.”
“Yes, miss.” Your ladyship had been forgotten once again, but Melisande simply nodded. If Mollie Biscuits was taking Betsey under her wing then the child would be well looked after and well trained. One less soul she had to worry about.
She waited until Betsey had vanished, then struggled to her feet. She needed her bed; she needed a bath to wash away the taste and the touch and scent of him on her skin. It was time to put that part of her life behind her. She had no choice but to trust his word. He would stop the Heavenly Host.
In the meantime, she had to move ahead with her own life. The wicked temptation of Benedick Rohan belonged in the past. The future lay bright and bold in front of her. All she had to do was get through the next twenty-four hours and she’d be fine, perfectly fine.
She locked her bedroom door. She cried as she washed herself, cried as she took her clothes and shoved them into a hamper. Cried as she took a clean shift and drawers, new stockings and garters and then climbed into her narrow bed. It wasn’t until she closed her eyes that she remembered he’d lain with her in that bed, his body covering hers as his deft fingers pinched out the candlelight, leaving them alone in the darkness.
And it was then that the foolish tears finally stopped, as the pain wrapped around inside her, crushing her into silence. She rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in the soft feather pillow, wondering if it was humanly possible to smother oneself.
It didn’t matter. It was over. Time to move on.
There was still laudanum in the bottle beside the bed. This time she didn’t hesitate. She took her dose, swallowed it and closed her eyes, waiting for oblivion to come, for the waves of pain in her ankle to cease.
It took far too long. In the distance she could hear Emma’s voice, calling someone, but it wasn’t her. And it didn’t matter. They could wait. Just for this one day she wasn’t going to take care of anyone but herself.
Just this one day.
27
Benedick was a man who could hold his liquor. At times in his life he’d been a three-bottle man and still been able to hold an intelligent conversation and make his way home without stumbling. The ability to drink and not show it was almost more important to being a gentleman than paying one’s