And that was what she did, as the beginning of dawn light began to climb over the window, a gray, murky light. Her breathing slowed, with longer pauses between each one, and then finally there were no more.
Jacobs let out a harsh, choking sob, and she went to put her arms around his hulking shoulders, to comfort him. “To lose them both in one night, miss,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “It’s too much.”
“Yes,” she said with unnatural calm. “It is.”
After a moment he lifted his head. “I’m going to go get drunk,” he announced. “I’m going to get so drunk that you won’t find me for days, and then maybe I’ll get drunk again.”
Elinor was too weary to smile, though she was tempted. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Jacobs. Just be certain you remember to find us when you’re done with such a noble activity.”
He didn’t recognize her irony. And indeed, getting roaring drunk was a fitting tribute to her mother, even though Nanny Maude would have abhorred it.
He strode wearily out of the room and was gone, and she was alone. For the first time since she could remember, she was alone. The number of people in her care had suddenly been cut in half, and yet there was no relief, only guilt.
She looked about her. The house was still and silent—a few candles were burning, enough to light her way into the broad hallway. It didn’t look familiar to her, but then, this house was huge, and she’d only seen a small portion of it. It stood to reason they’d brought Nanny to the servants’ quarters, though the room had been large and comfortable. And this certainly wasn’t a servants’ hallway, with its rich carpets and paintings on the damask-covered walls.
She needed to find someone, to tell them Nanny Maude had died. She would need to be washed and laid out properly, a decent burial seen to. But she had no money. Nanny would end in a pauper’s grave. Unless she asked Rohan to pay for a decent funeral.
Which she would. She would have thought she’d never ask him for anything, but she knew right now she was wrong.
At least she didn’t have to make arrangements for her mother, she thought, half in a daze. She really should try to find some help, but right then her mind couldn’t concentrate. There were stairs to the servants’ quarters somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where they were. If she could just find where Lydia slept she could crawl into bed beside her, filthy, soot-stained clothes and all, and sleep. She’d need none of Etienne’s laudanum to help her. She just needed to find the right place to go.
She moved down the shadowed hallways, her nightgown flowing about her. She was becoming alarmingly light-headed. She ought to sit down before she fell down, but her feet had begun to hurt again, her legs felt weak, and she was afraid that if she sat she would never rise again. And she was…for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, which was truly absurd, and she ought to laugh, but she wasn’t supposed to laugh, was she? All she could do was keep moving, through the long, endless hallways of this mysterious place.
A door opened, and a young girl backed into the hallway, a tray in her arms. She turned, took one look at Elinor and screamed loud enough to wake the devil, loud enough for reality to come crashing back as she remembered exactly who and where she was.
“It’s a ghost!” the girl babbled in French. “God protect me, it’s a ghost!”
Suddenly the hallway was filled with a great many more people than she could have wished. All she’d wanted was one sensible person to help her find her sister and suddenly there were servants in various stages of dress and undress, holding candelabra, and what must be the housekeeper coming in one direction, and the evil Cavalle coming from the other, a murderous expression on his face, and she suddenly thought she’d better run, and she tried to spin around, but her feet tripped her up, and she felt herself falling toward the heavy carpet, when strong hands caught her. And even without looking up she knew whose strong hands they were. Just as she’d known in the smoke and the darkness who would have snatched her up, no matter how little sense it made.