Chapter 57: Love Letters and Italian Lessons

"Lady Cecily!" Jane cried. "What are you doing here? You should not be out of bed at this time of night!" Too bewildered and frightened at the sight of her mother-in-law's ghostly appearance, she was unable to say anything more intelligent.

Her mother-in-law looked dreadful. Without her cosmetics, without her wig, clad in only a thin silk shift, her long gray hair hanging down her back, she looked ready to be laid out in her shroud. There were sores on her cheek and to the side of her nose: the pox devouring her body as it had cost her her wits. She stared, her faded blue irises entirely ringed with white, and put out a claw-like hand. "My box," she whimpered.

"I don't have your box, Lady Cecily," Jane answered, trying to soothe her. "Have you looked in your room? Have you asked Fabienne to look?"

She ought to put her arm around the confused woman, but she could not bear to. What to do? William was completely naked in bed. Jane would have to find his shirt before he could decently emerge. Wait! Caroline--! Caroline was directly across the hall. "I shall call your daughter, ma'am. We'll help you get back to bed. I believe you are dreaming."

"Where is it?" Lady Cecily thrust Jane's personal papers from the desk dissatisfied. They fluttered randomly to the floor. Jane winced. There were her letters from her family, from friends, from Ralph—

Without wasting another moment, Jane pushed the curtain aside and said calmly but loudly. "William. Wake up. Your mother is here in the room and is raving. Wake up now. I don't know what you've done with your shirt. I can't go looking for it right now." In five steps she was across the dark hall and rapping on Caroline's door. "Caroline! Your mother is ill! Please get up."

There was a silence, and then a sudden exclamation. Behind her in her own bedchamber, she heard William curse feelingly. There was a rustle down the hall, but Jane was too busy to heed it.

In a moment, Caroline had the door open, and was blinking at Jane. "Mamma is ill?"

"Yes, come with me."

William was wrapped in a sheet, retrieving his clothes. He looked at Jane, clearly angry and horrified.

"Where the devil is that nurse?"

Caroline dashed to her mother's side, and took hold of her hands.

"Mamma! You should not be out of bed!"

Lady Cecily stared at her. "Who are you?" she mumbled.

"I am Caroline, Mamma. Your daughter. It is very late, and you must come with me to your own bedchamber."

"Nonsense," Lady Cecily muttered, and then complained, "Who is this drab? Where is Paulette?"

Jane took Lady Cecily by the other arm, and said, in a flat, grim voice, "Ma'am, it is the middle of the night. Come, I shall help you back to bed."

With her arms held by daughter and daughter-in-law, there was little Lady Cecily could do to resist them. She continued to object to her treatment. "Miss Grey, unhand me! You have my box! Don't try to deny it!"

"It was put away for safekeeping, ma'am," Jane snapped, saying the first thing that came to her. "It is too important to keep here in the house."

Curiously, that silenced the older woman. They walked down the hall slowly. Lady Cecily's burst of manic strength was fading, and she needed help to totter back to her own chamber. Penelope opened her door, saw what was going on, and hurried after them.

"Is she all right?"

"No, she turned my room upside down, looking for that box she keeps going on about," Jane said, too tired to be tactful in the invalid's presence. "I think we must have a word with this Mrs. Venable."

William caught up with them, his banyan decently buttoned. He saw that the women were managing, and strode ahead to Lady Cecily's room.

"Mrs. Venable!" he called out, full of righteous wrath.

Lady Cecily had left the door open behind her. The nurse appeared to have fallen asleep in a chair. By the light of the candle by her, they saw her start and look about in confusion, breathing heavily.

"Oh, sir!" she wailed, "what has happened?"

Tavington was very angry—angry at his mother for being so ill, angry at the nurse for letting his mother wander about, angry at himself for being undressed and unable to immediately help Jane. Mixed with it was shame and embarrassment. He had meant for Jane's life here to be perfect, and the very night of their wonderful ball, here was Mamma spoiling everything.

"What has happened," he snarled, "is that you have failed to look after my mother. Are you drunk, woman? She walked right past you, out of her boudoir, down the hall, and she started raving in Mrs. Tavington's own bedchamber. Get up and see to her. Give her laudanum if you must, but get her to bed and calm her down. If she falls ill because of your carelessness, you'll find yourself before the magistrate. Move, you useless trull!"

"William!" Caroline murmured a reproach at him for his language.

"Oh, dear!" Penelope whispered.

Tavington bit back further remarks. In the bedchamber, Fabienne was asleep on the daybed. Penelope called to her, shaking her. The smell of laudanum was heavy in the room.

"Ah, ciel!" Fabienne cried hoarsely. She struggled to sit up. It was clear she could not be of much help. Tavington scowled at her, wondering if she were drunk, too. With a great effort, the maid stumbled to her mistress.

The nurse bustled forward and Lady Cecily was put to bed in short order. Penelope tutted at her mother's cold feet, and rubbed them furiously. Caroline helped the nurse prepare the laudanum drops.

The maid seemed bewildered. "Je me sens si malade ! Je suis si fatiguée !"

"Enough of this," Tavington said in Jane's ear. "Let's go back to bed. You look exhausted."

"So do you."

She was glad of his arm about her, as they left the others to care for his mother. The hall was very dark, but when they entered Jane's room, they saw the sky beginning to lighten.

"What time is it?" Jane groaned.

"After six."

She found her dressing gown and slipped it on. "There's no use in going back to bed yet; Moll will be down in a minute or two with the babies. You should rest, though. I'll see what I can do here." She began picking up the crumpled papers, smoothing them slowly, and beginning to pile them on the writing table. There was a faded pink ribbon, torn and cast aside. Jane picked it up and bit her lip. Gently, she laid it on the table, her finger running over the frayed silk.

"Yes," Tavington replied with weary sarcasm, "Naturally, I shall leave you to do it alone. What are all these papers, anyway?" He picked up some of the loose sheets nearest him, and glanced at one. "God! I hope these aren't my letters to you! We'll need them for the book!"

"No, no!" Jane reassured him absently, "Those are all in the study. I knew we'd want them. These are old family letters I have kept. They are important to no one but me."

She knelt by the fire and used the tongs to extract some half-burned paper. Tavington caught the dejection in her voice, and knelt by her, taking the tongs from her, and teasing the scrap deftly from the embers.

"Here. Be careful of the sparks."

Jane smoothed the discarded fine paper, its expensive ink still black and bold, the writing clear and beautiful.

—all the possibilities, my darling Jane. While the lowland property is good, you and I
---and then build afresh. Your plan is delightful, and I cannot wait to put it before
--------soon, very soon. How alike our minds are! My dearest, have you

It was a letter from Ralph, one of his longest. The three sheets were all partially burned. Half of his words were lost forever. Tears stung her eyes, but Tavington put another construction on the sniffle he heard.

"Jane, I hope you will not catch cold! This has been horrible for you. I pray you, go to bed and get warm. I will gather all the papers, and you can go through them at your leisure."

She did not want to, but the destruction of her precious letters upset her so, and she felt so very cold, that she could not face any more of it at the moment. She wiped her eyes, and got back into bed, feeling muzzy and overwhelmed.

"Save every scrap! Please, William! Don't throw anything away until I have a chance to look at it!"

"Yes, of course. Lie quietly and try to get warm."

She subsided, and curled up around the bolster, feeling sick with fatigue. Tavington cast a concerned glance her way, and applied himself to the chaos in the room. The maid could clean it up, he supposed, but perhaps Jane did not want a servant handling her private papers. The girl would no doubt throw the scraps of paper away, ignorant of their importance to Jane. He stepped on something hard.

"Damn!"

It was a pearl necklace. He picked up the scattered jewelry and deposited it into an open trinket box on the dressing table. The clothing and hats were the maid's province. Tavington searched for lost papers, looking under a clothes press, around the bed, and in the far corners of the chimneypiece. Jane would be upset if she saw anything forgotten, so he picked up everything. There was a torn corner of a letter by the spinet. Tavington glanced at it and saw something that gave him pause.

wherever you go, my dearest love

It was a portion of a love letter. Who could have written love letters to Jane? Feeling ill-used and very curious, he began reading the bits he found. On one fragment, he found a date.

July 14, 1774
King's College, Oxford

My darling Jane—

Beloved, I am coming home to you

He glanced again at the bed. Jane was sniffling again. Perhaps she was weeping. Who was this fellow, making love to his wife?

It took a few minutes, sifting his memory for anything he could remember. Quite suddenly, he remembered a night in bed with Selina—something he had not thought about in over a year. A naked, giggling Selina, sharing a bit of malicious gossip--

"They were going to married as soon as he returned. Jane has stacks of letters he sent her, all tied with little pink ribbons as faded as she is! The dullest things in the world. I had a look at them one day, when Jane was out. … And his ship sank and everyone was lost, and his body was never found, and Jane was heartbroken." She tossed her head, and repeated, "And she'll never get another man."

Oh. That cousin of hers. I daresay she was fond of him. Growing up together—a decent enough fellow, probably. Selina thought him very plain, too. What was his name?

Stealing another guilty look at Jane, he glanced over the bits of paper, looking for a signature.

Ralph

Ralph who? Selina said the name, but I cannot remember it. Some family name, certainly. Not Pinckney—no. Laurens, like her other cousin? Middleton? Perhaps. Does it matter? So Jane had an innocent romance as a young girl. So another man wished to marry her. So? It's not as if I haven't--

It did bother him a little. The imponderables of fate were before him. Had this Ralph not drowned in 1774, Tavington might never have met Jane in 1780. Obviously he would not have married her. Such another opportunity would have been unlikely to come his way. No. It is quite certain that I would have died after Cowpens, alone and wretched. A strange sort of balance. One dies that the other may live. I owe this Ralph my life, in a mysterious sort of way.

He read the bits he could find. The fellow had written very affectionately to Jane. Things like that were important to a woman. It would be stupid to be jealous of a man who had been food for fish years before Tavington had even met Jane. Instead, he felt rather proud of himself, being considerate enough to retrieve these little billet-doux for his wife. It was a nice gesture on his part. Jane had been so unhappy before they were married. Probably these poor remains were all she had had to comfort her. Of course their loss hurt her. And to lose them in such a stupid, ugly way! Very conscious of his husbandly virtue, Tavington set to work with great energy, carefully retrieving anything with writing on it. One of the letters, torn in half, was from Mary Laurens. Tavington snorted, thinking of that irritating woman, and then recalling that the woman had been kind to Jane, and also to Ash and his own little Tom.

Within ten minutes, the papers were largely collected and arranged in the writing desk, and Moll was at the door, helped by a very young maid he thought was called Jenny. Jane roused herself and was very glad to see the babies.

"Heavens above!" cried Moll, looking about the room. "What happened here?"

"You—" Tavington commanded the young maid, "Fetch Miss Pullen. Do not say anything about the condition of this room, or you will regret it."

"She should go fetch Mrs. Tavington her tea, afterwards, " Moll suggested. "Looks like you could use a nice hot drink, ma'am."

Tavington approved. "A good idea, Mrs. Royston. Yes, girl, tell Miss Pullen she is wanted, and then go to the kitchen and bring back tea for Mrs. Tavington and myself. Some toast and marmalade, too, I think. Go."

Scared of the tall Colonel, the little girl turned and ran from the room.

Briefly, Tavington told Moll of his mother's wanderings. "She quite startled us both. That nurse whom Mrs. Watkins recommended slept through it all. If it were not impossible to replace her on short notice, I would have sacked her on the spot. Useless woman! I shall have something to say to Mrs. Watkins when she returns."

Moll was more calm about it all. "These things happen. With all the doings last night, I reckon she weren't the only person all wore out. Didn't know the lady was still so spry, I guess. Lookee here, ma'am," she said to Jane, more interested in little boys than old and crazy earl's daughters. "See Little Will's eyes? They've been that baby blue all along, and I figgered they'd turn like the Colonel's, but yesterday I thought I spied a bit of green. You look there. He's going to have hazel eyes like yours, or maybe they'll be green."

"Oh!" Jane looked. "His eyes are changing. How interesting. Green would be pretty. I was told that my mother's eyes were green." She took a look at the other baby, suckling industriously. "Thomas' eyes are already blue—like his mother," she added with a blush. "But we shall have to see. I always thought my eyes were dull, but hazel can be nice. If they were green, though—" she laughed, with a lift of a brow to her husband. "Perhaps I saw too many Green Dragoon uniforms when I was carrying him, and it affected his poor little eyes!"

Tavington laughed himself, and came around to peer into his son's eyes. Perhaps Moll was right. They were certainly very nice eyes.

-----

The plan was to rest all through Sunday, prepare for their journey Monday, and on Tuesday return to Wargrave for a few days. They would see Moll married, see if Rose was sufficiently recovered from her inoculation to return with them, and probably come back to London at the end of the week. John would go with them, certainly, partly to discover how Somerville's nephew was doing, partly to see the Bordons again, and partly to enjoy the jolly occasion of Moll's wedding.

Mrs. Venable was repentant, and punctilious in her care for her charge. Doctor Elliott would come on Monday to examine Lady Cecily. The family was concerned that the exertions of early Sunday morning might have significantly weakened her.

"She is very quiet now, at least, " Penelope sighed over their Sunday dinner.

They were all very tired as they gathered together in the dining room, now restored to normal condition by the servants. John was in the best spirits, for he had slept through the entire commotion and had only heard about his mother's intrusion into Jane's bedchamber when he got up around two o'clock that afternoon.

"Ha! I would have liked to have seen your faces, with her looming over you in the dark! Like something from a novel!"

"It was very startling indeed," Jane said, less disturbed about it after more sleep. "I am sure my face was a study. I did not see William's at that moment, unfortunately, so I cannot describe it."

A sleepy sort of day, Jane agreed with Tavington. Neither the harpsichord nor the harp much appealed to her that day. She still felt very low, mourning her lost letters. Some were only scraps. Some were completely gone, like Mary Laurens' emotional missive of December. That was a terrible shame, for someday the boys might want to know something of how they came to England.

The loss of Ralph's letters hurt the worst, however silly others might think her. Only a few bits remained. Lady Cecily had consigned them to the fire with ruthless energy. Jane felt a large part of her past had vanished forever. It was not just that she was among people who had not known her all her life. Now even her own memories, her own grip on her past was weakened. The fragments that were left, she had put back in the little cedar box, in what order she could.

Tomorrow she would see Letty, thank Heavens. Even as altered as Letty was, she was still the one human being who had lived with Jane all her life in the closest intimacy. Really, when she considered it rationally, Letty must feel the break with their life even more keenly than Jane. There was nothing to tie her to it at all.

She listened, resting on the drawing room sofa, while Tavington read a portion of Humphry Clinker. It was a very amusing book, and made her long to take a tour of the island, herself. Not likely with three tiny boys, she sighed to herself. Already she was dreading the hours to be spent in the coach on Tuesday—and then again next Saturday. She tried not to think of it, listening instead to William's lovely voice.
He reached the end of one of the letters from Winifred, read in Tavington's rendition of a Welsh accent, which had made them all laugh.

"That's enough," he said, reaching for his glass of Madeira. "I propose an early night."

"A good idea," John agreed. "We shall all be busy tomorrow."

"Yes." Jane smiled, thinking of all of her plans. "I shall have such a day! First, I must retrieve Moll's certificate of the banns from the rector of St. Michael's, and then I go to Letty for our Italian lesson. I am so looking forward to it. Probably I shall take tea with her, but I shall certainly be home by five."

"I should hope so," Tavington said, amazed at her energy. "Lucy and Protheroe will come for dinner tomorrow, you know. With all that going on, you mustn't exhaust yourself for the journey the following day!"

"Caro and I shall visit the shops and buy wedding presents for Mrs. Royston," Penelope declared. "Since you bought her those very lovely dishes, Mrs. Tavington, I had thought to give her a pair of pewter candlesticks. What say you, Caro?"

"Very nice. I shall find her something useless and ornamental—perhaps some pretty combs to dress her hair. Even a practical woman like Mrs. Royston needs something frivolous."

-----

Jane felt much refreshed by the next morning. She left in the early afternoon, completed her errand at the church with dispatch, and drove on to Fanshawe House, longing to see Letty and talk over the ball with her. Bellini was to arrive at half-past one. That should give them a few minutes for confidences. And she would see the Painted Parlor at last!

Even the judgmental air of the formidably handsome butler who guarded the door of Fanshawe House from the unworthy could not distress her. She had grown to womanhood in a slave-holding society, and did not care what servants unknown to her might think of her. Besides, she hardly looked carefully enough at him to see how very handsome he was. He allowed that she was indeed expected, and led her down the marble hall to a door which opened on a little paradise. Jane gaped at the fanciful splendor of the room.

Letty was practicing at a most gorgeous harpsichord. The inside of the raised lid was painted with the Judgement of Paris. Letty's dress was comparatively simple, but she still looked very lovely. On hearing Jane announced, she rose and quickly embraced her sister.

"I am so glad so see you! I wanted to talk about the ball! I had such a good time. Lord Fanshawe thought it was all very nicely done. Are you all worn out?"

Jane laughed at the rush of words. "I'm glad to see you, too, because I knew we'd have so much to say about the ball. I'm very relieved his lordship approved. And I was quite worn out yesterday, but today I am myself! How do you feel? Was the ball too much for you?"

Letty took her to one of the outrageously gorgeous sofas, and they sat very closely, holding each other's hand, happy to be alone together. A quick dialogue followed: Letty's admiration of the music she had heard, and the nice people she had met, and how pretty the house had looked. Jane had looked so nice, too. Several people had said so to Letty, and she was eager to repeat all the kind things she had heard to her sister's credit. Jane praised Letty's appearance, and said how happy she was to see more of Letty's friend, Lady Carteret.

"But Miss James did not attend. I presume that Lord Fanshawe does not consider her to be out, then."

Letty spoke quietly, not wanting to be overhead. "If she hadn't offended him, I think he would have permitted it. He thinks small family gatherings are all right. Actually, once he was at your ball, he decided it was just as well that she was not there. It was a greater affair than he had expected, but he liked it the better for that. If Harmonia behaves herself, he will present her at Court in March, when she is seventeen. If she behaves herself extremely well, he will even give a ball to mark the occasion. I hope that's enough to make her mind her manners!"

Jane laughed again, enjoying the sound of Letty speaking in a more familiar style. All the same, her accent had definitely changed. Jane wondered if she should work at imitating English speech herself. Maybe Lucy or Caro would help me. I shall feel like such a fool, aping the way they talk! But maybe it would be a good idea. The English don't seem to admire provincial accents. Hers, she admitted to herself rather despondently, sounded very provincial to her own ears, when contrasted with the speech of the ladies at the ball.

She made a point of admiring the room, getting up to try the harpsichord and then the harp. "I must practice more!" she told Letty. "I really think I could master it within a year, if I could practice regularly."

"It is so hard to find the time," Letty agreed. "My plan is not working very well yet. I have so many fittings, and have to see all sorts of people, and then I have to sit and visit with Harmonia. I am so glad we have this time today. Lord Fanshawe decided she needed a little more polish, so on Mondays she must practice her music in her own room and complete a drawing. It is very kindly done of Lord Fanshawe. If she joined us here, it would all be spoiled."

"—And you would certainly not succeed in learning Italian, which his lordship wishes you to do!"

Jane walked about the beautiful room a little more, admiring the little recessed dome in the ceiling, and then asking about the pretty girl over the mantel. "Is that a Muse? Which one?"

"Oh, honey, that is Lord Fanshawe's daughter. The one who died. Camilla was her name. She was very pretty, and very good and clever, he tells me. She is meant to represent a muse—yes—the History one—I forget the name—"

"Clio," Jane supplied.

"Yes, that's the one. See her book. I wish she hadn't died. She would have been just about our age, though of course she would probably be married—"

"A great pity indeed, poor thing. I don't think Lord Fanshawe is finding Miss James a satisfactory substitute."

"No. She is so foolish. If I had a father who would take care of me as he does her, I would do anything to please him."

Jane squeezed Letty's hand. Obviously, nothing she had ever done or ever could have done would possibly be enough to win the acknowledgement of Ashbury Rutledge Senior. Nothing Jane had every done had been to his satisfaction, either. It was very sad. Jane shrugged. "At least Lord Fanshawe seems willing to be pleased if one obeys and does one's best. That is certainly an improvement over Papa!"

"Oh, yes! He is very kind to me—and so generous! I told him that I wished to give Moll a present, and he quite understood, though he spoke of it as rewarding a faithful servant. Moll has never been my servant exactly, but I don't think there's any point in trying to make him see that. I hope you don't think this is rude or indelicate, but since you told me she was expecting, I—got her a complete set of baby linen. Come and see. It's very lovely. Perhaps it's wrong to speak of such things, but I'm sure it will help her.'

Jane did not want to criticize, even though it was improper. Moll, she knew, would not see it that way. A large box was set neatly in a corner. Jane opened it, at Letty's nod, and then exclaimed in admiration.

"Oh, my, Letty! This is splendid!" It was excellent linen, very well made, but with minimal embroidery. It was not ridiculously fine for the nursemaid wife of a butler, but it was still much, much better than anything Moll could have afforded herself. Caps and smocks for different sizes; blankets and coverlets, and little booties, and any number of baby napkins and a very fine christening gown.

"So lovely—" Jane said, still caught up in the joy of thinking of new babies.

"I have been putting together things for—" Letty's lovely face glowed "—for my own little one. It is so charming. There is a wonderful nursery on the third floor, which hardly needs a thing to make it perfect. It has been so nice for me, that I thought Moll would like having her baby linen all settled, too."

"It was very kindly thought of you. I can take it in the carriage when Scoggins arrives. I am sure it will be her favorite present."

The cooing over baby things came to abrupt halt as the door opened, and Bellini was announced. Instantly, the whole atmosphere changed, given a very masculine charge of vigor as Bellini bowed, and then strode over to greet them and kiss their hands.

"Such lovely ladies! It is with such joy that I come to teach you my native tongue. You are well—yes? Ready to learn?"

"Indeed we are," Jane assured him.

"I'll try very hard," Letty said more doubtfully. "I've never tried to learn a foreign language before—not the way my sister has. I'll probably be very stupid at it."

"Not at all," Bellini told her. "you have a good mind and good ear, my lady. If you can learn music, you can learn Italian, the most musical of all languages. I have brought a song to teach you. Mrs. Tavington will play, but she will learn the words too. Sometimes, learning a song is a good way to start with a foreign tongue."

They moved to the harpsichord, and Bellini produced his copies. Letty, and then Jane, listened to Bellini sing the song, and then he began teaching them to speak the words, first slowly, and then in the meter of the aria.

"Caro mio ben,
Credimi almen,
Senza di te
Languisce il core."

Then he translated the lyrics for them: first freely, and then word by word, to make them understand what each syllable meant. He had Letty sing the aria, while Jane played. Finally, and most frightfully, he asked Jane to sing along.

"I have no voice—none at all," she protested.

"It is only I—a mere teacher of singing," Bellini laughed. "It is like seeingildottore—you have nothing to be ashamed of before me!"

It was still rather horrible. Bellini was very kind, but Jane knew that all she could do was carry the bones of a tune without grace or beauty. Still, it was enough. Bellini approved her pronunciation. Both she and Letty struggled with the rolled "r." They grew quite silly over it and they practiced it in all sorts of ways.

Bellini taught them some basic words: "si" and "no' and "grazie." They were drilled in all the simple terms of courtesy, and then Bellini encouraged Letty to order tea somewhat early.

"We shall practice while we drink tea together, shall we not?" He looked at them expectantly.

"Si, Signore," Jane ventured.

"Si, Signore," Letty echoed.

"Molto bene." He smiled.

He had written out the words they had learned that day: a neat list, with a copy for Lady Fanshawe and a copy for Mrs. Tavington. Both promised they would study them faithfully. Just a little after four, the door opened again, and Lord Fanshawe appeared, pleased to see them. Bellini told them of their diligence, and while Fanshawe sipped his tea, Letty and Jane performed Caro Mio Ben to his applause.

"Most satisfactory," he remarked. "You have done very well. Perhaps it is always better to have a fellow student. One gains more for the exchange of ideas. I hope to show Lady Fanshawe the beauties of Italy when peace is achieved. You, too, Mrs. Tavington, would benefit from wider travel. It has always been one of my greatest pleasures."

Jane agreed civilly, though she could not imagine when such traveling would be possible. The prospect of a carriage ride into Essex with three little boys was daunting enough. How to manage to cross the Channel, transverse the whole of France, and navigate the way to Italy was inconceivable. If she were another sort of woman, she supposed, she could leave the children behind and travel where her whims took her, but it would be rather hard on Ash, Thomas, and William Francis.

It was time to go home. She embraced Letty once more, with a promise that she would be back for their next lesson. The gentlemen bade her farewell, and Jane was happy to see Scoggins and her coach waiting in front of Fanshawe House very punctually at the time appointed. A footman carried out the box of baby linen, and settled it securely on the carriage floor. Jane could hardly keep from opening it again as they traveled back to Mortimer Square. She smiled to herself, imagining Moll's surprise and delight.

Tea was about to be served as she arrived. To her great pleasure, Lucy was there, and the four ladies gathered together to discuss their several adventures of the afternoon.

"Doctor Elliott came to examine Mamma," Caro reminded Jane. "It was rather horrible. He was very grave when he heard about her conduct early Sunday morning. He feels that—it will not be long now."

Seeing that this saddened her companions, even though Jane felt very little about it herself, she tried to be consoling. "Indeed I am sorry, my dear. I know it must be very difficult for all of you. At least she does not seem to be suffering physically."

"No, she does not," Lucy sturdily agreed. "Many have known very great pain, and we must be grateful that Mamma's end will be peaceful. We must be very brave ourselves, and be ready to deal with the inevitable."

Penelope sighed. "I suppose so. I just seems so –heartless—to make plans contingent on her passing—or even to think of ordering mourning."

Jane shifted uncomfortably, remembering how sternly Fate had dealt with her when she had presumed to buy mourning for her mother-in-law. Perhaps it was best to say nothing of it.

Je me sens si malade ! Je suis si fatiguée !--I feel so sick! I'm so tired!

Next chapter: A Wedding at Wargrave Church