Chapter 5
At least there was no baby. Mrs. Hughes's words echoed through John's head. At least there was no baby. This was what he got for listening behind doors.
John sighed, and held the boot up to the light. Quiet persistence wasn't working, and he had stooped to listening behind doors. He knew at one point Anna had had no desire for a child, but he believed that she had changed her mind on that subject before they married. They had discussed children, before marriage was even a possibility. A family wasn't a goal for either of them, nor even a requirement, but it was a hope. The boot needed another thorough wipe. Mrs. Hughes had sounded as if no baby was a reason to be happy.
John put the boot on the table. It was good enough. He could not conceive of a situation in which Anna would find no baby to be a cause for happiness. She didn't find their lack of a child distressing; he knew she didn't, but it didn't follow she was relieved by it. At least there was no baby. His neck itched.
A beam of light was struggling to come in through the narrow window. Anna's voice had been clipped, and empty, the way it was now. John wasn't sure if she had been happy or not about the lack of baby. But Mrs. Hughes thought she would be, or should be. Mrs. Hughes knew what had happened. Mrs. Hughes thought Anna should be honest with him.
John sighed. He would make it a point to seek Mrs. Hughes out this afternoon. As much as it pained him to seem to beg, not knowing what had happened to Anna, to him and Anna, pained him more. He needed to re-sort the polishing clothes. As he stood, John remembered Anna saying that he could see right through her. She was mistaken about that. He yawned as he leaned over the box. He had almost adjusted to sleeping without Anna. Or not sleeping without Anna. No baby. Tell him. John shook his head. Anna hadn't been unfaithful. He saw something shiny on the floor between the cupboards. Something was wrong with Anna. She had had no opportunity to be unfaithful, and with whom? Green? John shook his head. Mrs. Hughes thought that she needed him. John took his cane from where he had hooked it on the edge of the table, and reached under the corner of the cabinet to pull it out. It looked like a button. He bent, and picked it up. It was a button, and it seemed familiar. He held it to the window. Rain was starting, but the sun was still shining. He put the button in his pocket. He should not have snapped at her that afternoon. Later he would ask Anna if she had lost one. The last afternoon she had been herself.
But in the end, he hadn't. John had had to leave the boot room for a bit of fresh air, and when he returned, Anna was there. She seemed determined to work a hole in Lady Mary's shoes. He paused to look at her before she knew he was there. She was a shell. She was hollow, sunken, brittle, pale. Seeing her hurt him. She looked dead. She didn't flinch when he came near her, but she seemed to be stealing herself. What was it she had said to Mrs. Hughes? He could see through her? Oh Anna, no, he couldn't. He needed to tell her that she was hurting him. Perhaps that was her intent.
All he had planned to say escaped him, and he said something thoughtless. She was silent, she didn't love him. It was all rot. He knew that wasn't it. Damn his temper. His mother had told Anna he had a tongue like a razor, and she was right. He did, but he usually knew better than to use it. He couldn't seem to stop himself today. He met icy with cruel, repeatedly. He would never find out what had happened if he lost his temper. Orpheus had looked back at Euridice and had lost her. Forever. John would not do that. He would bring Anna out of Hell or die trying. He cursed himself even as he heard himself saying it. She didn't love him. No, John, no. People could change, but not in a matter of minutes. If there was reason to be relieved there was no baby it had something to do with sex. He could pinpoint exactly when the change in Anna had happened, and unless she had been seriously injured when she fell, she hadn't fallen out of love with him in the half hour between leaving the concert and John returning downstairs after it had ended. It was not possible. And now, his cruel words had struck her. She had shrunk even more as he uttered them. Damn his temper, damn his tongue. She was going to Ripon. He needed a drink.
He had to tell her though, he had to let her know how much this was hurting him. She would drive him mad. John closed his eyes. She was going to Ripon. She had already left. Mrs. Hughes knew what had happened. He needed to plan to what to say.