On entering the library he couldn't immediately see anyone, and for a moment he wondered if the noise had only been his imagination. The room was lined with shelves of impressively bound books and the two large leather couches at its centre were empty. Reading lamps on the oak occasional tables adjacent to each couch glowed greenly in the late afternoon gloom.
Then the sound came again, clearly this time – a stifled sob. Dempsey moved towards it and saw that at the side of the large bay window was a little alcove, with armchairs to afford more privacy. Esther was curled up in one of them, looking considerably smaller and more crumpled than she had done out by the lake.
At first, she didn't appear to register his presence, and he stood watching her uncertainly. He was just pondering whether to turn around and creep unobtrusively away, when she looked up at him.
Her eyes were red and watery; her face mottled and raw, as if she had been weeping for a long time. Nonetheless, there was a certain quiet defiance in the way she met his gaze, as if letting him know she was unapologetic at being caught in such a desolate, private moment. Dempsey felt very awkward but also, he had to admit it - curious. The cop in him wanted to probe, to find out more. There was clearly a story with Esther and her husband and his instincts were niggling at him to find out what it was.
"Hey," he said.
"Hello." She continued to regard him with flat eyes.
"Sorry to disturb you. I was just lookin' for something to read. You want me to leave you alone?"
Despite himself, despite his dislike of her husband, another instinct was rising too. He didn't like to see a woman cry, no matter who she was.
Esther sniffed and swiped at her face with the back of her hand.
"Oh no, I'm terribly sorry. You have every right to be here, of course you do. It's frightfully silly of me to sit here so upset. I should have found somewhere more private. Usually, I'll go for a walk in the grounds if I want to be alone, but the weather today…." She trailed off.
"Sure. It's hard to be truly alone sometimes, even in a big old pile like this." He perched tentatively on the armchair that was the twin of hers and patted the pockets of his jeans, hoping that by some miracle, there would be a tissue in one of them. There wasn't.
"You want me to get you something? A glass of water?"
"No, thank you – James, isn't it? I'll be all right. These weekend visits can get a bit much for me, that's all it is. I know you saw us arguing earlier, so it won't come as a surprise for you to hear that Giles and I aren't getting on well at the moment. I'll put myself together in time for dinner, don't worry."
She looked up at him through wet lashes, gave a small, faltering smile. For some reason, Dempsey was reminded of Princess Diana. At least that was an improvement on Cruella de Ville, he thought.
He shifted a little, indecisive. It seemed callous to just get up and start browsing the shelves as though nothing was wrong. At the same time, he wasn't sure what else to say, and the way she was looking at him gave him the uncomfortable impression that any small amount of encouragement on his part would prompt her to confide in him. He realized his initial curiosity about her had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Esther wasn't some stranger in a bar, or even another cop, looking for advice; this was Harry's family and he sensed intuitively that her confidences could open a Pandora's box he might not be able to close.
Thinking this, he made to get up and leave but before he could, she reached out and touched his hand.
"He doesn't hit me or anything. I wouldn't want you to think that." Tears welled afresh in her eyes. "He's a good man really. Please don't say anything to Harriet either. I don't really know her very well, I don't know if she said. She was all grown up long before I married Giles and we don't get together with his side of the family as often as we should do."
She looked at him beseechingly. He patted her awkwardly on the arm.
"Hey, no worries. I won't say a word. Sorry to hear you're having problems."
"Don't feel sorry for me, James. You choose a book. I think I'll just sit here a while longer and compose myself. Thank you for listening. Harriet's a very lucky woman."
There was a note in her voice when she said this that made him even more uncomfortable. He got to his feet.
"Well – thanks. I guess I'll see you at dinner. You take care."
She nodded with another weak smile.
Dempsey returned to the bookshelves but the tension in the room meant he was completely unable to focus. In the end, he picked up a medium-sized brown leather bound volume, barely glancing at the cover before gratefully making his exit.
When he opened the door to the bedroom, the sight of Harry lying among the sheets was sweet. She looked at him blearily and he moved to the bed and kissed her, smoothing her tousled hair. Yawning, she sat up, pulling the covers around her.
"What have you got there?" She took the book from his hands.
"The Inclosure Act 1772: Impact on Farming and the General Population" she read, and looked at him incredulously.
"Dempsey, I'm truly delighted you're intent on broadening your understanding of the English countryside, but this is taking things a bit far, isn't it?"
"You know me angel, always looking to improve my mind, any way I can. You can never tell what knowledge is going to come in handy." He grinned at her warily.
"How is a book about Georgian land reform going to help a 20th Century American police officer, d'you think?"
"Hey, we might be called on to round up a load of rogue sheep on the streets of London. It ain't beyond the realms of impossibility, you know!"
She didn't answer. The expression on her face said it all.