Sarah was just finishing off an elaborate and very youthful hairstyle for an elderly overpainted lady, and politely asked Beth if she would be so kind as to take a seat for a few moments, whilst at the same time demonstrating by way of an elaborate mime behind the woman's back that this ridiculous coiffure was not her idea and that the woman sporting it was really as stupid as she looked. Beth managed to refrain from laughing and sat down demurely, accepting the coffee offered by a very young girl she had not seen before, who then disappeared through the door leading into Sarah's private room.
"I haven't seen her before," said Beth as soon as the customer had gone.
"I take it you mean Emily and not the cantankerous old trout?" said Sarah irreverently. "Yes, she works for me a couple of days a week, cleaning, making coffee, that sort of thing. She's got a big family, so the money comes in useful. She's gone home now, you can come through."
"And you can afford a servant," Beth said, following Sarah through to her room.
"Yes I can," she replied proudly. "Wonderful, isn't it? And it's nice to help someone else out too. Mrs Marshall was my last client today, but I'm really busy normally. Business really picked up after Anne married Lord Redburn. Which I assume is what you're here to tell me about. Richard and Anne, I mean."
"It isn't, actually. I thought you'd already know. You seem to know everything the moment it happens."
"Everybody in London knows about Anne and Richard, though. She wrote to Lady Winter." Sarah beckoned Beth to a seat and took one opposite. "Are you frightened for her?" she asked.
Beth looked around the room, which was simply but tastefully furnished. Two comfortable chairs and an oak table, cream-painted walls, a framed landscape hanging over the fireplace. A little rug by the fire.
"Yes," she admitted after a moment. "But everyone else seems to think I'm worrying unduly."
"Even Sir Anthony?"
"Yes, even Anthony. He thinks that Richard may be settling down, and doubts that Anne will provoke him like I did. Which is true. You have a nice room here. I haven't seen it before."
"Thank you," said Sarah. "Does Sir Anthony know that Richard tried to rape you?" She said it matter-of-factly, as though she were asking whether Anthony knew that Beth liked toast for breakfast.
The room vanished. Everything vanished except this young woman sitting opposite her, who knew what nobody knew. Beth stared at her, her eyes wide with shock.
"How do you know that?" she blurted out, before realising that she had now made any denial impossible. "Did Richard tell you?"
"No, of course he didn't," Sarah said. "No one told me."
"Then how … ?" Beth was stunned, panicked. Her voice died in her throat. Sarah leaned forward.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know all about men and sex, as you're aware. I know what they're like when you please them and I know what they're like when you don't. I've also had those who'd already tried it on with another woman and been refused. The nice ones wanted you to make them feel handsome and virile, to soothe their hurt feelings. And the bastards wanted to take their frustration out on you, humiliate you like she'd done to them. That's what Richard did that night when he came to my room and I tried to comfort him. If he could he'd have raped me and beaten me, but as it was you'd kicked him so hard he wasn't capable."
"So he just beat you instead," Beth said.
"Yes. But I knew what had happened. I thought at first that he'd made a try for Jane, Grace, or even little Mary. I wouldn't put anything past him." Sarah grimaced. "Even I didn't think he'd try to swive his own sister, though. I couldn't believe it when you told me."
"I didn't tell you!" Beth protested.
"Yes, you did. You told me you'd had an argument with him and he was very angry with you when he left you."
She had. She remembered now, sitting on the foot of Sarah's bed, assessing the injuries Richard had inflicted on her. She had known, all this time. Over two years.
"You haven't told anyone, have you?" Beth said.
"No, of course I haven't. I think you should tell your husband though."
"No!" Beth almost shouted. "No, I can't."
"Why not? He doesn't seem the kind of man who'd blame you. He's nice, and he's obviously very fond of you."
"That's the problem," Beth said. "He wouldn't blame me. But he would kill Richard."
"Well, that would certainly sort out the problem of Anne's stupidity, if he did," Sarah said, considering. "Although Anne might be a bit upset at being widowed twice in a year. Are you worried that Richard might kill Sir Anthony instead of the other way round?"
She was completely serious. Beth looked at Sarah as if seeing her for the first time, realising how little she knew the woman who had once been her maid.
"No. Anthony is a good swordsman. But Richard's my brother, Sarah," she said. "I couldn't be responsible for his death."
"Well no, I suppose not," said Sarah doubtfully. "Everyone's different, I suppose. If my brother did that to me, I'd be happy to see him dead. I won't tell Sir Anthony though. It's not for me to do that. But I will keep an ear out for any rumours about Anne for you. Is that what you wanted to ask me?"
Beth had virtually forgotten what she had come to talk to Sarah about, she was so shocked by the direction the conversation had taken.
"That would be nice," she said now, dragging her mind back to the present day. "But no. I came to talk to you about Maggie."
She quickly outlined how Maggie was still in bed ten days after the birth, and how active she normally was. That she didn't even do anything in the bed, just lie or sit there pleating the bedsheets between her fingers for hours on end.
"Murdo thinks she needs someone to talk to. Someone who understands what she's been through."
"Murdo," said Sarah. "Is he the one who rides a horse like a madman?"
Beth laughed.
"Yes. But he's very sensitive as well. And I think he's right. She won't talk to her husband, and I've tried, too, but she won't talk to me either."
"And you think I might have more success because I've lost a child as well?" Sarah asked quietly.
"Yes," Beth admitted. "I know you haven't told me the details, but … "
"I haven't told anybody the details," Sarah said. "I've never talked to anyone about it, ever."
Beth nodded, bit her lip.
"I'm sorry," she said, standing up. "I shouldn't have asked you. It wasn't fair."
"Yes it was," Sarah said. "You want to help your friend. And maybe it's time I did talk about it. They say it helps to tell someone your problems, that by just talking about it you feel better, whether they offer any advice or not. I'll come tomorrow."
"It does help, if you can trust the person you're talking to," said Beth, sitting down again. "Can I tell you something?"
"Not if it's about the baptism. I just want to forget that."
"No, it's about Richard. That night, when he came to your room. Graeme thought I'd kicked him in the balls too, although he didn't guess why like you did. I didn't. What I really did was … "
It's true, Beth thought as she walked home later, her step light. It does make you feel better, sharing something with someone you can trust. Much better. She saw things in a clearer perspective now that she'd laughed about it with Sarah. It would all be all right. Anne would not provoke Richard, ever. She was incapable of it. He was older now and had everything he wanted. He had no reason for violence. He would settle down. Anne would work wonders with him, as she had with Stanley Redburn, and in time would give Richard an heir too, which if Edward failed to marry, as seemed increasingly likely, would one day inherit the Cunningham title and fortune. Richard would certainly be pleased with her if she did that.
Everything would be all right.
* * *
When Sarah arrived at the Peters' residence the next day it was Sir Anthony himself who greeted her at the door, bowing to her with an exaggerated flourish that in anyone else would have been a sarcastic gesture, her status being so much inferior to his, but which in his case managed to convey genuine respect. He gallantly took her basket of beauty preparations and ushered her into the house.
"My dear Sarah!" he gushed, "I cannot tell you what an honour you do us, to agree to assist us at this difficult time! Acting the part of an angel of mercy is becoming a habit with you." His dark blue eyes sparkled with humour and beneath that, a genuine regard, and she returned his smile.
"I'm sorry, I'm a bit later than I agreed with Beth … Lady Elizabeth," Sarah corrected.
He waved his hand about impatiently, and the glass bottles tinkled merrily in the basket.