“I do know. Old age has come hard upon her, the poor soul. As for Mrs. Adelaide Penhallow, it is true about the broth. You are familiar with this custom?”
“No.” As if Uncle Charles would spend a penny on charitable endeavors.
“During the winter months, it’s long been the custom here that the Hall provides a broth for the poorest folks among us. More a hearty beef stew, really, and quite sustaining if their own stores run low. It was always something they could rely upon.”
“Mrs. Adelaide discontinued the custom?”
“I’m afraid so. She was not—well, she was not popular with the people here, the farmers and the villagers, I mean. I don’t wish to judge the dead, nor is it my place to comment further. I can only say that in the aftermath of their deaths, and of the many others of those afflicted with typhus, that sentiment here was not positive. The long absence of the Penhallow family has created a good deal of hardship among the people here. I’ve done what I can, of course, but as rector one can only do so much.”
“Yes. I understand.”
Their conversation shifted to more general topics, and by the time Mr. Markson left some twenty minutes later, Livia felt she had made a friend. He was so learned, so pleasant and easy to talk to; clearly he cared a great deal about his parishioners. The Hall, and Riverton, were lucky to have him, she thought.
Livia then flitted about the house, stopping briefly into the kitchen, exploring the enormous subterranean room where the laundresses would work, a billiards room, other saloons she hadn’t yet seen. She’d have liked to prowl along the Picture Gallery, within a long, long corridor, just as Grandmama had said. But she promised herself the treat when she was less busy and instead went to Miss Cott’s room, where she tapped on the door but received no answer.
She waited, uncertainly, looked at Grandmama’s door, then went away again. She would send Sally up later, to inquire about meals. At midday she took a solitary nuncheon, wondering where Gabriel was and how he was faring. Just as she was finishing, she heard the sounds of carriages arriving and hurried to the carriage sweep where, at last, the other servants from Bath had arrived—a somewhat bedraggled group, as she quickly discovered, for the flux had spread among them and the footman who had sprained his wrist most unfortunately ending up the one to suffer the worst of it. Even dignified Crenshaw had succumbed.
Luckily there were enough of the able-bodied among them to help the less robust into the Hall and to their accommodations. The unloading of the wagons, filled with household goods, would have to wait, and Livia was fully occupied dealing with the hired drivers and their carriages, showing Cook (thank goodness, fully recovered) to the kitchen and quietly, along the way, explaining the circumstances of Mrs. Worthing. Making arrangements for the ill servants to be nursed. Sending to the village for additional supplies. The hours passed quickly, so quickly that the night came upon her before she knew it, and she was in bed again, very tired, but happy.
A new life was opening up for her. Here was work for her that was interesting, meaningful, valuable.
She was already feeling at home in the Hall.
And tomorrow she would see Gabriel, without fail.
But she didn’t see him.
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was deliberately avoiding her. That was ridiculous, of course; if he had half as much to do as she did, he had his hands full.
Still, his absence began to feel like a physical thing, like a presence dogging her steps everywhere as she hurried about the house.
A Mr. Farris from London came and went. The ill servants recovered, one by one, and Crenshaw assumed command of the staff. Mr. Markson stopped by with a friendly word. Mrs. Worthing, addled and uncertain, gratefully gave way to Cook’s authority in the kitchen.
But Grandmama remained closeted in her room, with Miss Cott in attendance upon her.
And Gabriel was nowhere to be found.
An odd, uncomfortable feeling crept into Livia’s heart. It was one she had hoped never to feel again.
Loneliness.
One evening, before getting ready for bed, she took her candle and went quietly along the passageway to Gabriel’s bedchamber. She took a deep breath, looked left and right, then knocked softly on Gabriel’s door.
Silence.
Unbroken silence, seeming to hang suspended in the air.
Feeling like an intruder, Livia opened the door and slipped inside.
The light of her candle illuminated an empty room.
Gabriel was not in the bed; it was neatly made. There were no books, no brushes, no razors, no trousers or body linen draped across the wooden clothes horse set near the fireplace; the hearth was cold and dead. There were no signs of any occupation whatsoever.