21. Chapter 21
An unwelcome slab of sunlight slapped Odette.
She squeezed her eyes closed as she flung an arm across the empty side of the mattress.
Her fingertips found cotton, and she pinched a soft edge, then dragged a pillow over her face.
Cassius had gone. The doctors could not fix her. She had no reason to leave her bed.
‘Nora, I told you last night. I do not need to be woken today. I am not going to the theatre. I will stay home.’
Water splashed into the ewer. Odette groaned. The woman was like an automaton. Once set on a course, she was almost impossible to adjust.
Odette raised the pillow from her face so that her mouth was free but her eyes still very much covered. ‘Take the morning off. Go to the market. Or the park. Do whatever you like.’
Dear Lord, that squeak—that was her wardrobe opening. Odette threw the pillow aside as she sat up, fuming, blood pounding through her temples. ‘For heaven’s sake, will you leave me be!’
Wilhemenia Hempel looked at her from where she stood before Odette’s wardrobe and frowned.
‘I hope that’s not how you speak to your staff all the time,’ she said, her voice thick with disapproval.
‘Only when they don’t answer me. On the third ask. Which Nora never does.’ Odette sank back against the pillows. ‘Why are you in my rooms?’
‘Daniel said you were still abed. It is past eleven,’ she chided, her tone laced with parental firmness. As if the hour of the day explained why she was in Odette’s bedchamber.
‘Is this how you wake your children? By badgering them?’
‘Not the little ones. They are up at dawn. The older ones would sleep past supper if I let them. There is no middle ground at Number 3.’ The bed sank as Wilhemenia sat on the edge.
‘I did not come here to badger you. I came to ask for your help. I am worried about Iris. Will you come with me to see her?’
‘It’s not proper to visit a house in mourning,’ Odette scraped out.
Wilhelmina pulled back the sheet with a sharp tug. ‘And since when did we become adherents to propriety in this street?’
The May sunshine that had seen Albert to the grave had lost its enthusiasm.
Clouds held in the soot and billowed into a mottled, grey-and-black sky.
It matched the black ribbons that hung limp and twisted from the doorknob and knocker to Number 4, while the black curtains that covered the windows stared down at the street like hollow eyes.
The house itself looked lifeless, as if, alongside the loss of the beautiful man who had given them so much, a part of the street had died, too.
Wilhemenia clapped the door knocker, maybe sensing that Odette did not possess the courage to do so herself.
Even Odette, slight thing that she was, stood taller than the fine-boned orphan from the streets who had built an empire with her husband, but against Wilhelmina’s determination, she shrunk with insignificance.
Wilhemenia had stared down death ten times to bring each of her beloved children into the world, eleven, perhaps, if she was to count helping Rosanna bring Betty into being.
She had seen one of her babes to the grave…
Odette had played at love and loss, at death and life, hundreds of times on stage. But as she watched Wilhemenia knock the door a second time with her pursed lips, steely pose and consistent, quiet disregard for the rules that did not suit her, she felt that she did not understand life at all.
Mason opened the door, not even wearing gloves. The Abberton butler blinked into the morning from the grey inside of the house like he’d been wrested from an uncertain slumber. He looked about to offer some excuse, but Wilhemenia crossed the threshold and squeezed his arm.
‘We are here to see Iris,’ she said. ‘Do you need anything? How are you?’
Mason rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. ‘We are… getting on,’ he said. ‘Gena and Mr Rogers and I… We are getting on. He… he was a good man. We miss him. Even as he was. Thank you for asking. The Viscount and Iris are both upstairs, in the sitting room. Do you want me to announce you?’
‘We can make our own way.’ Wilhemenia looked over her shoulder at Odette. ‘Are you coming?’
Odette followed her friend up the stairs.
The coverings over the windows dulled every surface that normally shined, and she had to hold tight to the balustrade to guide her way.
Black crepe and silk had been draped over mirrors, portraits, and vases, over brass and glass to prevent the reflections from trapping ghosts.
The door between the living and the dead remained perilously ajar at this time, and any surface that could distract a wandering spirit was covered to encourage them to leave.
The air weighed heavy and prickled with cold.
Odette tried to feel for the comfort or a sense of her old friend, but only a light chill remained.
There was no hint of his lightness, his love, or his laughter. Albert had gone.
Wilhelmina paused by the door to the sitting room, and once Odette reached her, she slipped inside.
Odette hovered at the edge as she gathered up her courage to follow, but she only found sorrow that made her body heavy with melancholy.
She gripped the doorframe. The emotion hooked into her heart with a pang and seemed to drag it to the floor, altering her pulse, her breath, even her vision.
It was not just the loss of him, but the feeling that something momentous had shifted, forever, in their small part of the world.
This had been his favourite room in the house.
This was where, in better days, he had sat in his chair with a book or a map as he planned another trip abroad, while Iris played in the small sunroom to the side, sometimes alone, sometimes with Hamish.
Later, he had turned it into an office for her, and the two of them had worked across the wide partners’ desk.
And when his memory began to slip, Iris had gradually gathered up the pieces, worked a little harder and done a little more, so quietly that no one had noticed anything was amiss until the truth became impossible to avoid.
Now Iris and Hamish sat in chairs at either end of a low table, with the sofa that Albert used to sit on during his later days stretching between them.
Iris’s black skirt rippled against the furniture, and apart from her pale skin and tightly tied auburn hair, she melted into the shadows.
A tray with a pot, cups, spoons, and a plate of biscuits sat untouched before them, resting beside a pile of papers.
The couple who had known too much heartache during their short marriage were gazing in each other’s direction, but their eyes carried a lost, far-away glaze, as if they were staring into some private distance.
‘Iris? Hamish?’ Wilhelmina called with the soft voice of a woman who had known them as children and would never revert to surnames or titles.
They both looked up, startled, at first at each other, and then turning towards the door.
Hamish clutched the chair arms and rose, slowly.
‘We aren’t in a state to be receiving… to receive… ’
Wilhelmina strode across the small gap, arms out, and pulled him against her with a gentle shushing sound. ‘You can be sad with us,’ she murmured, as she patted his back. ‘We loved him, too.’
Hamish bent, his back stiff and awkward. Then, with a single sob, he crumpled against her.
Odette sat on the sofa beside Iris, whose slumped form was only held upright by one of the wings on her armchair.
She blinked like she was struggling to focus, her eyes tracing the shape of every empty space in the lounge.
Her gaze drifted to the table and a stack of papers with the Spencer and Co.
Travel logo printed on the top, then back to Albert’s former chair.
After a moment of caution, Odette reached out and took Iris’s hand.
They sat like that for a long time. Occasionally, she stroked her friend’s thumb. Squeezed. Iris returned the gentle pressure. She began to talk, then choked on a word. Paused. Took a breath. Started again.
‘Gena said you were with him. When he…’
Odette leant forwards and gathered both of Iris’s hands into her own. ‘I was.’
‘Did he say anything? Did he remember me, in the end? Or Jonah, or his work, or anything he’d been, anything he’d done? Did it come back to him? Anything at all?’
Odette wanted to say yes. Wanted to spin some tale that Albert’s last word had been his beloved daughter’s name.
But Iris was her dear friend, and she could not burden their friendship with a lie.
Instead, she shook her head. Fresh tears spilled onto Iris’s cheeks, and Odette swiped them away with her thumb.
‘Do you need a last word from him to know how much he loved you?’ she asked instead.
‘My darling, through every dark day, did you ever doubt it?’
‘No,’ Iris whispered. ‘Never.’
‘There is so much of him in you. Do you know that? You’re so determined, and still so kind.
So strong, yet so gentle. He was always proud of you.
’ Odette bit back her own tears, remembering the man who had asked her to teach his daughter how to pin her hair, who had sought her help when Iris became lost in sadness.
Will you look after her, if anything happens to me?
‘And like him, you hold everything together. For all of us. You do so much. Maybe too much. And maybe it is time you had a rest and made us sort some things out for ourselves.’
‘But the company…’ Iris watched Odette’s hand as she flicked her thumb against the business papers, each page flashing in and out of view.
Invoices, receipts, meeting notes, scrawled lists of actions and tasks to follow up.
‘Elise is wonderful, but she cannot run it all by herself. It would not be fair to leave her with so much to do.’