Today had been the first time Byrony had taken the notes for a Benevolent Trust meeting and it had been quite an experience. The Reverend Arthur Skandry had spent most of his time staring at Bryony’s ankles, and Thomasina Forrester had spent her time staring at her bosom. Neither of these things were entirely a surprise, although Bryony would have preferred not to have Thomasina eyeing her in quite that manner.
Dr Glass had not eyed Bryony at all; there was nothing in the least bit ogle-some about Dr Glass. The Prout sometimes wondered audibly about his private life, asking whether there was not something a little strange about a gentleman of thirty-five or thirty-eight who was not married, but most of Latchkill’s nurses considered this to be pure pique. There had been a story a year or two back that Prout had tried to inveigle Dr Glass into a romantic liaison with her, only to be rejected. This surprised nobody.
Bryony had no idea if the story was true, but it was certainly true that most of the nurses were halfway in love with Dr Glass. Byrony was not even a quarter of the way in love with him, although she would not have minded if he had stared at any part of her during today’s meeting. But he was far too much of a gentleman to do any such thing.
Maud could not imagine how Thomasina could bring herself to go to Latchkill–to go through those gates and walk along the gloomy tree-fringed drive, and step across Latchkill’s threshhold–but Thomasina said it was something that had to be done. Her father had set up a trust to help some of the poor souls in the place, and the mantle of that had fallen on Thomasina’s shoulders, so to speak. Noblesse oblige and all that.
Maud had said, ‘Oh. Oh, yes, I see,’ but had to repress a shudder at the thought of Latchkill with the spider light inside its rooms, and the deep badness at its heart.
There had been quite a lot of shudders to repress since coming to live at Quire House not connected with Latchkill but with what Maud thought of as ‘It’.
‘It’ had happened about a week after she had gone to Quire. She had been enjoying her stay, and she had liked the bedroom Thomasina had given her and everything had been very nice indeed. And then, one night after Maud had retired, Thomasina came into the bedroom and sat down to watch Maud get undressed. This was disconcerting, but Maud was still a bit over-awed by Quire and by Thomasina’s friendship. Thomasina had already given Maud several beautiful silk and velvet gowns and had talked about how they would go into Chester one day soon to buy brushes and painting materials so Maud could set up a proper artist’s studio while she was here.
So Maud did not want to seem ungrateful, and it was silly to feel embarrassed about taking one’s clothes off–it was not like undressing in front of a man. So she undressed, trying not to shiver as she did so–it was September, but the night was warm, and she could not possibly be feeling cold–and put on the delicate lawn nightgown laid out on the pillow for her. This, it seemed, was another of Thomasina’s presents, and so Maud said how pretty it was.
‘White,’ said Thomasina. ‘Wear it tonight, will you?’
It was a bit worrying to see Thomasina watching her so intensely. Maud had never before noticed what red, wet-looking lips Thomasina had, but probably that was only the glow from the gas jets. Once in bed with the sheets pulled up to her chin, Maud felt better. Safer. Less vulnerable.