"Then Sam died," Martha said abruptly. "It was something with his stomach. It was very quick. Dolly couldn't manage without him. She was completely distracted with grief. Phemie and Leda were put into an institution and Dolly went away. She didn't tell us where. I expect she meant to, but something inside her just ... collapsed." She looked at Hester, her eyes filled with tears. "I would have taken the girls, if I could have. But I was in service. There was no place for two little children. Phemie was barely three, and Leda only a year... and—and they weren't pretty children. They were... deformed. And they couldn't hear, so they would never be any use to anyone...."

Hester reached out and took Martha in her arms, holding her thin body closely and feeling the dry sobs that racked through her.

"Of course, there was nothing you could do," Hester said gently. "You had to work to eat. So do all of us. Sometimes it is all you can do to support yourself, and if you go under, what use is that to anyone?"

"I wish I knew where they were!" Martha said desperately. "I look at Lieutenant Sheldon with his face all twisted and burned like that until half of him hardly looks human, and I see the look in Perdita's eyes, and she was so in love with him ... and now she can hardly bring herself to look at him straight, let alone touch him... and I wonder what happened to those poor little souls. I should have found some way to help! Who's going to love them, if not me?"

"I don't know," Hester said honestly. False words of comfort now would only leave Martha thinking she did not understand or believe the enormity of her anguish. Hester held her even closer. "We can't change what has already happened, but we can try to do something about Gabriel and Perdita. She's got to learn to understand, to forget his disfigured face and see the man inside ... that beauty matters so much more. That is what will love her in return. To the devil with Athol Sheldon and his ideas."

Martha gave a jerky little laugh, half choking. "He means well," she said, straightening herself up and pushing back some of her hair which had fallen askew from its pins. "He just doesn't realize ..."

Hester poured fresh tea, which was still hot and steaming fragrantly. She passed one of the cups over to Martha.

Martha smiled and fished in her pocket for a handkerchief to blow her nose.

Hester sipped her own tea and took a piece of shortbread.

"Thank you for bringing my letter up," she said conversationally. "It was written from Scotland. Have you ever been there?"

Martha dabbed her eyes and settled to listen with interest to Callandra Daviot's account of her journeys.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3