“I-I'm ashamed to be so afraid,” she said haltingly. “It's not for myself-it's my children. There is no one to care for them if anything happened to me.”

“You are a widow?” Hester asked more gently. Perhaps in her place she would have felt the same. It was more than natural, it would be hard to understand any other feeling.

“I . . .” Genevieve took a deep breath. “I don't know. I know that sounds absurd, but I am not sure. My husband is missing . . . . ' “I'm sorry.” Hester meant it profoundly. “That must be dreadful for you-the uncertainty and the loneliness.”

“Yes.” Genevieve took a deep breath and steadied herself. Very deliberately she slid the clean cotton shift over Enid's body, watching every movement in her attempt not to jolt or bump her.

“How long?” Hester asked as they took off the old sheet.

“Twelve days,” Genevieve replied. “I-I know this sounds as if I have given up all faith, but I believe he is dead, because I know where he went, and he would have been back long ago if he were able.”

Hester went over to the linen press and fetched the clean sheet. Together they put it on the bed, moving Enid gently as they did so.

“Where did he go?” Hester asked.

“To Limehouse, to see his brother,” Genevieve answered.

“Caleb Stone ...” Hester said slowly. “I've heard of him.”

Genevieve's eyes widened. “Then you know I am not foolish in my fear.”

“No,” Hester agreed honestly. “From the little I have learned, he is a violent man. Are you sure that is where he went?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Genevieve's voice. “He went quite often.

I know it seems hard to understand, when Caleb was so dreadful, he seems to have nothing to commend him at all, but you see they were twins. Their parents died when they were very young, and they grew up together.” She smoothed the blanket and tucked it in with quick, careful hands. “Lord Ravensbrook took them in, but he is only a distant cousin, and that was before he married Aunt Enid. They were cared for by servants. They had only each other to show any kind of affection to, any laughter-or tears. If they were ill, or afraid, they had no one else. Caleb was different then. Angus doesn't say a great deal, I think he finds it too hurtful.” Her face was pinched with imagination of pain, and the child she could not comfort within the man she loved. Now even the man was beyond her reach, and there was nothing she could do, except wait.

Hester longed to offer her some ease or hope, but there was none, and to invent it would be cruel. It would force her through the agony of realization, acceptance and grief twice, instead of once.

“You must be tired,” she said instead. “Have Dingle bring us some breakfast, then you should change your clothes and go to your room and sleep.”