TEARS

“…there was a rumour that you had been killed at Vitoria and Mr Norrell sent Childermass to ask if it was true.”

John Childermass entered the room looking more uncomfortable than Arabella had ever seen him. “Forgive me, Madame,” he said. “I did not wish to be here but my master bid me come.”

She listened in silence as he explained his errand and then shook her head. “It is your master that brings news to me. I have heard nothing of this. I have not heard from Jonathan in months.” She gave a small, sad smile. “Perhaps he is… dead.”

Childermass sighed. “No, Madame. He is not. I have asked my cards and they say that your husband is alive and will return to you. I have told my master this, he would not listen but I assure you that it is true.”

At these words all her iron control seemed to desert her. She grasped his hand and held it to her cheek as the tears spilled from her eyes.

“Compose your self, Madame,” he said disengaging his hand and brushing the tears from her face with his thumb.

“Thank you,” she whispered, a flush rising to her face at her sudden display of emotion. “Forgive me.”

He nodded and bowed, leaving her to her grief and her hope.

Moments later, on the doorstep of the house in Soho Square, John Childermass raised his hand to his mouth and smiled as he tasted the bitter salt of the lady’s tears.