Page 66 of Speculations in Sin

“Mr. Davis?” I asked in a gentle tone. “Is it bad news?”

Mr. Davis did not raise his head. He gazed at the letter again as though willing it to tell him something different.

“Mr. Beach has died.”

The phrase was so quiet, so flat, that I barely heard it. “Your friend in Bury St. Edmunds?”

I realized as I spoke that Mr. Davis hadn’t actually told me that was where his ill friend had been staying, but he didn’t seem to notice my blunder.

“I knew when I saw him last there was no hope, but…” Mr. Davis heaved a long sigh, folded the letter, and dropped it to the table.

“One always has hope,” I said. “We can’t help it.”

Mr. Davis looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and moist. “He was a very dear friend. One I can never replace.”

“Of course not.” I wasn’t certain how to comfort him, butperhaps simply understanding would help. “You knew him a long time?”

“Since I was a young man.” Mr. Davis sank back in his chair, resting his shirt-sleeved arms on the table. He wore black arm guards that would keep polish from marring his pristine white shirt. “We were in service together, when I was a footman. Several years later, we had a falling-out, and we never quite made it up. I didn’t see much of him after that.”

The regret in his eyes made my throat tight. “You were able to visit him while he was ill,” I reminded him. “Did you reconcile then?”

“A bit. So many years had passed though. So many years we can never have back. I’m a stubborn fool. Though so was he.” A smile crossed his lips. “Both of us set in our ways. We’d have parted from each other eventually, I suppose.”

My curiosity stirred, and I wanted to ask a thousand questions about this gentleman whose death so affected Mr. Davis. Now was not the time, however. The letters I’d found—I wondered if this man had written to him, wanting to make peace between them, or if they’d been from the landlady he’d told me of, keeping Mr. Davis informed on the health of her lodger.

Perhaps one day Mr. Davis would confide in me, but I’d not pry today.

“I am very sorry,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to help? Shall I bring you a cup of tea? Something to eat?”

Mr. Davis rose, his smile at me more like his usual one, though his sadness remained. “I’ve noticed that the first thing you think of when you want to comfort someone is food, Mrs. Holloway. Very endearing, though I suppose you can’t help yourself. No, I will be well. The best help would be if you mentioned this to no one. Not the rest of the staff, nor Mrs. Redfern, nor the master and mistress.”

“You’ll want to attend his funeral,” I said quickly. “Perhaps Lady Cynthia can ensure you go.”

“Nor Lady Cynthia.” Mr. Davis became stern. “I will weather this. There’s no need for me to drag myself to the country to stand in a churchyard in a cold rain. I can do nothing for Mr. Beach now.”

“You can say good-bye,” I reminded him. That was what funerals and wakes and other vigils were for—to say a final farewell to the loved one. Those rituals were for us far more than the deceased.

“I did that,” Mr. Davis replied. “When I traveled down last week. Nothing more to be done. Now, I need to get on. Supper will be served soon. That is, if you have time to prepare it.”

He sent me a pointed look, and I conceded. “Very well. I will keep this to myself. But if you change your mind, I will happily assist with your duties so that you can go without impediment.”

I turned to leave, Mr. Davis impatient for me to be gone.

“Thank you, Mrs. Holloway,” he said as I opened the door. “Sincerely.”

I sent him a small smile over my shoulder. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Davis.”

* * *

Supper tonight thankfully was a simple affair, and Tess and I got through it easily. She and the others enjoyed the cakes I’d brought home, though Tess loyally said they were nowhere near as good as mine.

Tess asked me what I’d done today, and I gave her a truncated version of events, ending with my vow to take Sam a basket of food on Monday.

“It’s good of you, Mrs. H.,” Tess declared. “We’ll fix him upproper. But he’ll have to hide the things, you know. The other prisoners will try to take them from him.”

“Knowing Sam, he will offer them to those who have the least.”

Tess nodded. “Poor man. We’ll fill the basket to heaping, then.”

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