Eye of the Wind by Jane Jackson Page B

would it serve? Would it not be wiser, kinder, to let her sleep as long as possible? Why wake her now and burden her with yet more grief? It could not change what had happened. Stepping back from the bed, Melissa turned to the old nurse who had followed her in.
    ‘You stay here, Addey. I’ll ask Sarah or Agnes to bring you up some tea.’
    ‘Tea?’ Addey whispered, shocked. ‘This time of the morning?’
    Melissa drew a deep shaking breath. ‘Why not? I think we’ll both feel better for something hot to drink.’
    ‘Yes, well, perhaps you’re right. I tell you, ’tis going to be some awful day.’ Her face crumpled again, and she pressed both hands to her wet cheeks. ‘What am I going to say to the poor dear soul when she do wake?’
    ‘Nothing, Addey. You don’t have to say anything.’ Melissa put an arm around the shaking shoulders. ‘The moment she opens her eyes, you come and fetch me. I’ll tell her. But I hope, for her sake, she sleeps for another few hours. Now come and sit down here.’ Pressing her gently into a high-backed chair upholstered in rose velvet, Melissa crouched to pick up the soft rug from the floor where it had dropped, and laid it over the old woman’s knees.
    ‘Where will you be?’ The anxiety in Addey’s face and her clutching hand startled Melissa for an instant. A skipped heartbeat and welling fear accompanied her realisation that, from this moment, everyone in the household would look to her for reassurance, decisions and orders. It was too much. How would she cope?
    ‘I won’t be far away. Lobb or Sarah will find me. Try to rest now. My mother will need you to be strong, Addey. And so shall I.’
    Returning to her room, Melissa flung back the curtains and looked out on to a mist-shrouded world. Beyond the trees and curving hillside, the rising sun had washed the eastern sky pale primrose. It was going to be a beautiful day.
    Closing her eyes tightly and swallowing the agonising stiffness in her throat, Melissa took another deep breath. Dr Wherry had warned her, and in her heart of hearts she knew it was for the best. It had been a swift passing, no pain or struggle, no gradual decline that would have robber her father of dignity. It was just – too soon.
    Reaching into her closet, she took out a robe. She was slipping her arms into it when Sarah peered round the door, round-eyed with shock. Melissa didn’t wait for her to speak.
    ‘Sarah, before you run my bath, would you make a pot of tea and bring a cup for me and one for Miss Addey? She’s sitting with my mother.’
    Sarah nodded quickly. ‘Shall I bring one for mistress as well?’
    ‘No, she’s asleep so please be as quiet as you can.’
    Following Sarah out, still tying the belt of her robe, Melissa walked along the passage to her father’s room. After a brief pause outside to gather her strength, she tapped very gently to warn Gilbert of her presence, then entered.
    Seated on the chest at the foot of the large oak bed, his head in his hands, Gilbert looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, and shot to his feet.
    ‘Oh miss –’ His voice broke.
    Melissa linked her fingers tightly. ‘There’s nothing you could have done, Gilbert. But you were here. That’s what matters. He wasn’t alone.’
    ‘Twenty years.’ The valet struggled for control. ‘Started as a bootboy, then Mr Lobb trained me up for manservant. Said if master was willing I could learn to be a valet. These last five years –’ He glanced over his shoulder and spread his hands, inarticulate in his grief. ‘The best.’
    ‘Why don’t you go down to the kitchen? Mrs Betts is making some tea.’ Seeing he was about to protest, she added gently, ‘I’d like a few moments alone with my father.’ As he bowed and stumbled out, his head down, she went to the bed.
    Looking down at her father, she was struck by how peaceful he looked. The lines and grooves that stress had etched so deep, death had smoothed away. But though the signs of suffering had