Love and Freindship and Other Delusions by Beth Andrews Page B

When I return, all of them had best be burning, or you will feel my cane across your back, you ungrateful wretch.’
    Gladys passed by me on her way out the door, but glanced back at Mrs Lindsay with such a look of hatred and anger on her face that I was quite startled. Her lips compressed in a tight line for a moment before she uttered a strange reply which I have never forgotten: ‘Don’t worry, ma’am. Everything will be burning, all right!’
    A few moments later, I was at the front door, making my exit. Laura had not bothered to accompany me, as she was plainly offended by my previous comments. I was not sorry to be so slighted, however, having had quite enough of her by this time, and it was with a feeling of relief that I heard the door close behind me as I made my way down the front steps to the waiting carriage.
    Nothing could have prepared me for the news which reached our house the next morning. One of our maids rushed in as Mama and I were at breakfast. She could scarcely get the words out in her frantic eagerness.
    â€˜Have you heard, ma’am?’ she cried, addressing my mother.
    â€˜Heard what?’ Mama asked, mystified.
    â€˜Your friend, Mrs Lindsay, is dead!’
    â€˜Indeed!’ Mama remarked. ‘Some good news, for a change.’
    *
    As to what happened to Laura, I have pieced together the following train of events, based on my subsequent interviews with her servants, who were all most obliging in relating what they knew had transpired after my departure that fateful evening.
    About quarter of an hour after I had left, the staff became aware of the faint smell of smoke in the house. Before anyone could investigate the source, a piercing scream broke the silence.
    â€˜Gladys!’ The voice of their mistress penetrated through even the thickest walls, followed by high-pitched wails of anguish. Everyone rushed to the spot whence the sounds continued to emanate.
    Agnes, one of the under-housemaids, arrived at the shrine first, to see the table and the heavy draped fabric all ablaze and the flames licking up the walls behind them.
    â€˜Oh, help!’ Laura was shouting now. ‘Fire! Someone come quickly!’
    It was notable, Agnes said, that Laura made no attempt to put out the blaze herself. She merely stood, staring in horrified fascination.
    Two other maids rushed in after Agnes. They immediately perceived the urgency of the situation and grabbed whatever they could—aprons, petticoats, their mistress’s shawl—and proceeded to beat out the leaping flames before they could spread to the rest of the house. All the while, Laura stood mutely while everyone whirled about her in their frantic fight with the fire.
    Eventually the blaze was extinguished, but the shrine had been irreparably damaged. It was clearly too much for the near-catatonic Laura.
    â€˜Are you quite well, ma’am?’ Agnes asked, but Laura was apparently incapable of speech by this time, and merely emitted something like a distressed tweet.
    â€˜She’s had a bad shock,’ one of the other maids commented.
    As the maid finished speaking, the portrait of Edward, which was still intact, though badly singed, fell from the wall and landed on the floor with a loud crash. This broke the spell which had held Laura silent.
    â€˜Oh, my Edward!’ she wailed. Then, putting her hand to her head, she began to sway alarmingly, while the servants clustered around, trying to hold her up.
    â€˜She’s goin’ to swoon!’ one of them cried.
    â€˜You mean faint?’ Agnes asked.
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜She never faints,’ Agnes asserted. ‘It’s a rule.’
    â€˜Well, she’s going to break it now!’
    Laura slumped to the floor, unconscious.
    â€˜There she goes,’ another maid said.
    They knelt down beside her, holding her head and fanning her. One fetched a bottle of sal ammonia, which remedy proved to be