The woman Louisa hoped to talk to was in the bed, lying on her side, her eyes open and staring at the blank wall beside her. There was a window in the room, but the curtains were still shut and only a faint haze of sunshine showed around the edges. There was a small lamp on the dressing table, which gave out the only light in the room. Prone, Mrs Fowler did not acknowledge Louisa’s entry into the room and she felt like an intruder. After all, she had no real right to be there, no legitimate power. But she did want to find out what had happened – for Guy, and maybe for Iain, too. What she was doing might have been questionable, but it wasn’t illegal.
Was it?
‘Mrs Fowler,’ Louisa called softly. ‘It’s me, Louisa, Lady Redesdale’s lady’s maid.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Ella, her voice firmer than expected. ‘Why are you here? Where’s Blythe?’
‘She’s gone to talk to the housekeeper. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. I’m here because my husband is DS Sullivan.’
Ella’s head turned sharply. ‘A policeman?’
‘Yes, you met him earlier, but it would be understandable if you didn’t remember.’ She edged slowly towards the bed and did not dare sit down in the chair but hovered, bent at the waist a little. ‘He’s investigating what happened last night but has been briefly…’ She tried to hold Mrs Fowler’s gaze. ‘He’s unwell himself. He asked me to talk to you.’
‘What good will it do?’ She slumped back onto the pillow and pulled it down, curling herself up.
‘Anything you can remember will help. I know it’s been a terrible night…’
‘How is Joseph?’
Louisa hesitated. ‘I’m sorry to say that it’s not looking good, Mrs Fowler. He’s still unconscious.’
Ella let out a howl of – what? Fury? Pain? Despair? Louisa couldn’t tell, but the visceral sound disturbed her and she nearly ran from it. It was the last noise she had expected to come from the wretched heap in the bed.
‘Go away, go away. Go away,’ shouted Ella. She pushed herself up with her hands and faced Louisa. ‘I did it. I did it and I will pay the price.’ Her eyes red, she spoke hoarsely and with feeling. ‘Everything is destroyed, don’t you see? Leave me, please, I beg you, just leave me. I only want to be alone.’
Louisa put one hand on the bed. ‘Mrs Fowler? How did you do it?’
There was no coherent response. Ella had gone face down into the pillow and was muttering into it, her words stumbling. Louisa felt panicked, at a loss as to what she should do next, when there was a knock at the door and it opened. She straightened up and saw Dr O’Donnell come in. He did not acknowledge Louisa but immediately went to Ella.
‘Mrs Fowler? Mrs Fowler?’ He spoke in a no-nonsense tone, one hand on her shoulder, until she sat up on her knees. Louisa couldn’t see her face, but she watched as the doctor spoke to her tenderly. ‘Mrs Fowler, I’m going to give you some more morphia. Would you like it?’
‘Is that a good idea, doctor?’ The words were out before Louisa could stop them; she had been about to extract a confession, she was sure of it. Did the doctor realise? Was there a reason he wanted to keep Ella quiet?
The doctor gave Louisa a cold glance and bent over his patient.
Like a child accepting a sweet in return for stopping tears, Ella mouthed a silent ‘yes’, her face streaked, her mouth parted. She lay down on her bed, mute and pathetic. It moved Louisa more than anything. The doctor administered morphia and soon Ella’s eyes were closed, her breathing heavy. When it was all done, he started to walk out of the room, and indicated to Louisa that she should follow.
‘I’ve arranged for a nurse to come and sit with her,’ he said. ‘She’ll sleep now for some time, I hope.’ He rubbed his eyes and when he opened them again Louisa could see they were spent of all light. ‘The truth is, I think her husband is about to die and she hasn’t the strength to cope with the news yet.’
‘I see,’ said Louisa, not knowing what the correct response to this should be. Sorry as she was for Ella and Joseph, she was more concerned for Guy. ‘And my husband, DS Sullivan? How is he?’
The doctor gave a thin smile. ‘He’s fine. There are no signs of concussion. You can go and see him, take him to breakfast. I expect you’ll both need your strength. I need to get back to Mr Fowler.’
With that, they both parted, leaving only the young cabin boy standing at the door.