Theft of Life Read Free Page B

rather distracted, and it was only William’s quick reactions that saved the kippers from being knocked to the floor as he entered with them on a tray behind her.
    ‘No balloons for Susan, I assume,’ she said as she sat down and Mrs Martin served her coffee from the fresh pot.
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Westerman,’ Graves replied. ‘No, not today. But Anne is still welcome to join us if you think she would enjoy it.’
    Harriet Westerman smiled. ‘She is singing her new balloon song already. Her nurse will go with you, of course.’
    ‘She was singing it all last evening too,’ Stephen said, and rolled his eyes before beginning on his kipper. ‘I’m not sure it really is a song, Mama, when all she does is chant
baallooon!
in a silly voice.’
    ‘It amused you yesterday,’ she replied.
    Her son grinned and swallowed whatever was in his mouth with a great sucking gulp, then waved his fork about as he answered. ‘Well, it is a bit funny, and then when we laughed she started doing it more and more. Even Susan laughed till she could hardly breathe in her frock.’
    The mention of her name made everyone quiet. The fork was reapplied to the kipper. Graves cleared his throat. ‘Eustache, would you like to come and see the balloon?’
    The boy looked around at them all from under his lashes without lowering his book, then sighed. ‘No, thank you, Graves.’
    ‘But Eustache, it’s a
balloon
!’ Stephen said in amazement, a forkful of kipper forgotten halfway to his mouth. ‘You can’t just want to stay here and
read
! We don’t even have lessons today.’ The bit of kipper fell back onto his plate and he huffed unhappily at it.
    ‘I can and I do, as it happens, Stephen.’ There was something about the way he spoke that made any phrase sound vaguely insulting. Clever enough to confuse his tutors at times, Eustache spoke like a boy three times his age. It could be unnerving, and such a way of watching people. Mrs Martin thought of what she had heard of his mother – beautiful, corrupted, mad – then found she could not look at Eustache any more. ‘I don’t have to go, do I, Graves?’
    His guardian looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘No, Eustache, but you cannot stay in the house all day. If you do not wish to come with us, perhaps you might go with Mrs Service and Susan. At least you’ll get some air that way.’
    Eustache looked back to his book and turned a page with a noisy sigh. ‘I will.’
    Harriet finished her coffee and held the cup up to Mrs Martin. She went to refill it, glad to stop thinking about Eustache. Mrs Westerman had a lovely smile. It came from her eyes and made you realise she was a young woman still. Mrs Martin felt guilty about her less than charitable feelings for the young widow. The house was big enough for them all and she was a dear friend and neighbour in Sussex, so she should always be made welcome, even if she descended on them at a moment’s notice. Hadn’t Mrs Westerman saved the lives of Jonathan and Susan? Hadn’t she saved her brother-in-law from the executioner’s axe only last year? Yet here she was, polite and genteel as any woman. Let people call her wild or unfeeling. Let the booksellers and printmakers spread their sensational versions of her adventures. Let the Sussex gentry tut and fuss at her behaviour. It was jealousy. It was only natural that she could be a little eccentric, a little impulsive after all her travels and troubles. They all had cause to be grateful she was such good friends with Mr Gabriel Crowther – and Mrs Martin had never seen anything improper in their relationship. Anyone saying otherwise was a mean-spirited gossip! Mrs Westerman was a good woman who helped people. She had two handsome, kind-hearted children, an estate that produced some of the best potted fruits Mrs Martin had ever tasted, and she knew how to conduct herself with ease and charm in the best houses in the country … when she wanted to. Why, the King himself had bowed over her