IX.
Hester left Ashcombe on the twentieth of November, in the plain black gig from the home farm, with one trunk and a character in the Dowager's own hand that described her as the most capable and conscientious governess this house has ever employed. The Duke handed her up into it himself, in full view of the entire household, and kissed her gloved hand, which was very improper, and which Mrs. Pell made sure the whole servants' hall understood had been done with Her Grace standing at the window watching.
The first Sunday letter reached Ashcombe on the Wednesday. So did the second, a week later, and the third. Rose kept them in the enamelled box that had held her mother's hairpins.
The Dowager waited until the fourth.
Then, on a night in December when the snow had come at last to the beech walk, she unlocked the lowest drawer of her writing table, and unlocked the rosewood box, and broke the seal that had held for thirty-one years.
It was a short letter. Susannah had always written short letters; she said long ones were for people who had nothing to do.
Dearest Vinny,
I know you cannot answer this. I know what Ashcombe would say, and Papa, and I know you are new to all of it and must be careful. I do not ask you to receive me. I am not writing to ask you for anything at all.
I only wanted you to know that I am happy. Daniel is good, and kind, and we are poor, but I find I mind it much less than I expected. I have a little window that looks out on the river and I paint at it every morning. I am going to have a child in the spring.
I forgive you already, for whatever you must do. I know you. You will be very correct and very unhappy about it, and you will tell yourself it was your duty. It is all right. I love you. I shall always love you. That is the one thing they cannot strike out of the Bible with a ruler.
Your Sukey.
The Dowager Duchess of Ashcombe sat with the letter in her lap until the candles guttered, and then in the dark. She had spent thirty-one years afraid of it, believing it held a plea she had refused or a curse she had earned. It had held nothing but kindness. She had locked kindness in a box for thirty-one years, and called it prudence, and taught herself to stand on the edge of the world and watch.
In the morning she rang for her son.