"I should be sorry if anything were said about the household papers. A woman in your position must be careful what she is seen to have handled."
"I have handled nothing of his grace's but a cloth, doctor."
"A cloth is all one ever sees a woman handling, Mrs. Larkin. What is done in the evenings is another matter."
She looked at the smile for a long moment.
"The lamp has a smoking wick," she said. "I would trim it, if I were you."
Dr. Sutherby's smile stayed. It was the color of the smile that stays after the reason for it has left.
She went past him down the passage. She heard him say softly to the empty room that he was doing this for her own good.
By evening, the whole household knew the tablet room was being laid for 40.
"The will," Mrs. Puit said, "was very plain. Once the stone was read to the society's satisfaction, the stone would be theirs, and the trust ended. A reading that seemed complete would do."
"Even a false one," said Hester.
"Especially a false one. It only needs to sound like it took 10 years."
Hester put her hand over the copy book.
Tomorrow at noon, 40 men would hear 60 lines from Dr. Sutherby, and none of them would hear the 61st.
She had the 61st in her pocket. She did not know if anyone would let her say it.
* * *
At noon, the tablet room smelled of beeswax, wet broadcloth, and 40 men waiting to be impressed.
Benches lined the paneling. The oak table had been carried out. Miss Delamir sat in the front row with her unused fan.
The Duke sat by the fire in a plain chair, with Judge at his feet, and his face gave away nothing whatever.
Hester stood against the far wall with a cloth. It was the only place in the room where nobody would look for her. The copy book lay flat in her pocket. Her hand rested on it.
Dr. Sutherby stood at the plinth with 20 leaves of foolscap.
He read well. That was the horror of it.
"60 loaves," he read. "40 jars of beer. 12 measures of lamp oil. Gentlemen, I confess to you that after 10 years, the stone yielded not a hymn, but a steward's order."
A murmur ran along the benches, of a kind that meant 10 years of nonsense were about to be retitled as 10 years of rigor.
"A remarkable feat of patient scholarship," said a voice from the back.
"It was my life's work," said Dr. Sutherby, with feeling.