10th April, 1891 — Evander’s House, Swallowbury
Day two; a second letter from Alfred; still no news of Caroline. Reading Alfred’s letter was about the only thing he could recall doing with his day. After work he had trudged up to the Church of St. Fergus for the candlelit vigil. Except the flickering candlelight and the church music and the prayers and general hush as people dabbed their cheeks with handkerchiefs only made him feel more certain that Caroline and the rest of those who had not been found were already dead.
He felt both a little manic, and then a surge of calm as he walked home again in the falling darkness and let himself in and made it two paces into the hallway before he couldn’t see the use in standing. So without even taking off his coat, Evander sank onto one of the bottom steps of the stairs, propped his head wearily in his hands, and stared diligently at his shoes.
He was not certain of how long he had been sitting there, particularly, when there were footsteps in the hall. Ah, Miss Clearwater. That made sense. Charity must already be in bed. (He had had sense enough not have taken her to the vigil, not that she cared about Caroline; but he could not have chanced her talking about dented heads in public tonight.)
He murmured a hello to her. Or at least he thought he did; he couldn’t be sure the word had made it past the lump in his throat.
Louisa Clearwater
He felt both a little manic, and then a surge of calm as he walked home again in the falling darkness and let himself in and made it two paces into the hallway before he couldn’t see the use in standing. So without even taking off his coat, Evander sank onto one of the bottom steps of the stairs, propped his head wearily in his hands, and stared diligently at his shoes.
He was not certain of how long he had been sitting there, particularly, when there were footsteps in the hall. Ah, Miss Clearwater. That made sense. Charity must already be in bed. (He had had sense enough not have taken her to the vigil, not that she cared about Caroline; but he could not have chanced her talking about dented heads in public tonight.)
He murmured a hello to her. Or at least he thought he did; he couldn’t be sure the word had made it past the lump in his throat.
