“I see.”
Audrey stopped. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“It’s late, and he’s a man visiting a young’s woman home,” he said coldly.
Audrey crossed her arms. “So he was. So are you.”
“Was he invited as well?”
“Are we going to keep going down this line of questioning?” Her eyebrow arched at him.
“I’m stopping now. I’m an idiot. Do you forgive me?”
Audrey shook her head. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
He accepted that answer. “I received your note. How can I help you?”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, frowning. She moved towards the sofa before the fire, and he followed her.
“Tell me what the problem is and I’ll do my best to help you,” he told her. “By the way, where is Frances?”
“She’s upstairs in her room.” She pulled the papers forward that they had worked on and handed them to him.
“Our lists,” he acknowledged them.
“I found out something unexpectedly about them.” She relayed the conversation she had with Dr. Beesley, and Henry looked startled.
“Do you mean to say everyone on this list is dead?”
“I’m not sure about everyone. He said he only recognized some of them, and I have no way to confirm them all.”
Henry stared at the list he held. “What sense does that make? And if they are dead, what do the numbers mean and why was Marguerite keeping a list of them?” Audrey shuddered, and he saw it. “Are you cold?” he said suddenly.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “It just seems a little odd. A list of the dead.”
“It is odd.” He looked down at the lists of names. “Maybe she was keeping a list of people that died in the workhouse. Perhaps we are making too much out of this.”
“I would agree with you if it weren’t for the fact that she wrote those words as well. She was afraid of something. But what?” Audrey shook her head. She looked at him then and realized. “I’m a terrible host. I haven’t offered you anything to eat or drink, and you came after work. Would you like some tea? I think I have some cheese and bread.”
“Sounds like a feast.”
He followed her as she busied herself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and placing the food on a plate. Henry leaned against the door, watching her. She wasn’t doing anything grand or impressive, but he felt a strange calm overcome him, and he knew she was the one he wanted in his life. Odd that he should discover this fact in the small kitchen in the little cottage at the far end of the workhouse grounds… But there it was. Stranger things had happened.
He had known how he felt for some time, but he knew it was not the right time to discuss it with Audrey. She was too overwhelmed with her mother, and he didn’t want to add to her troubles. If anything, he wanted to be a source of strength to her. He wanted her to understand that she was not alone.
“I’m sorry it’s not more,” Audrey told him as she placed the food on the table.
“It’s perfect,” he said as she carried another tray of tea and cups into the drawing room.
“Bon appetit,” she said.
Together, they consumed the food and drank the strong tea while the light rain fell outside. After Audrey had cleared away the dishes, they sat before the fire.
“I don’t even know what to make of it.” She looked down at the papers with the names of the dead upon it. “If the entire list that Marguerite made is dead, and we know they are inmates because Dr. Beesley recognized them, why?”
“She was writing them down for a reason,” he agreed.
Audrey excused herself and he watched her walk upstairs and then return a minute later with the diary in hand. She came to sit across from him and he watched as she turned the pages to find what she was looking for. When she stopped, she looked up at him and read the words aloud.