"But I must answer her… I don't know what I can write if, ever since she left the new Mrs. Wington's church, my life has been a bore… And I thought I was going to spend all my days at their house from now on! And my parents still haven't come back… I'm all alone in this big, unfriendly town!" – Charlotte sat down at the table, put a blank sheet of paper in front of her, dipped her quill in the inkwell and wrote: "I hope you feel better soon. I confess I am coughing a little myself, but Sarah is preparing for me my favourite hot tea with lemon and sugar. 'My dear, I miss you. I pray to God to give us a chance to see each other. I have said it many times before, but I will say it again now: if you have something to share with me, please share it with me, because I suddenly feel like you are drifting away from me. With every letter you write, with every note you write. Please tell me I'm wrong. Yours Charlotte."

The girl folded the sheet of paper beautifully into a small note, sealed it with the seal of the Saltones' coat of arms, and, clicking Sarah, told her to give the note to the Wingtons' messenger. Then, rummaging through the drawers of her desk, Charlotte found the brief note which Anthony Cranford had left her when he left, and, resolutely taking a blank sheet of paper, she began to write him a letter, hoping to find from him answers to her questions about Vivian's present situation and her health. Her friend had been ill too often, and this was worrying Charlotte.

After writing two sheets of paper without even rereading it, she put the paper in an envelope, wrote the address of Devry Manor, where Anthony had gone, and, finding Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper, gave her the letter to send. It was only when Mrs. Anderson took the letter and was out of her sight that the girl felt some mental relief.

"Anthony knows what is going on with Vivian. I'm sure of it,' thought Charlotte as she slowly climbed the stairs to her chambers. Her recently sunny mood had been replaced by gloomy grey clouds, and her desire for a walk in the garden was gone in an instant.

***

– Jeremy, my love. I beg… I beg you: let me go to Charlotte tonight. I miss her so much. If you like, we can go together and have tea with her and then go to the park," Mrs. Wington asked her husband with a shy smile, still holding her friend's note of despair and resentment.

Vivian wished she could run out of the house, stop the cab and go to Charlotte's. Or even just walk, even though it was at least half an hour's walk to her house in the bright sunshine of this year's hot October. She felt guilty for making her poor friend suffer, for she knew how attached Charlotte was to her. But Vivian deliberately invented reasons why she could not visit her, because she did not want her to see her as the pale, frightened woman into whom she had changed from a blooming and confident girl.

Every day spent at Wington Hall, and every night spent with her husband, brought her closer to the end of her life – that was what the girl thought, falling asleep in silent sobs and praying that she would have time to fulfil what she had sacrificed herself to Jeremy's fierce passion.

– 'No, my dear. You're sick. Look at yourself in the mirror, you look like a ghost. You need to lie down," Jeremy said with concern in his voice as he glanced down at her neck, which was wrapped in a light green silk shawl. – Perhaps your pallor and fatigue are signs that you are carrying my heir? – he added with a smile.

– No, my love, it can't be: it's only a fortnight since I bled," Viviane replied quietly, and put her palm to her forehead: "It's so hot! I'm sick of this heat!