The butler who answered Lady Harcourt's front door had the kind of face that had been saying "no" to people for so long it had simply become his natural expression.
"Madam," he said, looking at her the way one looks at unexpected rain. "Lady Harcourt is currently in a meeting. She is not available."
"I'll wait," Miriam said.
"It may be quite a while," he said.
"I'll wait," she said again.
He looked at her belly, then at her face, then back at the door he was still holding half closed, as though calculating his options.
"This way," he said finally, with the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own sentencing.
The waiting room they put her in was small and cold in the way that rooms were cold when nobody important was expected to sit in them. There was one chair, a narrow window overlooking the side of the building next door, and a painting of some ducks that had nothing interesting to say.
Miriam sat down.
She waited.
