hurrying to discover what had happened, and looking quite as pale as she was. The door into Lady Broome’s drawing-room stood open. Within the room, an appalling sight met Kate’s shrinking gaze. Lady Broome was lying on the floor, her face strangely blue, her tongue protruding, and her eyes, starting from their sockets, fixed in a stare of fury. Beside her, Sidlaw was kneeling, rocking herself to and fro, and sobbing over and over again between her wails: “I warned her! I warned her! Oh, my beautiful! Oh, my dear lady!”
Sarah, thrusting her way through the servants who had begun to congregate in the hall, some frightened, some in the expectation of excitement, shut the door in their faces, pushed Kate aside, and knelt down beside Lady Broome, while Sidlaw continued to wail and sob. Seeing that Pennymore was trembling so much that he was obliged to cling to a chair-back for support, Kate slipped out of the room, and, singling the second footman out from the small crowd of servants, quietly told him to find Dr Delabole, and to inform him that he was wanted immediately in my lady’s drawing-room. She then dismissed the other servants, saying that my lady had had a seizure, and went back into the drawing-room, to find that Sarah had risen from her knees, and was trying to induce Sidlaw to abate her lamentations.
Pennymore, who was looking as if he might faint, said hoarsely: “Stop her, Mrs Nidd, stop her! The Master will hear her! Oh, my God, what are we going to do?”
Kate, feeling that if she allowed herself to look at Lady Broome’s distorted countenance she too would faint, kept her eyes resolutely averted, and her voice under strict control. “I have sent William to fetch the doctor. I think you should find Tenby, and—and tell him that her ladyship has had a—a seizure. That is what I have said to the others. Tenby will know what to do if Sir Timothy should be upset.”
“Yes, miss, I’ll go at once,” Pennymore replied mechanically, and went shakily out of the room.
Sidlaw’s wails had changed to wild laughter. Sarah looked quickly round the room, saw a vase of roses standing on the desk, snatched it up, pulled the flowers out of it, and dashed the water into Sidlaw’s face.
“Sarah, is she—is she
Sarah nodded, and said authoritatively: “Help me to get this demented creature into a chair, miss! Come now, Miss Sidlaw, don’t start screeching again, there’s a dear! You sit down here, and pull yourself together!”
Huddled in the chair, Sidlaw said: “He’s killed her! I knew it would happen! I
A ringing slap from Sarah made her utter a whimper, and cower away. “That’s enough!” said Sarah sternly. “One more word out of you and that’s only a taste of what you’ll get from me! You should be ashamed of yourself! A woman of your age behaving like a totty-headed chit of a girl with more hair than wit!”
Sidlaw said fiercely, glaring up at her: “I know what I know!”
“Yes!” retorted Sarah. “And
Kate, who had fallen back, and was standing by the window, grasping a fold of the heavy curtains for support, shuddered, and said, in an anguished voice: “Don’t, Sarah! Don’t!”
An interruption was created by the doctor, who came into the room, breathing hard and fast, as though he had been running. There was fear in his eyes, and when they alighted on Lady Broome’s body a green tinge came into his face, and he uttered a groan. Only a perfunctory examination was needed to convince him that she had gone beyond his aid. As he drew down the lids over Lady Broome’s dreadfully staring eyes, the fear in his own grew, and he was obliged to swallow convulsively, and to moisten his lips before he managed to say: “There’s nothing I can do. She’s dead. I wanted to remain with her, but she wouldn’t permit me to do so! She could always control him! I have never known her to fail! She did so this morning! I assure you, she checked his—his fury immediately! When I left this room, he was sitting in that chair, just as She had commanded him to do! I never dreamed—oh, dear, oh, dear, she must have told him!—I warned her to take care—I have frequently warned her that he was growing beyond her control! What a tragedy! What a terrible tragedy!”
He fell to wringing his white hands, whereupon Sarah, who had been regarding him with disfavour, said: “If I may take the liberty of suggesting it, sir, I’ll be obliged to you if you’d raise her so that I can pull the shawl from underneath her, and cover her with it!”
“Yes, yes! you are very right!” he said distractedly. “I am so much shocked I can’t collect my wits! So many years I’ve known her! It is enough to unman anyone! Ah, poor lady! if only you hadn’t sent me away!”
He tenderly lifted the dead woman’s shoulders, and Sarah swiftly pulled the shawl of rose-coloured Norwich silk from under her, and would have spread it over the body had not Sidlaw darted out of her chair and snatched it from her hands, declaring that no one but herself should touch her dear mistress. She then burst into a flood of tears, casting herself over the body in an abandonment of hysterical grief.
The doctor implored her to be calm, but she was beyond listening to anything he said, and he was obliged to lift her forcibly to her feet, and to keep his arms round her to prevent her from collapsing. “What’s to be done? I must give this poor woman a composer—she cannot be permitted to disturb Sir Timothy! I ought to go to him— prepare his mind to withstand this great shock! But her ladyship can’t be left here, on the floor! I declare, I don’t know which way to turn!”
“Well, sir,” said Sarah, always practical, “seeing that you can’t help her ladyship, and no one’s come to fetch you to Sir Timothy, the best thing you can do is to get Miss Sidlaw up to her own bedchamber, and give her a dose of something to quieten her down. I’ll undress her, and put her to bed, don’t you worry!”
He agreed to this, and half led, half carried the weeping Sidlaw out of the room. Sarah, pausing only to beg Kate to go and sit in one of the adjoining saloons until she could come back to her, followed him, and Kate found herself alone.
The appalling implications of Lady Broome’s violent death had at one moment almost overpowered her, but her fainting spirit revived when she was confronted with the need to exert herself. She glanced at the still form, lying under a silken shawl of incongruously cheerful colour, her face very set, and then went out into the hall. Pennymore was awaiting her there, and straightened himself, looking at her in a dazed way. “Her ladyship is dead,” Kate said gently. “I expect you knew that. Does Sir Timothy know?”
“No, miss. I couldn’t take it upon myself to tell him, and no more could Tenby. Tenby told him what you said, and that the doctor was with her ladyship. Tenby says he’s anxious, but quite calm. It’s for Mr Philip to break it to him, Miss Kate. He’ll know best how to do it and—how much to tell him,” he added, in a lowered tone.
“Yes,” Kate said. “I think—I hope he will soon be home again. Meanwhile, we can’t leave her ladyship lying on the floor, can we?”
“No, miss, it’s not seemly. Where were you wishing to lay her?”
“In her own room, I think. If you agree, will you send James and William to carry her body upstairs? I’ll go up now to prepare the bed.”
“Yes, miss, I’ll fetch them to you at once. I ought to have thought of it myself, but I’m not as young as I was, Miss Kate, and the shock seems to have chased the wits out of my head. I hope you’ll excuse it!”
He hurried away, and Kate went up the stairs. She found a knot of housemaids in the upper hall, discussing the event in excited whispers, and by the time she had succeeded in dissuading the head-housemaid from calling the attention of her subordinates to the accuracy of Mrs Thorne’s prophetic dream; checked, with a few well-chosen words, the gusty sobs of a stout damsel who seemed to believe that to refrain from bursting into tears at the death of a mistress with whom she had rarely come into contact would be a social solecism; and dispersed them all about their various businesses, there was barely enough time left to strip Lady Broome’s great four-poster bed of its flaring patchwork quilt, its blankets, and all but one of its pillows, before slow and heavy footsteps approaching along the gallery made her bundle Ellen who; scared but mercifully dry-eyed, had volunteered her assistance, into the adjoining dressing-room, and to shut the door on her, and to lock it.
The two footmen came in, bearing Lady Broome’s corpse. They were both quite young men, but while James was evidently a good deal shaken, William, a more stolid character, wore an expressionless mask; and, when Kate said in a low voice: “Lay her on the bed!” he nodded, adjuring his trembling colleague to go easy.
The body was still covered by the silk shawl, and when Kate had dismissed the footmen it was a few moments before she could bring herself to remove it, and to spread a sheet in its place. She tried not to look at her aunt’s unrecognizable countenance, or at the livid bruises on her throat, but when she had shrouded the body from
