The Dower House Mystery by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

ma’am, will Marmaduke ’ave his basket in my room or yours?” concluded Ellen, without any pause or change of expression.
    â€œOh, I’ll have him,” said Amabel—and then, “Poor Mrs. Brown, I was afraid there was something.” Her thoughts went to the little girls with the blue check pinafores and cork-screw curls. “Poor Annie,” she said with half a sigh.
    Ellen sniffed the sniff of virtue.
    They went to bed early. Miss Harriet’s bed was very comfortable, and Amabel was tired.
    Ellen, standing in the doorway between the two rooms, bade her mistress good-night, and then lingered.
    â€œWhat is it?” said Amabel at last—and was aware of offence.
    â€œOh, nothing,” said Ellen; but she stood with the door in her hand, and did not go.
    Amabel looked at her sleepily.
    â€œIt’s really time you were in bed, Ellen,” she said. And then enlightenment came to her. “Leave the door open if you like, and then if I want anything, I can call out to you.”
    Ellen rallied her dignity.
    â€œI wouldn’t like to think as you wanted anything, or was nervous,” she said.
    â€œNo, I know. Oh, Ellen, I’m so dreadfully sleepy. Do go to bed.”
    â€œAnd if you should wake up—”
    â€œI shan’t. I’m going to sleep, and sleep, and sleep. But you can leave the door open.”
    Amabel would probably not have stirred till daylight if it had not been for the abominable conduct of Marmaduke. She was tired enough to sleep through his preliminary twistings and turnings; but when he left his basket and began to scrabble at the edge of her bed, she woke, cuffed him, and then went to sleep again. But this time the sleep was a troubled one. Through its veils she was aware of Marmaduke sniffing and whining. Then suddenly he barked, and she was broad awake, tingling all over, her hands stretched out in the darkness, feeling for the unaccustomed switch.
    The light showed Marmaduke’s basket overturned, his bedding on the floor, and himself leaning dejectedly against the door that led into the passage. When Amabel scolded him he growled, backed away from her, and retreated to a dark corner where his eyes looked like emeralds. Put back in his basket and slapped, he tucked his nose under his tail and appeared to be wrapped in slumber.
    Amabel lay awake for an hour, listening to all the tiny sounds which edge the silence in any old house—sounds imperceptible by day, and well-nigh imperceptible by night. Sleep came back to her slowly.

Chapter VI
    Mrs. Brown sat up in bed, with a very clean pillow behind her and a very clean sheet turned down over the faded eiderdown which had been a wedding present from Miss Harriet Forsham. There was a starched white cap on her head and a cross-over shawl of crimson wool about her shoulders. The shawl had a white crochet border done in shell pattern.
    Mrs. Brown herself was pale and plump. She had mild, kind eyes, and a surprisingly firm mouth.
    â€œNow, just to think of its being you!” she said. “When Mr. Forsham wrote and said that a lady had taken the house, I no more thought of its being the young lady that we was all so fond of—and then last night, when Jenny come down and said that you remembered us—well, I was puzzled! And now, just to think of its being you!” She paused, beamed upon Amabel, and said, “I should have known you, my dear,—yes, I should have known you for sure.”
    â€œThat’s very nice of you,” said Amabel. “Twenty years is a long time.”
    â€œOh, my dear, yes . The old ladies gone; Forsham Old House let—and that’s a thing I never thought to see; and you a widow—deary me! Have you any children, ma’am, may I ask?”
    â€œOne,” said Amabel. “Daphne is just grown up. She has gone to Egypt for the winter with some friends.”
    Mrs. Brown sighed heavily.
    â€œAh well, children’s a