Something moved on the bed, and she gasped, falling back and clutching at her heart. Wild hope mingled with startled fear, just for an instant, until she realized it was not Mrs. Montague who had risen from the bed, but the master.
The lamp was not lit. In the gloom caused by the closed curtains, he was a stranger. And yet he had been lying on the bed beside his dead wife. She pitied him. But still, at this moment, she felt a thrill of something close to fear. She should apologize for disturbing his privacy, and yet she froze, unable to find the words.
He said, “They will take her away tomorrow.”
He had always been a gently spoken man. At this moment, half visible by the body of his wife, he sounded positively…sepulchral.
She shivered, but at least her tongue loosened. “I know. I came to pray, but I’ll come back…”
She had already turned away when he spoke again. “They asked you questions. Here.”
How does he know that? Did they tell him?“Yes.” What else could she say? “He was fond of her, Mr. Kellar,” she blurted. “I never saw that couple before, but they seemed very concerned…”
“What did you tell them?”
Mary turned back to face him. “The truth, sir.”
“They will be back,” he said, his quiet voice curiously expressionless. “It might be best if you were gone by then.”
