like a small sheet and applied it to her face..
“He arst me how could he find Lady Jocelyn’s grave, and I said—”
“What did you say?”
Mrs. Ramage gulped.
“I said, ‘We don’t want to think about graves or suchlike, not now her ladyship’s come home again.’ ”
Mrs. Armitage gazed resignedly at the front page of the Wire.
“Mrs. Ramage told me she was thunderstruck—” What a pity she wasn’t!—“ ‘I remember Lady Jocelyn coming here as a bride… Such lovely pearls—the same she’s wearing in her picture that was in the Royal Academy. And she came back wearing them, and her lovely fur coat too… ’ Miss Ivy Fossett, parlourmaid at Jocelyn’s Holt, says, ‘Of course I didn’t know who it was when I opened the door, but as soon as I got a good look at her I could see she was dressed the same as the picture in the parlour…’ ”
Mrs. Ramage continued to gulp and mop her face. All at once Milly Armitage relaxed. What was the use anyway? She said in her good-tempered voice,
“Oh, do stop crying. It’s no use—is it? I don’t suppose you had a chance with him really—he was bound to get it all out of you. Only I can’t think how they knew there was anything to get.”
Mrs. Ramage gave a final gulp. She looked about her. The big kitchen was empty, Ivy and Flo were upstairs making beds, but she dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper.
“It was that Ivy—but girls are so hard to get. I had it out of her last night. She’d an aunt got a guinea from a paper for sending up a piece about a cat bringing up a rabbit along with its kittens, and that put it into her head. She took and wrote a postcard to the Wire and said her ladyship had come home after everyone thought she was dead, and a cross in the churchyard and all. And I’m sure I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world, not if it was to vex Sir Philip.”
“Well, I don’t see that it was your fault, Mrs. Ramage. I suppose the papers were bound to get hold of it.”
Mrs. Ramage put her handkerchief away in a capacious apron pocket.
“It’s a lovely photo of the cross,” she said.
Milly Armitage gazed at the paper.
Anne
Wife of Philip Jocelyn
Aged 21
They would have to alter the inscription of course. Philip would have to get it done. Because if it was Anne upstairs in the parlour with Lyn, then it wasn’t Anne’s body under the white marble cross. You can’t be in two places at once. She wished with all her heart that she could be sure that the inscription on the cross was true. It was probably very wicked of her, but she would much rather be sure that Anne was in the churchyard, and not upstairs in the parlour. The trouble was that she couldn’t be sure. Sometimes Philip shook her, and sometimes Anne shook her. She was as honest as she knew how to be. It didn’t really matter whether she wanted Anne to be alive, or whether she wanted her to be dead. What mattered was that they should be sure. It was perfectly frightful to think of Annie Joyce grabbing Anne’s money and getting away with Philip and Jocelyn’s Holt, but it was even more frightful to think of Anne coming back from the dead and finding out that no one wanted her. Her eyes remained fixed upon the page.
Annie
Daughter of Roger Joyce
That was what it would have to be if Anne were alive… What a frightful business!
She looked up, met Mrs. Ramage’s sympathetic gaze, and said with the frankness which occasionally devastated her family,
“It’s a mess—isn’t it?”
“A bit of an upset, as you may say—”
Mrs. Armitage nodded. After all, Mrs. Ramage had been twelve years at Jocelyn’s Holt. She had seen Philip married. You couldn’t keep things from people in your own house, so what was the good of trying—you might just as well make a virtue of necessity. She said,
“Did you recognize her—at once?”
“Meaning her ladyship, ma’am?”
Mrs. Armitage nodded.
“Did you recognize her—” she paused, and once more
“He arst me how could he find Lady Jocelyn’s grave, and I said—”
“What did you say?”
Mrs. Ramage gulped.
“I said, ‘We don’t want to think about graves or suchlike, not now her ladyship’s come home again.’ ”
Mrs. Armitage gazed resignedly at the front page of the Wire.
“Mrs. Ramage told me she was thunderstruck—” What a pity she wasn’t!—“ ‘I remember Lady Jocelyn coming here as a bride… Such lovely pearls—the same she’s wearing in her picture that was in the Royal Academy. And she came back wearing them, and her lovely fur coat too… ’ Miss Ivy Fossett, parlourmaid at Jocelyn’s Holt, says, ‘Of course I didn’t know who it was when I opened the door, but as soon as I got a good look at her I could see she was dressed the same as the picture in the parlour…’ ”
Mrs. Ramage continued to gulp and mop her face. All at once Milly Armitage relaxed. What was the use anyway? She said in her good-tempered voice,
“Oh, do stop crying. It’s no use—is it? I don’t suppose you had a chance with him really—he was bound to get it all out of you. Only I can’t think how they knew there was anything to get.”
Mrs. Ramage gave a final gulp. She looked about her. The big kitchen was empty, Ivy and Flo were upstairs making beds, but she dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper.
“It was that Ivy—but girls are so hard to get. I had it out of her last night. She’d an aunt got a guinea from a paper for sending up a piece about a cat bringing up a rabbit along with its kittens, and that put it into her head. She took and wrote a postcard to the Wire and said her ladyship had come home after everyone thought she was dead, and a cross in the churchyard and all. And I’m sure I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world, not if it was to vex Sir Philip.”
“Well, I don’t see that it was your fault, Mrs. Ramage. I suppose the papers were bound to get hold of it.”
Mrs. Ramage put her handkerchief away in a capacious apron pocket.
“It’s a lovely photo of the cross,” she said.
Milly Armitage gazed at the paper.
Anne
Wife of Philip Jocelyn
Aged 21
They would have to alter the inscription of course. Philip would have to get it done. Because if it was Anne upstairs in the parlour with Lyn, then it wasn’t Anne’s body under the white marble cross. You can’t be in two places at once. She wished with all her heart that she could be sure that the inscription on the cross was true. It was probably very wicked of her, but she would much rather be sure that Anne was in the churchyard, and not upstairs in the parlour. The trouble was that she couldn’t be sure. Sometimes Philip shook her, and sometimes Anne shook her. She was as honest as she knew how to be. It didn’t really matter whether she wanted Anne to be alive, or whether she wanted her to be dead. What mattered was that they should be sure. It was perfectly frightful to think of Annie Joyce grabbing Anne’s money and getting away with Philip and Jocelyn’s Holt, but it was even more frightful to think of Anne coming back from the dead and finding out that no one wanted her. Her eyes remained fixed upon the page.
Annie
Daughter of Roger Joyce
That was what it would have to be if Anne were alive… What a frightful business!
She looked up, met Mrs. Ramage’s sympathetic gaze, and said with the frankness which occasionally devastated her family,
“It’s a mess—isn’t it?”
“A bit of an upset, as you may say—”
Mrs. Armitage nodded. After all, Mrs. Ramage had been twelve years at Jocelyn’s Holt. She had seen Philip married. You couldn’t keep things from people in your own house, so what was the good of trying—you might just as well make a virtue of necessity. She said,
“Did you recognize her—at once?”
“Meaning her ladyship, ma’am?”
Mrs. Armitage nodded.
“Did you recognize her—” she paused, and once more
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