Roger Ellis and his grandmother to their own devices.
In the passage, Mrs. Ellis said, “Miss Crawford feels you ought to see Dr. Tilton. Shall I fetch your coat? I wish I’d known sooner about the fall, my dear, I would have suggested speaking to him straightaway.”
Lydia was angry with me, as I’d expected. “I’m all right, Mama, I truly am. Bess was wrong to worry you.”
But Mrs. Ellis had the last word. “You must do as I ask, Lydia. Tomorrow will be a very busy day, and I can’t have you ill on my hands.” The unspoken reminder that Lydia had already been away for two days when she could have been helping with preparations precluded any argument. Still, she cast a reproachful glance in my direction as she went to fetch her coat.
I brought down my own from my comfortable, warm room, dreading the thought of traveling in a motorcar through the cold and dark night. Still, it was the right thing to do. Lydia was waiting for me by the door, and Mrs. Ellis was just bringing the motorcar around. We dashed through the rain to climb quickly inside. The little heater hardly made a difference where I sat in the rear, and I was glad of my gloves and a scarf. There was nothing to be done about my cold feet as we followed the looping drive and went down the avenue of ash trees.
Mrs. Ellis was saying, “I hope this weather passes before the service. I’d so counted on everything going well.”
“It will be all right, Mama,” Lydia assured her.
The rest of the drive was made in silence, and I watched the headlamps bounce across the dark landscape, touching first this patch of heather and then a taller, twisted stand of gorse. We passed horses standing head down just off the road, and I saw the bright eyes of a fox or a dog before whatever it was scurried into the safety of the shadows. I could hardly see the next turning, but Mrs. Ellis was familiar with the roads and drove with care.
Dr. Tilton’s surgery was dark when we reached Hartfield, and we pulled up instead in front of the house. It was two storeys, looming above us in the now misting rain.
“Thank goodness, there are lights still on downstairs,” Mrs. Ellis said as she set the brake.
“I’ll go to the door,” Lydia told her, getting down and dashing through the puddles to the house, before we could stop her. The high roof of the porch offered little shelter, and she huddled there for nearly a minute before someone answered her summons. She stepped inside the entrance, and the door was swung shut behind her.
Mrs. Ellis started to call her name, then broke off. “I don’t know what’s troubling her,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know why she and my son are so at odds.”
“You weren’t there when he struck her?” I asked.
“No. But I saw her as she ran out of the room, and I asked Roger what had happened. He answered that she was upset. The next thing I knew, she was gone. I thought perhaps she’d just taken a walk, cold as it was. Later, when I tapped at her door, she didn’t answer, and it wasn’t until Roger went up to dress for dinner that we realized she hadn’t come back. I thought perhaps she’d got into trouble somewhere on the heath. Roger went out to look for her. He came back, his face like a thundercloud and took the motorcar. He was gone for some time, and when he came home again, he told me he couldn’t find her. I stayed up most of the night, thinking she might come back. But she never did. I didn’t know what to think and was all for summoning the police. But Roger was adamant. He believed she’d come home when she was ready. I don’t think any of us dreamed she’d gone to London.” She was silent for a time, watching the doctor’s door. Then she asked, “Did Lydia confide in you, Miss Crawford? Did she tell you why she wouldn’t come home?”
“She was afraid of your son,” I told her. “It was difficult for her to make the decision to return.”
“And when she did, she brought you with her.
In the passage, Mrs. Ellis said, “Miss Crawford feels you ought to see Dr. Tilton. Shall I fetch your coat? I wish I’d known sooner about the fall, my dear, I would have suggested speaking to him straightaway.”
Lydia was angry with me, as I’d expected. “I’m all right, Mama, I truly am. Bess was wrong to worry you.”
But Mrs. Ellis had the last word. “You must do as I ask, Lydia. Tomorrow will be a very busy day, and I can’t have you ill on my hands.” The unspoken reminder that Lydia had already been away for two days when she could have been helping with preparations precluded any argument. Still, she cast a reproachful glance in my direction as she went to fetch her coat.
I brought down my own from my comfortable, warm room, dreading the thought of traveling in a motorcar through the cold and dark night. Still, it was the right thing to do. Lydia was waiting for me by the door, and Mrs. Ellis was just bringing the motorcar around. We dashed through the rain to climb quickly inside. The little heater hardly made a difference where I sat in the rear, and I was glad of my gloves and a scarf. There was nothing to be done about my cold feet as we followed the looping drive and went down the avenue of ash trees.
Mrs. Ellis was saying, “I hope this weather passes before the service. I’d so counted on everything going well.”
“It will be all right, Mama,” Lydia assured her.
The rest of the drive was made in silence, and I watched the headlamps bounce across the dark landscape, touching first this patch of heather and then a taller, twisted stand of gorse. We passed horses standing head down just off the road, and I saw the bright eyes of a fox or a dog before whatever it was scurried into the safety of the shadows. I could hardly see the next turning, but Mrs. Ellis was familiar with the roads and drove with care.
Dr. Tilton’s surgery was dark when we reached Hartfield, and we pulled up instead in front of the house. It was two storeys, looming above us in the now misting rain.
“Thank goodness, there are lights still on downstairs,” Mrs. Ellis said as she set the brake.
“I’ll go to the door,” Lydia told her, getting down and dashing through the puddles to the house, before we could stop her. The high roof of the porch offered little shelter, and she huddled there for nearly a minute before someone answered her summons. She stepped inside the entrance, and the door was swung shut behind her.
Mrs. Ellis started to call her name, then broke off. “I don’t know what’s troubling her,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know why she and my son are so at odds.”
“You weren’t there when he struck her?” I asked.
“No. But I saw her as she ran out of the room, and I asked Roger what had happened. He answered that she was upset. The next thing I knew, she was gone. I thought perhaps she’d just taken a walk, cold as it was. Later, when I tapped at her door, she didn’t answer, and it wasn’t until Roger went up to dress for dinner that we realized she hadn’t come back. I thought perhaps she’d got into trouble somewhere on the heath. Roger went out to look for her. He came back, his face like a thundercloud and took the motorcar. He was gone for some time, and when he came home again, he told me he couldn’t find her. I stayed up most of the night, thinking she might come back. But she never did. I didn’t know what to think and was all for summoning the police. But Roger was adamant. He believed she’d come home when she was ready. I don’t think any of us dreamed she’d gone to London.” She was silent for a time, watching the doctor’s door. Then she asked, “Did Lydia confide in you, Miss Crawford? Did she tell you why she wouldn’t come home?”
“She was afraid of your son,” I told her. “It was difficult for her to make the decision to return.”
“And when she did, she brought you with her.
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