“No, madam? It doesn’t matter.”
Miss Derrick remembered what Mrs. Thursby had said about wanting to tell the woman to shout out whatever was in the back of her head and have done with it. It was understandable now, and she felt the same desire. The difficulty was going to be to regard Perkins simply as a maid and not a creature of mystery. Again she tried to think of Beech Lodge without her, and again she failed.
“I’m afraid you must have been very lonely here, especially after Mr. Thursby left.”
“I was never alone, madam. That is—” She broke off in strange confusion. “I never feel lonely.”
Miss Derrick shivered in spite of herself. She perceived something now; but it was only a curtain, with no suggestion of what was behind. A thought darted through her brain. She recalled the strange manner of Mrs. Thursby, her restlessness, her obvious desire to get away, especially from this room. Mrs. Thursby had felt like an intruder, that round-faced, good-natured, unimaginative woman. Perhaps all were intruders here except Perkins, even Millicent himself. At the recollection of Millicent her pulse faltered. Perhaps that was why Millicent had been—She forced herself to speak evenly.
“Perkins, will you please be quite candid with me and say whether you have ever seen anything in this house which—which should not be here?”
The black eyes rounded. “I do not understand.”
“Have you ever seen what you thought was a ghost? I know there are no such things, but some people think they see them.”
“There are no ghosts here, madam.” She shook her head slowly. “I would know if there were.”
“Then will you explain what you meant when you said you were never alone?”