A young woman, however, answered the ring. She wore a rather shabby serge frock, but no apron, and she did not resemble any kind of servant. Her ruddy, heavy, and slightly resentful face fronted the visitors with a steady, challenging stare.
“Does Miss Nickall live here?” asked Audrey.
“Aye! She does!” came the answer, with a northern accent.
“We’ve come to see how she is.”
“Happen ye’d better step inside, then,” said the young woman.
They stepped inside to an enormous and obscure interior; the guardian banged the door, and negligently led them forward.
“It is a large house,” Miss Ingate ventured, against the silent intimidation of the place.
“One o’ them rich uns,” said the guardian. “She lends it to the Cause when she doesn’t want it herself, to show her sympathy. Saves her a caretaker—they all know I’m one to look right well after a house.”
Having passed two very spacious rooms and a wide staircase, she opened the door of a smaller but still a considerable room.
“Here y’are,” she muttered.