“What does it mean?” he asked, in an awed voice. “Who did it?”
“Who, indeed, sir?” Hannah said, whimpering like a child. “Oh, Mr Granniss, sir, do get Mrs Varian to go away from this accursed house! Nobody is safe here! I’m leaving as soon’s I can pack up. Kelly, here, is going, too,—and I hope the missus will go this very day. It’s curst indeed, is this place! Oh, Martha, me little girl,—who could ’a’ done this to ye?”
Going nearer, Rodney looked at the body, touched it and felt for the girl’s heart.
There was no heartbeat and the cold flesh proved her death took place some hours since.
“What do you know about it?” he asked the cook.
“Not a thing, sir. Martha was down stairs late last night, and she came up again, saying Mrs Varian was down in the library.”
“Mrs Varian down stairs! At what time was this?”
“’Long about one o’clock, sir. Then me and Martha both went to sleep,—leastways, I did, and that’s all I knew till morning. Then I went to call the girl to get up, and her bed was empty. I came down—and here I saw—this!”
Throwing her apron over her face, Hannah rocked back and forth in her chair.
Rodney forced himself to think,—to give orders.