“Most mysterious,” she said, and looked carelessly out of the window to where the debris of the Museum was still steaming. Simultaneously, Georgie gave a little start, and instantly changed the subject, rapping on the table.
“There’s one thing we’ve forgotten,” said he. “It wasn’t entirely our property. Queen Charlotte’s mittens were only a loan.”
The faces of the Committee fell slightly.
“A shilling or two,” said Mrs. Boucher hopefully. “I’m only glad we didn’t have Pug as well. Lucia got us out of that!”
Instantly the words of Vittoria about the dog and the angry old woman, and fire and water and moonlight occurred to everybody. Most of all they occurred to Daisy, and there was a slight pause, which might have become awkward if it had continued. It was broken by the entry of Mrs. Boucher’s parlour-maid, who carried a letter in a large square envelope with a deep mourning border, and a huge coronet on the flap.
“Addressed to the Museum Committee, ma’am,” she said.
Mrs. Boucher opened it, and her face flushed.
“Well, she’s lost no time,” she said. “Lady Ambermere. I think I had better read it.”
“Please,” said everybody in rather strained voices. Mrs. Boucher read:
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Committee of Riseholme
Museum—