“It was the only time that she ever did, I think, and nobody else knows that—I went down to Queen Street the day of the inquest.”
“Did you, Mary?”
“I wasn’t the only one,” she said quickly. “After the accident, do you remember that they’d taken her to the cottage hospital and she was detained there till the very day of the inquest? Two or three other people asked for her then, I know—the Rector, and Nancy Fazackerly, and, I think, Mrs. Leeds.”
I ejaculated at the last name.
“Yes, I know,” said Mary. “Of course that was horrible—but she refused to see the Rector, too, and Nancy.”
“So I should have expected.”
“I don’t know. The Rector is very gentle, and she’s known him for years—and he was very fond of Bill Patch. But, anyhow, she didn’t see either of them. As far as I know, she saw nobody except the doctor and one nurse until she gave her evidence. And after that, Miles, she had to go back to Queen Street.”
“And you went to find her there?”
“Oh no, I didn’t. She found me there. I can’t exactly explain what made me do it, Miles. I think—stupidly enough—it was the thought of her packing. I couldn’t get it out of my head that after the whole appalling business was over she’d have to come and see all the clothes she’d been wearing, and the little, inanimate things, and the sitting room with the bow window, where she’d waited for Bill. And I thought that it would be less frightful if she found someone there and the packing done—and even if it made her very angry, it would be better than seeing it all again just exactly as it had been before. But she wasn’t angry. She came much sooner than I’d expected and walked straight into the sitting room, and I don’t think she remembered who I was or anything. She sat down by the table, I remember, and folded her hands in her lap and never said a word. And I finished the packing.”
“Without speaking?”