“Nonsense!” said Mrs Lower, thoroughly enjoying a piece of the very brownest sweetbread outside, rich in glorious osmazome; “nonsense, Charles!” and so far from being startled, she cut two or three dice-shaped pieces of bread, soaked them in the rich gravy, and went on enjoying her breakfast.
“Fact, mem, I assure you,” said Charles. “That’s what Keenings sent for our fly for, mem.”
“What for? the burglars or the murderers, Charles?” said Mrs Lower composedly.
“No, mem; neither, mem; but ordered it at eight, mem, to go to the Grange, to fetch the doctor, mem.”
“What, Mr Brande?” said Mrs Lower, taking a little more interest in the matter.
“No, mem; old Hardon, mem,” said Charles.
“But he never goes to the Grange, Charles; it’s all a mistake.”
“No, mem, not a bit,” exclaimed Charles. “Jem’s in the yard now, mem, just come back from Hardon’s, and he helped the doctor in and out, too; and Mrs Hardon coming flying down in her dressing-gownd as soon as they got him down home, and a-going on dreadful, and saying it was all a judgment for not forgiving Miss Hagniss; and the doctor taking three men to carry him, being heavy and cold, and almost dead; and Mr Brande’s with him, mem, they say now.” Charles paused for breath.
“But what was it all? what does it mean?” cried Mrs Lower, stirring her tea with her knife.
“Why, mem, that’s what I’m a-telling you: it’s a burglary, you know,” said Charles excitedly. “The Grange attacked by robbers, and the doctor tied in a chair with the clothes-line, and laid down on his back, as Mr Keening and Doctor Brande found him, with a knife stuck in his throat.”