Bill lay down with a sigh, his nose on his paws, whining softly. His mistress took a small key out of her handbag and unlocked the case and drew a torn piece of foolscap out of one of its pockets. She stood for a moment in uncertainty and then went across to the writing-table by the window and sat down. The letter she wrote was quite short, but took her some time to compose. She read it through, hesitated, and then with a shrug folded it. She carefully placed the torn foolscap into an envelope and sealed it, and inserted both it and her own note into another larger envelope. She addressed this and said to Bill, whose whines had become despairing: "All right, you shall go. I've a feeling I've done the right thing. What do think, old boy?"
Bill thought that it was time they started for their walk and said so quite unmistakably.
Together they descended the stairs. To Bill's disgust their first objective was the post office, where Shirley registered and posted her letter. Then she set off towards Ivy Cottage, and Bill, released from his lead, bounded ahead of her joyfully. In the rear Constable Tucker plodded dutifully after them.
It was three o'clock by the time Shirley reached the cottage, and she found the charwoman whom she had appointed to meet her there at half-past two standing on the doorstep and looking aggrieved.
The cottage felt cold and smelled musty, of dry rot. Shirley flung open the windows and told the charwoman to put a kettle on for hot water. The kitchen floor had to be scrubbed, she said. The charwoman remarked that it wasn't everyone who was so particular how they left a place.
"Possibly not," said Shirley. "And while you're waiting for the water to boil please put those plates away in the cupboard and fold up that rug for me to pack."
There was a good deal to be done in the cottage. Shirley finished packing her own trunk and tied a label on it; and then, with rather a heavy heart, she began to sort out Mark's possessions. She did not want to be obliged to go through them again, and she had made up her mind to send most of his clothes to an East End mission. She went down to hunt for brown paper and string and did up four large parcels.
The charwoman acted for the first time on her own initiative at four o'clock. Having found a tin of condensed milk in the larder she made some tea and brought it upstairs to Shirley. Shirley declined the tinned milk but was glad of the tea. Remembering Lady Matthews' parting words that morning, she told the charwoman to offer some to the man outside in the lane. Apparently it was accepted, for presently, looking out of the window, she saw Constable Tucker coming up the path behind the charwoman. He looked sheepish but grateful. When he had retired again to his post Shirley told the charwoman that she could go as soon as she had washed up the tea-things. She herself saw the end of her labours in view and hurried to get everything finished before the light went.
The charwoman came upstairs for her money, and while Shirley searched in her purse, volunteered the remark that she wasn't surprised miss had left the cottage. "Lonely, I call it," she said.
"I don't mind that," said Shirley.