Susan leaned forward. "Alison, dear—if you choose—" she began in a whisper.
"Sit still," Alison muttered. "Stay, stay."
Mr. Waverton came in with measured pomp, stopped short and surveyed the company and at last made his bow. "Madame, your most obedient. I fear that I come untimely."
Alison could not find her voice, so it was Mr. Hadley who answered, "Lud,
Geoffrey dear, you're never out of season: like mutton."
"I give Mrs. Hadley joy," says Geoffrey. "Such wit must be rare company."
Alison was staring at him. "You have something to say to me? You may speak out. There are no secrets here."
"Is it so, faith? Egad, what friendship! But you have always been fortunate. And in fact I bring you news of more fortune. You are free of your Mr. Boyce, ma'am. You are done with him. He has been picked up dead." He smiled at Alison, Alison white and still and dumb. Mrs. Weston gave a cry and fell back in her chair and her fingers plucked at her dress.
Mr. Hadley strode across and stood very close to Geoffrey. "Take care," says he in a low voice.
"Well. Tell all your story," Alison said.
"They found him lying in the kennel in Long Acre," Geoffrey smiled. "Oh, there was some brawl, it seems. He was set upon by his tavern cronies in a quarrel about a wench he had. A very proper end."