The doctor politely handed Lady Dudleigh a chair, and made one or two remarks about the weather.
“Sir Lionel,” said he, “if Lady Dudleigh will excuse us for a few moments, I should like to speak with you in private.”
“Will you have the kindness, Lady Dudleigh,” asked Sir Lionel, “to excuse us for a few moments? We shall not leave you long alone. And here is a book—an invaluable book—with which you may occupy your time.”
He said this with such exaggerated politeness, and with such a cunning leer in his eyes, that his tone and manner were most grotesque; and as he concluded he took up the large Bible with ridiculous solemnity.
Lady Dudleigh merely bowed in silence.
“A thousand thanks,” said Sir Lionel, turning away; and thereupon he left the room, followed by the doctor. Lady Dudleigh heard their footsteps descending the stairs, and then they seemed to go into some room.
For some time she forgot all about him. The place had at first surprised her, but she gave it little thought. She had too much to think of. She had before her a task which seemed almost impossible; and if she failed in this, there was before her that dread alternative which Sir Lionel had presented to her so plainly. Other things too there were besides her husband—connected with all who were dearest to her—her brother, perhaps, dying before he had accomplished his work; her son so mysteriously murdered; her other son awaiting her command to assist in bringing his father to death. Besides, there was the danger that even now might be impending over these—the danger of discovery. Sir Lionel's desperate threats might have some meaning, and who could tell how it might result if he sought to carry out those threats?
Brooding over such thoughts as these, she forgot about the lapse of time, and at last was roused to herself by the entrance of a woman. She was large and coarse and fat.
At the door stood another woman.
“Your room's ready, missus,” said the woman, bluntly.