“The Head Wardress,” he said, tossing the towel into a white enamelled receptable. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “She’s a bad lot. Well, I can’t stay gossiping,” he went on. “I’ll let you have the death certificate. You can pick-it up at my office on your way back.”
Maxison said he’d do that.
The doctor was crossing the room when the door opened and a woman came in. She was small, square-shouldered, and her blonde hair shone like brass. It was swept up to the top of her head, a tiny blue velvet bow holding it in place. She wore a black, smartly tailored dress relieved by white collars and cuffs.
“Finished ?” she said to the doctor. Her voice made me think of shiny steel rods.
He grunted, went away without looking at her.
She stared after him, chewing her thin under-lip, then nodded to Maxison.
“Get that body out as quickly as you can,” she said. “I want Mitchell to clean up here.”
“All right, Miss Robbins,” Maxison said, giving her a scared look.
He hoisted the coffin on to the trestles he had already set up.
The woman sauntered over to the body on the table and stared down at it. There was something about her small, sharp face that gave me goose pimples. Her nose was small, her mouth almost lipless, and her eyes ice-blue. Her straight eyebrows shot up to her high forehead and gave her a devilish look.