A grunt of consideration was clearly audible through the door. ‘I will have a look at ye,’ said the voice with sudden decision, and thereupon there began a fearsome noise of chains, bolts, and the scraping of heavy furniture, which suggested that Mrs Meade had barricaded herself in with a vengeance. Soon after there was a creaking and the door swung open an inch or two, a bright black eye appearing in the crack. After a moment or so, apparently satisfied, Mrs Meade pushed the door open wide and stood upon the threshold looking in on them.
She was a striking old woman, tall and incredibly gaunt, with a great bony frame on which her clothes hung skimpily. She had a brown puckered face in which her small eyes, black and quick as a bird’s, glowed out at the world with a religious satisfaction at the coming punishment of the wicked. She was clothed in a black dress, green with age, and a stiff white apron starched like a board, which gave her a rotundity of appearance wholly false. She stood there for some seconds, her bright eyes taking in every nook and corner of the room. Apparently satisfied, she came forward.
‘That’ll be your sister, I suppose,’ she said, indicating Meggie with a bony hand, ‘seeing you’ve both red hair.’
Neither of the two answered, and taking their silence for assent, she went on.
‘You’re visitors, I suppose?’ she demanded. ‘It’s my belief the devil’s own work is going on in this house. Haven’t I seen it with me own eyes? Wasn’t I permitted – praise be the Lord! – to witness some of it? It’s four shall swing from the gallows, their lives in the paper, before there’s an end of this business.’
The satisfaction in her voice was apparent, and she beamed upon them, the maliciousness in her old face truly terrible to see. She was evidently bursting with her story, and they found it was not difficult to get her to talk.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Abbershaw. ‘I know your name, of course, but that doesn’t make me much wiser. Where do you live?’
‘Down in the village, three mile away,’ said the redoubtable Mrs Meade, beaming at him. ‘I’m not a regular servant here, and I wouldn’t be, for I’ve no need, but when they has company up here I sometimes come in for the week to help. My time’s up next Wednesday, and when I don’t come home my son’ll come down for me. That’s the time I’m waiting for. Then there’ll be trouble!’
There was grim pleasure in her tone, and she wagged her head solemnly.
‘He’ll have someone to reckon with then, the German gentleman will. My son don’t hold with foreigners nohow. What with this on top of it, and him being a murderer too, there’ll be a fight, I can tell you. My son’s a rare fighter.’