The dark oak-door that shut out the passage leading to the domains of the servants was pushed open, and Jemima's head appeared at it. I ran and laid hold of her.
"Oh, Jemima, let me stay by you!"
"Hark!" she whispered, putting her arm round me. "There are horses galloping up to the house."
Two police-officers, mounted. They gave their horses in charge to one of the men-servants, and came into the hall, the scabbards of their swords clanking against the steps.
"I don't like the look of them," whispered Jemima. "Let us go away."
She took me to the kitchen. Sarah, Mary, and the cook were in it; the latter a tall, stout woman, with a rosy colour and black eyes. Her chief concern seemed to be for the dinner.
"Look here," she exclaimed to Jemima, as she stood over her saucepans, "everything's a-spiling. Who's to know whether they'll have it served in one hour or in two?"
"I should think they wouldn't have it served at all," returned Jemima: "that sight in the hall's enough dinner for them to-day, one would suppose. The police are come now."
"Ah, it is bad, I know," said the cook. "And the going to look at it took everything else out of my head, worse luck to me! I forgot my soles were on the fire, and when I got back they were burnt to the pan. I've had to skin 'em now, and put 'em into wine sauce. Who's this coming in?"
It was Miss Delves. The cook appealed to her about the dinner.