Her mother’s firm grasp on her arm checked her inclination to hysterics.
“Come.” There was no mistaking the power of the imperious command. With a grave inclination of her head to Coroner Penfield and Inspector Mitchell, who had stood a silent spectator of the little scene, she led her daughter inside the boudoir and closed the door. Not until Anne was in her own bedroom did Mrs. Meredith release her hold upon her arm.
“I trust your morbid curiosity is satisfied,” she said, making no effort to conceal her deep displeasure.
Anne walked over to her bureau and, turning her back upon her mother, opened a small silver bonbon box and in feverish haste slipped several hairs, which she had held tightly clenched between the fingers of her left hand, under the peppermints which the box contained.
“I am quite satisfied, mother,” her voice shook pitifully. “Would you mind sending Susanne to me. I—I will lie down for awhile.”
“An excellent plan.” Mrs. Meredith turned back to the door connecting Anne’s bedroom with the boudoir. “Doctor McLane expressly ordered us to remain in our rooms until Coroner Penfield sent for us. Have you—” she paused—“have you seen Lucille?”
“No.” Anne looked around quickly. “Has she been told about Uncle John?”
“She was still asleep when I went to her room half an hour ago, and I thought it best not to awaken her.” Mrs. Meredith laid her hand on the knob of the door, preparatory to closing it behind her. “I will go there shortly. Try and rest, Anne; a little rose water might make your eyes less red,” and with this parting shot, her mother retreated.
Crossing the boudoir Mrs. Meredith hastened into her bedroom. The suite of rooms which she and her daughter occupied were the prettiest in the old mansion, overlooking the well-kept grounds and lovely elm trees, but she did not pause to contemplate her surroundings, although the large bedroom and its handsome mahogany furniture were worthy a second look.
“Susanne,” she called. “Order my breakfast at once, then go to Miss Anne.”