“Oui, madame” The Frenchwoman emerged in haste from the closet where she had been rearranging Mrs. Meredith’s dinner gowns. She smiled shrewdly as she went below stairs. “You give orders as if you were already mistress here,” she muttered, below her breath. “But wait, madame, but wait.” And with a shrug of her pretty shoulders Susanne hastened to find the chef.
Mrs. Meredith regarded herself attentively in the long cheval glass, added a touch of rouge, then rubbed it off vigorously. Pale cheeks were not amiss after the tragedy of the night. Powder, delicately applied, removed all traces of sleeplessness, and finally satisfied with her appearance, she left her bedroom. The old mansion had but two stories, with rambling corridors and unexpected niches and alcoves. The wide attic was lighted by dormer windows and a deep cellar extended under the entire building.
The large drawing-room, library, billiard room and dining-room were on the first floor, the servants’ quarters in a wing over the kitchen and three large pantries, and the ten masters’ rooms took up all the space on the second floor. A second wing, added at the time John Meredith had had electricity and plumbing installed, furnished three additional bedrooms and baths and were reserved for bachelor guests. The ground floor of this wing made a commodious garage.
As Mrs. Meredith walked down the broad corridor she noted two detectives loitering by the head of the circular staircase and frowned heavily. Her pause in front of the door leading to the bedroom occupied by Lucille Hull was brief. She knew, from her earlier visit that morning, that her cousin had neglected to lock the door upon retiring the night before. Without the formality of knocking she turned the knob and entered. The dark green Holland shades were drawn and in the semidarkness Mrs. Meredith failed to see a pair of bright eyes watching her approach. By the time Mrs. Meredith reached the bedside, Lucille was in deep slumber, judging by her closed eyes and regular breathing.
Lucille’s good looks were not due to cosmetics, Mrs. Meredith conceded to herself as she stood looking down at her. Even in the darkened room the girl’s regular features and beautiful auburn hair which, flying loose, partly covered the pillow, made an attractive picture. Mrs. Meredith laid a cool hand on the girl’s exposed arm, and gave it a gentle shake.
“Lucille,” she called softly. “Wake up.”
Slowly the handsome eyes opened. Her first glance at the older woman became a stare.
“Good gracious, Cousin Belle, you!” she exclaimed. “And fully dressed. Am I very late? Have I slept the clock around?”
“On the contrary it is very early; only six o’clock.” Mrs. Meredith’s somewhat metallic voice was carefully lowered. “I have distressing news—”
Lucille raised herself upon her elbow, her eyes large with fear.