The hands of the grandfather clock in the living room were pointing to three when the funeral services commenced. Betty, accompanied by Alexander Nash, was the last to enter and take the seat reserved for her by Alan Mason’s side. A few friends from Washington had motored out to Abbott’s Lodge, while the residents in the vicinity had come in a body to attend the services.
Upstairs in her bedroom Mrs. Nash motioned to Somers to come to her, and with reluctance the Englishwoman left her post by the door where she had been keeping an attentive ear for all that was transpiring below.
“Help me up,” ordered Mrs. Nash, in a tone Somers had learned not to disregard. “Get my slippers and wrapper.” She was panting from her exertions when she finally reached the hall door, a protesting Somers struggling to steady her with a feverish grasp of her elbow.
“Tut, be quiet, Somers; I can’t hear a word,” and Mrs. Nash appeared in the hall and peered down it. Shifting her husband’s cane, which she had picked up on her way from the room, to the other hand, she rested her weight on Somers’ arm, and went slowly to the top of the staircase. From there she could hear in the stillness the words of the Episcopal service. When she raised her head after the final prayer, Somers saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.
“I’ll rest here,” she announced, dropping weakly into a chair by the stairhead. “Oh, it doesn’t matter what I’m sitting on,” as Somers attempted to remove several overcoats, evidently the overflow from the wraps lying in the living room below. “Bring me the small glass of whisky which Miss Betty poured out before she went downstairs.”
In her haste Somers neglected to add any water and Mrs. Nash drank the whisky neat with a wry face. With the false strength engendered by the stimulant, she managed to get back to her room and into bed before her husband came upstairs.
“How are you, dear?” he asked solicitously. “Do you feel stronger?”
“Yes, now that I’ve taken some whisky,” promptly, conscious that the telltale fumes might betray her activities if questioned on the subject. “Are the services over?”
He bowed gravely. “Betty and I are just starting for the cemetery.”
“Where is Alan Mason?” sharply.