There was a little break in her voice as she finished speaking, and Fanny, glancing at her, saw that her blue eyes were brimmed with tears.
If, since her receipt of his letter, Mrs. Melray regarded her brother-in-law from a changed standpoint, Fanny did not fail to notice that he, on his part, now treated her with a certain show of cordiality of which there had been no sign before. Heretofore he had always addressed her ceremoniously as "Mrs. Melray," whereas he now as often as not spoke to her and of her by her baptismal appellation. A cloud seemed to have lifted itself off the house. The pretty widow's eyes began to sparkle again as they had not sparkled since her husband's death.
Only, Mrs. Melray the elder, when in her daughter-in-law's company, continued to be as grim and taciturn as she had always been. Nothing had happened which served to change or modify the silent, but uncompromising hostility with which she regarded the younger woman. That she could be very different when she chose was shown by her treatment of Miss Sudlow, which was not merely considerate, but had in it a certain element of cordiality, of a somewhat chill and stately kind it may be, but which, coming from the person it did, meant more than it would have meant from another.
One of the chief duties of the dowager's companion was to read aloud to her mistress. Unfortunately, about this time Miss Armishaw contracted a severe cold, which resulted, for the time being, in a partial loss of voice. In this strait Fanny offered her services as reader, an offer which Mrs. Melray was pleased to accept. This brought the two women into more confidential relations than before, for the readings always took place in the elder lady's private sitting-room, and were usually followed by half-an-hour's chat on sundry topics of the day before Fanny went back to her more immediate duties.
It was in the course of one of these after-reading talks that the dowager said: "Not till a week ago, my dear, did Robert give me a certain document to read, which, as I understand, was placed by my daughter-in-law in your hands first of all. It is a document which serves, in my opinion, to place her conduct in a very curious light indeed, and one which she may well have shrunk from having thrown on it. On that point, however, I will say no more. She is my son's widow, and although it would be hypocrisy on my part to say that I like her, I have no desire whatever to prejudice her in the eyes of others. Nay, I will go so far as to admit that there was never the slightest fault to be found with the way she did her duty by her husband, and that since his death her conduct has been most exemplary. That her life under this roof is a very lonely and isolated one cannot be disputed, consequently that she should seek your society a good deal is not to be wondered at. I am quite willing to grant her considerable powers of attraction, and if anyone were to question me closely on the point, I should probably be at a loss to say what there is about her which repels me so. There the feeling is, however, and it is one which I have been unable to overcome. If I were to describe it as a vague instinctive distrust I should perhaps not be very wide of the mark."
Fanny knew not what reply to make to this unwonted burst of confidence. But seeing that the dowager did not look as if any reply were expected of her she wisely held her tongue.
After a pause, during which the elder lady sat staring into the fire with a far-away look in her eyes, she spoke again.
"I suppose we may now finally give up all expectation of ever seeing my poor son's murderer brought to the bar of justice."
"For my part, madam, I cannot go so far as to admit that," replied Fanny. "One never can tell from day to day what clue may turn up, or what important fact be brought to light, perhaps from a quarter the least expected, or in a way the most surprising and unthought of. I have read of cases as apparently unfathomable as that of Mr. Melray, which time has unravelled after its own fashion, and after those most experienced in such matters had given them up as hopeless."
"Let us trust, my dear, that it may prove so in my son's case; but every day that passes tends to make it more unlikely."