"No, no, Ella, I cannot believe that," said Maria. "Your fears are making you fanciful."
That same evening, Miss Winter had the two maids, Phemie and Eliza, before her, and questioned them of matters respecting the Squire's last illness. What they had to tell was little more than she had heard from Priscilla Peyton. For several weeks or months previously to the 24th April, no one in the house, except the four people who were admitted behind the green baize doors, ever saw or heard anything of the Squire.
"Had you reason to think he was very ill?" asked Miss Winter.
"Ma'am, we could tell nothing," replied Phemie. "He might have been dead and buried for weeks and weeks, for all we saw or heard of him. Eliza and I used to say how strange it was: often we listened, often and often, but never got to hear him; never so much as heard him cough. Before that Mrs. Dexter came in November, I sometimes took his sago or his beef-tea to him, but never afterwards."
"How was it that you never mentioned to me that Mrs. Dexter had been here? Was it accident?
"No, ma'am, it was Aaron;" and Miss Winter could not help smiling at the turn of the sentence. "The day before you were expected home, he ordered all in the house not to talk of Mrs. Dexter: he thought it might trouble you to hear that the Squire was so ill as to need a nurse from London."
"I suppose you never penetrated beyond the green baize doors, after they were put up?"
Phemie glanced at her fellow-servant.
"Eliza did, ma'am, once. You had better tell of it, Eliza."
"Tell me all, Eliza; do not be afraid," said Miss Winter kindly, for the girl looked confused.