They returned by an evening train, sitting side by side at a table in the Pullman car; Emmie looking pale and well-bred, Louisa grey-haired, solid, severe, but so well-dressed and dignified as to seem a friend of the other lady and not her servant. No one would have noticed them or thought about them, if they had not aroused a little curious attention by asking for tea and eggs instead of the table-d’hôte dinner that the rest of the passengers were devouring. When they had finished their tea, Louisa put on spectacles and read the Strand Magazine; while Miss Verinder thought of what had happened at Upperslade Park, and of what this release might have meant to her once, a long time ago, many, many years ago. Coming now, it seemed like the last cruel mockery of fate.
That same night, although she was very tired, she wrote to Anthony to tell him of this second death.
“...Dr. Wenham says that in such cases the end very often comes like this, with haemorrhage (I do not think I have spelt it correctly) of the brain. Poor soul, she never recovered consciousness and she passed away quite peacefully without any suffering. And I want to say that I am quite sure she really loved you at first, dear Tony, and that, so far as anything like connected thought or sustained feeling was possible to a person in that darkened condition, she loved you to the last. She never forgot you; she always spoke of you.
“You will be surprised at my saying all this, but I will explain by telling you something that I have not told you till now. Only do not for a moment suppose that I kept it back because I was afraid you might not approve. I knew very well that you would think it right and wish me to do it; as it was what you used to do yourself until your work prevented you. I said nothing to you simply because I did not want to trouble you.
“For a number of years I have been in touch with her, and have regularly visited the asylum. Dr. Wenham seemed to think that my visits did her good, as proving to her that there was still somebody in the world who took an interest in her; although I cannot say that I ever could see that she felt this. At any rate, by going I was enabled to make sure that she was being well treated and having good food, and so on. This, I think, you will be glad to know. After the death of that hateful aunt of hers, it seemed that, except you and me, there was literally nobody who even knew of her existence.
“I will explain everything else about it when we meet.”
She continued to write to him even more often; telling him about Louisa or the cat, telling him anything that could possibly interest him.
“They say the price of food has fallen again, but Louisa says the good shops are as dear as ever.... Mildred Parker is going to be married early in September. I wish I had you here to help me choose a present for her. I feel so dull and uninventive that I dare say I shall sneak out of the difficulty by sending a cheque. Mildred is a dear girl.”