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a doorway off to the side. He opened it to show her into a very agreeable room, lighting the lamps for her and poking up a fire, which had almost gone out. He placed a couple of pieces of coal on it judiciously, then excused himself and left. He did not offer her tea. Perhaps he was too alarmed at the news, even though he did not yet know what it was. Judging by his manner, he expected a disgrace rather than a tragedy—which in itself was interesting.
    She stood by the fire, trying to warm herself. Her heart was still thumping and she had difficulty keeping her breath steady.
    The door opened and a woman of great beauty came in, closing it behind her. She was perhaps sixty, with auburn hair softening to rather more gold than copper, and the clear, fair skin that so often goes with such coloring. Her features were refined, her eyes large and blue. Her mouth was perfectly shaped. She bore little resemblance to Maude. It was not easy to think of them as sisters. No one would have called Maude beautiful. What had made her face so attractive was intelligence, and a capacity for feeling and imagination, a soul of inner joy. There was no echo of such things in this woman’s face. In fact she looked afraid, and angry. Her clothes were up to the moment in fashion, and perfectly cut with the obligatory shoulders and high crowned sleeves.
    “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellison,” she said with cool politeness. “I am Bedelia Harcourt. My butler tells me that you have driven all the way from St. Mary in the Marsh with unfortunate news about my sister. I hope she has not”—she hesitated delicately—“embarrassed you?”
    Grandmama felt a fury of emotion rise up inside her so violently she was overwhelmed by it, almost giddy. She wanted to rage at the woman, even slap her perfect face. However, that would be absurd and the last way to detect anything. She was quite sure Pitt would not have been so…so amateur!
    “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harcourt.” She controlled herself with a greater effort than she had ever exercised over her temper before. “But the news I have is very bad indeed. That is why I came personally rather than have anyone write a letter to you.” She watched intently to see if there were the slightest betraying foreknowledge in Bedelia’s face, and saw nothing. “I am afraid Miss Barrington passed away in her sleep last night. I am so very sorry.” That at least was sincere. She was amazed how sorry she was.
    Bedelia stared at her as if the words had no meaning that she could grasp. “Passed away?” she repeated. She put her hand up to her mouth. “Maude? But she never even said she was ill! I should have known! Oh, how terrible. How very terrible.”
    “I am sorry,” Grandmama said yet again. “The maid knocked on my door. I was in the same part of the house. I went to her immediately, but Miss Barrington must have died early in the night. She was…quite cold. We called a doctor, naturally.”
    “Oh, dear.” Bedelia stepped backward and almost folded up into the chair behind her. It was a collapse, and yet it was oddly graceful. “Poor Maude. How I wish she had said something. She was too…too reticent…too brave.”
    Grandmama remembered Bedelia’s letter to Joshua saying that she would not have Maude in the house because they had other important guests, and she found it extremely difficult not to remind her of that. But to do so would make an enemy of her, and then gaining any knowledge would be impossible. Really, this detecting required greater sacrifices than she had foreseen.
    “I am deeply sorry for coming bearing such painful news,” she said instead. “I cannot imagine what a shock it must be for you. I spent a little time with Miss Barrington and she was a delightful person. And I admit that to me she appeared to be in the most excellent health. I can understand your shock.”
    Bedelia raised her eyes and looked up at her. “She…she had lived abroad for some time, in very harsh climates.