The Welfare of the Dead Read Free Page A

we may call on them in a day or two, if you think that would be agreeable. But please, do call me Melissa, won’t you? We are flesh and blood, after all.’
    â€˜Yes, ma’am . . . Melissa,’ replies Miss Krout.
    â€˜Good. Now, I only hope Jasper has returned home – we were delayed by waiting for him. You will have to forgive my husband, Annabel, he is so devoted to the business that he sometimes forgets all social ties. He is an awful beast, and I will tell him so when I see him.’
    â€˜Please, not on my account, cousin,’ replies Miss Krout, anxiety in her voice. ‘I would not want to start off on a bad foot.’
    â€˜Oh, Annabel, he will adore you, I am sure. Ah, now here we are at last.’
    The brougham turns left, into Duncan Terrace, a narrow street just off the City Road, flanked on one side by lofty Georgian houses, and on the other by neatly kept public gardens protected by iron railings.The coachman pulls to a stop and, once a man-servant appears by the side of the vehicle, the two women are swiftly ushered into the hall of the Woodrows’ home. Coats are hung upon the coat-stand, the blankets taken away and despatched to some secret location. Mrs. Woodrow, meanwhile, acquires a few items of evening post, left waiting for her upon a side-table.
    â€˜Come up to the drawing-room, my dear,’ says Mrs. Woodrow. ‘You may as well see us at our best.’
    The drawing-room, upon the first floor, boasts a roaring fire and a pair of comfortable armchairs arranged before it.
    â€˜Mr. Woodrow is still not home, Jervis?’ asks Melissa Woodrow, addressing the man-servant who awaits instruction by the door.
    â€˜No, ma’am.’
    She sighs with exasperation, placing the envelopes upon the mantel, and extending her hands towards the fire, rubbing them vigorously. ‘He has sent no message?’
    â€˜No, ma’am.’
    â€˜Very well. Ask Mrs. Figgis to make some tea and toast, if you will. We’ll take them here.’
    â€˜Very good, ma’am.’
    Mrs. Woodrow watches the butler depart, and turns her attention to her guest.
    â€˜Jasper will be home soon, my dear, I am sure; then we can eat properly. Do sit down. And I expect your luggage will arrive shortly. But the cab-men are a law unto themselves, you may take it from me. They should know Duncan Terrace, mind you. It is a thoroughly respectable road.’
    â€˜It is much the same in Boston, with the cabs, ma’am.’
    â€˜â€œMelissa”, my dear, please. Will you forgive me if I open these?’ she says, gesturing at the pile of envelopes. ‘It is just that Jasper likes everything to bedealt with immediately. He can be very particular in some things, when it suits him.’
    â€˜Of course,’ replies Miss Krout.
    â€˜I know it is awfully rude of me, Annabel dear. I won’t be a moment.’
    Annabel Krout looks idly around the room as her cousin takes the envelopes to a small writing desk against the far wall, and slices into them with a paper-knife. It is a pleasant parlour, with a marble fireplace, and a great gilt-edged mirror hung above the mantel-piece. The furniture is a little gloomy perhaps, all dark mahogany and walnut, a little old-fashioned. But it is a comfortable, well-upholstered sort of room. There is even, Annabel notes with some satisfaction, a piano-forte. But as she looks about her, she happens to notice a peculiar frown upon her cousin’s face as she opens her post or, at least, one particular item. Indeed, if she were more familiar with Melissa Woodrow, Annabel Krout would express some polite concern about the contents of the letter in question; but it is too early in their acquaintance for such confidences. Instead, she waits patiently while Mrs. Woodrow replaces it in the envelope, and continues with the remainder.
    â€˜Annabel, I think I might go and change,’ says Mrs. Woodrow, once her task is done. ‘I do