The Road to Mandalay | Page 6

an auction at 'Littlecote'?"
"Yes, of course," assented Mrs. Billing, "and that is sure to bring in a
handsome sum--unless there are liabilities and debts. I've always
admired that Crown Derby tea service--dark blue and gold."
"I know," rejoined Miss Tebbs, "a beautiful long set, and there's a nice
little old Sheffield tea urn that we could do with! I expect the kitchen
things will go pretty cheap; we want a new preserving pan."
"Talking of the kitchen, reminds me of food," remarked the visitor
rising. "My husband will be back clamouring for his lunch and I must
run," and in spite of her size, Mrs. Billing was out of the house in less
than no time, pursued by a volley of questions to the very gate.

* * * * * *
During that afternoon there was an unusual amount of visiting and
talking; the recent event had stirred the village to its depths, but beyond
the facts disclosed by Mrs. Billing everything was surmise and regret;
the personality of the late Edward Shafto, though slightly known, was
much respected. "He was a gentleman"--the statement implied a
left-handed compliment to his wife--"and his purse was ever open to
the poor; it was said that he was a secret benefactor to various aged
people, and to the local charities."
As the Misses Tebbs sat at supper the following night--a frugal meal of
cocoa and bread and butter--Eliza tramped in, still wearing her hat; it
had been her afternoon out. She seemed to be a little breathless, and
was undoubtedly charged with some weighty intelligence.
"Well, Eliza, what is it?" eagerly inquired Miss Tebbs.
"I just thought I'd step over to 'Littlecote' this evening, and see
Hannah." Oh, priceless handmaiden!
"Yes--and what did she tell you?"
Eliza placed her hands on her hips--invariable preliminary to an
important announcement. "She took me to see the corpse; he looked
beautiful, just like a marble statue; and there in front of the dead, what
do you think Hannah told me? That Mrs. Shafto had killed him!" She
paused to contemplate the effect of this statement. "Yes, his heart was
always weak, he couldn't stand no shocks, and when he come back
wore out from London, and told her as how he was ruined, the screams
of that woman was enough to bring the house down! Hannah ran in and
there was he, lying back in a chair, and she standing over him with a
face all worked up, and her hands clenched, shouting at him that it was
all through his lunacy and laziness they were beggared--and she wished
he was dead. I couldn't tell you all the awful things she said, but he
fainted right away and never come to again. Now, what do you say to
that?" and she surveyed her audience judicially.

The sisters remained dumb; for once, speech had failed them.
"As for caring," continued Eliza, "Mrs. Shafto doesn't feel no more than
this table," rapping it with her bony knuckles; "all she minds is about
the money--and already they say she has been routing among his papers,
searching for his bank book. Oh! she is an awful woman, her heart is
just a stone. As for poor Master Douglas, now there's real grief! He
hasn't tasted a bite or sup, and he looks crushed. Everyone in the place
will be sorry for him and for his father; but as far as Mrs. Shafto is
concerned, when she's paid off the money she owes--the sooner the
place can get shut of her the better!"
CHAPTER III
THE CLOSED HOUSE
The break-up of the home at Littlecote Hall was a speedy and complete
affair; Miss Jane Tebbs, being practically on the spot, volunteered
invaluable assistance. Always energetic and anxious to be "up and
doing," and with a sadly restricted field for her activities, here was a
grand opportunity absolutely within her reach. The second Miss Tebbs
had an immense acquaintance and correspondence, a fairly, good
business head and, to her late enemy Mrs. Shafto, she ultimately proved
a veritable tower of strength. The recent sad catastrophe had melted
Jane's heart, and she promptly appeared in "Littlecote" drawing-room,
waving a large olive branch--which her former adversary most
thankfully accepted. In such a crisis as the present there was no more
helpless, hopeless creature than Lucilla Shafto--a woman who was
always ready to transfer her burdens to others. Strange to say, she
somewhat distrusted her intimates in Bricklands; it seemed to her that
their questions and sympathy were chiefly founded on vulgar curiosity
and greedy self-interest. "How was she left? What had become of all
the money? What was the boy going to do? Where would she settle?
Would she not be glad to get rid of some of her smart summer clothes,
now that