And with that there was a scurry of feet on the stairs and Meg was in Jenny’s arms.

“She told us to stay upstairs! As if we could! Oh, Jenny, you won’t go away again, will you? All the dreadful things have happened since you went away! And we don’t know where Alan is, or anything!”

Step by step down the stairs Joyce came. She dragged her feet, and she looked so scared and miserable that Jenny ran to meet her.

“Poor child!” said Carter. “It comes very hard on the children, Miss Danesworth.”

Chapter XLIII

Jenny found plenty to do. The little girls clung to her, and it was difficult to get away from them. Sometimes it seemed as if she had never been away, and sometimes her short absence seemed to have lasted for years and years and years.

She went down into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Bolton, who began by being a total stranger receiving her new mistress, which was dreadful, and then suddenly burst into tears and addressed her as “Miss Jenny my dear,” which was a great deal more comfortable.

“And they do say that everything belongs to you now, my dear.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bolton, it does.”

Jenny didn’t cry, though she felt it was expected of her. She thought that if she could have cried she would have felt better. Tears would have been soft and comforting, but she couldn’t make herself cry. One thing was spared her. She did not have to see Mrs. Forbes, for only half an hour before they had arrived her body had been removed to the mortuary. It was wrong to feel that this was a relief, but she did feel that it was.

Early in the afternoon Miss Crampton arrived, dressed in the funereal old black which was her habitual garb at funerals and visits of condolence. Mary opened the door to her, and was promptly buttonholed.

“This is dreadful news, Mary.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“Those poor children-I’ve come to see them. And Miss Jenny-she’s come, I hear.”

“Oh, yes. Carter rang her up at once.”

“It is most improper that she should be here by herself? I cannot think how Miss Danesworth can have allowed it!”

Mary was beginning to enjoy herself.

“Oh, but she isn’t alone,” she said. “There’s Mr. Richard-”

Miss Crampton interrupted her.

“Do you mean to tell me that she is here alone with that young man? How exceedingly improper!”

“No, miss, I never said so. Mr. Richard drove Miss Jenny here, and he drove his aunt too, Miss Danesworth. They are both here.”

“Oh-” Miss Crampton stepped across the threshold. “Well, I’ll come in. And I’ll see Miss Jenny.”

Mary lacked the assurance to stand up to her. She had attended Sunday School under Miss Crampton. The habit of obedience persisted. She showed her into the drawing-room, where the flowers which Mrs. Forbes had picked yesterday were still fresh, and went running upstairs, where she met Carter and burst out,

“Oh, Carter, there’s Miss Crampton in the drawing-room! She walked straight past me, and I couldn’t stop herl”

Carter gave her a dark look.

“You could have said Miss Jenny was lying down.”

Mary shook her head.

“Not to Miss Crampton, I couldn’t.”

Carter went along to the schoolroom, where the little girls sat painting superintended by Jenny, and Miss Danesworth was reading. Richard had gone out for a walk. Meg was engaged on a grand picture of the house. She had just discovered that she had got one window too few in the front, and was debating what she should do about it. Joyce, who was copying a Christmas card with a picture of a highly decorated tree on it, was most unsympathetic.

“I don’t see that it matters,” she said.

“Of course it matters,” said Meg. “It’s one of the windows of Alan’s room. I can’t leave him with one window.”

“Lots of people have only one window,” said Joyce.

“I shall tear it up and start all over again.”

“Well, I think you’re silly,” said Joyce. Her voice was obstinate.

And then Carter came in.

“If you please, Miss Jenny, there’s Miss Crampton downstairs.”

“Horrid old thing,” said Joyce in a fretful tone.

Meg tipped her chair up.

“Miss Crampton’s a horrid old thing,” she chanted. “And how did she know you were here, Jenny?”

“Will you see her, Miss Jenny?” said Carter.

“I suppose I’d better,” said Jenny, rising reluctantly.

Miss Danesworth laid down her book.

“Shall I come too?” she said.

“Oh, if you would,” said Jenny. “She’s Mrs. Merridew’s cousin, you know, and she’ll ask a lot of questions.”

They went down together. Just outside the drawing-room door Jenny stopped, and Miss Danesworth turned to smile at her. It was such a loving smile that the tears rushed into Jenny’s eyes and she had to wipe them away before she could go in. Her mind went to the change in her circumstances. Not that she was Miss Forbes of Alington House-that didn’t matter. It was because she had Richard and Miss Danesworth that she wasn’t alone and unprotected any longer. She squeezed the hand that was put out to her, and then she went into the drawing-room.

Miss Crampton sat facing the door in her mourning clothes. When she saw Jenny and Miss Danesworth she got up. She was disappointed, very much disappointed, but she couldn’t say so. She had felt so deeply the impropriety of Jenny, a girl of seventeen, being there alone that she had come prepared to offer her own sustaining influence. And now, there was Miss Danesworth.

“You must not think,” she said, “that Jenny would be alone here- oh dear me, no! We should have seen to that, I can assure you. I am quite prepared to come myself. Jenny knows that she can rely upon her old friends.”

“I am sure she can. But it won’t be necessary for you to put yourself out. I can stay as long as she needs me.”

Miss Crampton plunged into a series of questions. Where was Alan? Had they heard from him? Did they know where to send a wire? Did they know why Mac had shot himself?

“I never was more shocked in my life. I was in the post office, and Mrs. Boddles gave me the dreadful news. I could really hardly believe it. Such a fine young man. Ah well, it just shows that you can’t ever tell, doesn’t it? You must have come away in a great hurry, Jenny.”

“We came as soon as we heard,” said Jenny.

“Oh, yes, yes-of course.”

“It was the little girls,” said Jenny. “I had to come to them. And Miss Danesworth and Richard wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“Richard Forbes?” said Miss Crampton. “Ah, yes-he would be the son of those people who were killed in an air raid-oh, a long time ago. They were cousins or something.”

“Mrs. Forbes was my sister,” said Miss Danesworth.

“Oh, yes, I believe she was. He’s your nephew then. He would have been very much shocked by Miriam’s death, no doubt. I do not remember if I ever saw her, though of course I remember her mother. She was a sort of third cousin-you know how it was when families were so big. I wrote to her, but I have not had a reply. People are very careless about those sort of things nowadays. My dear father was most severe about it. ‘It is the very least you can do to answer all letters of condolence promptly,’ he used to say, and I have always done so. But Grace Richardson, I remember, was inclined to give way. It comes out at times like this.”

At this point Richard opened the door and looked in. At the sight of Miss Crampton, very stiff and upright in her black clothes, he was visibly shaken, but seeing that there was no help for it, he advanced, was introduced, and shook hands. Miss Crampton looked him over, and exclaimed,

“What an extraordinary likeness!”

Miss Danesworth smiled.

“To the portrait in the hall?” she said. “Yes, he is like it. He has the same name too-Richard Alington Forbes. Likenesses are strange things, are they not?”

“They are indeed,” said Miss Crampton.