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Updated: May 3, 2025
She had probably eaten nothing, he reckoned, since teatime the day before. Food was the steadying thing she needed now. He went to the door which Jenny Prask held open for him. "Don't leave her!" he breathed in a whisper. Jenny Prask smiled. "Not me, sir," she said fervently. Hillyard remembered with comfort some words which she had spoken in appreciation of the loving devotion of her maid.
They were meant to put a sharp, quick end to any questioning; and in that, too, they succeeded. Harry Luttrell bowed his head in assent and went out into the garden. For a moment afterwards Martin Hillyard, Joan and Jenny Prask stood in silence; and in that silence once more Martin's eyes fell upon the key of Stella's room.
"Old associations give them opportunity, and they renew their strength," she thought. "Harry is afraid of them that's all." On the Monday evening Jenny Prask brought a fresh piece of gossip which strengthened her hopes. "Miss Whitworth had a letter from him this morning," said Jenny. "She wouldn't open it at the breakfast-table, Mr. Harper says. Quite upset she was, he says.
For a little while Jenny surveyed her handiwork with triumph. She bent down with a laugh. "Yes, it's your turn, you pretty doll. You've got to go through it! You won't look so young and pretty when they have done with you in the witness-box. Bah!" Jenny Prask was a strenuous hater. She drew back her foot to kick the unconscious girl as she lay at her feet upon the floor.
"Never, sir," answered Jenny. "You weren't aware of it?" exclaimed Sir Chichester. "She never took them." Harry Luttrell made a little movement. He stared in perplexity at Jenny Prask, who did not once remove her calm and respectful eyes from Sir Chichester Splay. She waited in absolute composure for the next question. But the question took a long time to formulate.
After your arrival at Harrel last night, did Joan return here immediately in your car?" Sir Chichester had never been so impressive. Miranda was frightened and changed colour. But she had given her promise and she kept it pluckily. "No," she answered. Jenny Prask permitted herself to smile her disbelief. Sir Chichester was triumphant. "Well, there's an end of your pretty story, my girl," he said.
Miss Whitworth was the last person to see Mrs. Croyle alive. Ask her! It is Jenny Prask or Miss Whitworth. We are up against that alternative all the time. And Jenny holds all the cards. For she knows, damn her, what happened here last night." "She did hold all the cards this morning," Hillyard corrected. "She doesn't now. Look at this key! There was a heavy dew last night.
Jenny Prask ran down the great main staircase, and burst into the breakfast room, her face mottled with terror, her hand spread above her heart to still its wild beating. "My lady! My lady! The door's locked. I can get no answer. I am afraid." Sir Chichester rose abruptly from his chair. But Jenny Prask had more to say. "The key had been removed. My lady, I looked through the keyhole.
Jenny Prask gasped. Undoubtedly Joan "hooked behind" to-night. What had come over her? Jenny asked. Her quick mind realised that Mario Escobar was not answerable for the change since Mario Escobar was miles away at Midhurst. Besides, according to Mr. Harper, this flirtation with Escobar had been going on a year and more. Jenny Prask looked from Joan to Harry Luttrell.
Jenny Prask smiled. "You are Mr. Hillyard, I think?" "Yes." "I have heard my mistress speak of you." Hillyard knew enough of maids to understand that "mistress" was an unusual word with them. Here, it seemed, was a paragon of maids, who was quite content to be publicly Stella Croyle's maid, whose gentility suffered no offence by the recognition of a mistress. "If you wish, I will wake her."
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