A Duty to the Dead by Charles Todd Page A

another crossed it, I found myself in a row of small cottages, some of them very old but well kept up.
    I had walked almost to the end of these when a door opened and someone called, “Susan, is that you?”
    I turned to see an elderly woman peering out at me, squinting to make out who I was. It was then that I realized that Susan must have lent me her cloak.
    “No, I’m afraid not,” I answered. “I’m staying at the house and borrowed her coat to walk a bit.”
    “Then you must be half frozen. Come in to the fire, do, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
    I debated accepting, but she was holding the door open for me, and I turned up the path with a word of thanks as I gave her my name.
    “Mine’s West, Matty West.” She shut the door behind me and shivered. “I think it’s colder this winter than last. Though it’s probably my bones a year older.”
    Leading the way into the kitchen, she pointed to the kettle on theboil. “It’s nearly ready. Sit down and warm yourself. I’ll see to the pot.”
    As she bustled about, she said, “You’re at the house, you say? I didn’t think they were taking on more servants at present.”
    “Actually I came because I knew Arthur Graham and was with him when he died.”
    She stopped, her hands holding the saucers. “You knew Mr. Arthur? Oh, my dear, tell me he died peacefully!”
    “Yes, it was very peaceful,” I replied. “Did you know him well?”
    “I was housekeeper there while the boys were young. Then my son lost his wife and I came to keep house for him and his children.”
    “Oh. You’re Susan’s mother.” When I’d been told she’d gone to live with her son, I’d assumed distance, as in Dorset or Hampshire. Not in Owlhurst.
    “Indeed I am.” She went on setting cup into saucer, finding a spoon and the jug of milk. “He was my favorite of the lads, though Mr. Peregrine was the eldest, you know. Mr. Peregrine was—different. I was never sure why. His father blustered and tried to make out that the boy was bright, nothing wrong, but his tutor said it was a shame about him. It must have been true. I put it down to his mother dying so young. But then he never knew her, did he? When his father married again, he was still hardly more than a baby.”
    “They never speak of Peregrine,” I ventured. “Is he dead?” I felt guilty for lying, but my curiosity got the better of my conscience.
    “As good as. I remember him well—happy and busy and strong, he was.”
    “Where is he now?”
    She looked away. “It’s not my place to tell you, Miss. He got himself into some trouble, and was taken away. Mrs. Graham sobbed and cried, and the doctor feared for her. But I thought it was no more than an act. She never loved Mr. Peregrine the way she lovedthe others. If she had to lose one of the boys, it would have been Mr. Peregrine she’d have sacrificed.”
    “She admitted to me that Arthur was her favorite.”
    “He was mine as well. A finer young man you’ll never see. When the word came he was dead, she took to her bed for two days.”
    I left the subject, and said, “Susan has worked for the family a long time. She would make a good wife and mother.”
    “She’s devoted to the Grahams. They’re all the family she needs. I’d hoped there might be something between her and Mr. Robert, but there never was.”
    “It was Robert who brought me from the station.”
    “He’s a strange one, keeps himself to himself. But he’s never failed the family, I will say that for him.”
    “Mrs. Graham told me he was a blessing, dealing with the boys after her husband died.”
    “They were a rowdy lot, right enough. Just the wrong age to lose a man’s firm hand over them. Mr. Jonathan was the worst, always coming up with this bit of mischief or that. I was that surprised he went into the army. Not one to care for discipline, was he? His mother tried to get him off, but he was determined to go. And he got a medal for bravery, as well. Hotheaded, I’d have