The Alington Inheritance by Patricia Wentworth

up the jug of milk which she had borrowed. She came a step nearer, and she said in a confidential undertone,
    “It’s a very early hour. They’re not—not engaged—”
    There were two courses open to Caroline, she could laugh, or she could lose her temper. She chose to laugh.
    “I haven’t the least idea,” she said, “and I shouldn’t dream of asking.”
    Mrs. Merridew picked up the milk-jug, and then set it down again.
    “Oh, no—no. Of course not. I didn’t mean—it’s just—so very early in the morning—I couldn’t help wondering—”
    “I don’t think there is anything to wonder about. We can go in and ask them why they started so early if you’d really like to know.”
    Mrs. Merridew picked up the jug again in a hurry.
    “Oh, no—no, of course not. It’s so very good of you to oblige me with the milk. Timmy will be most grateful. I won’t keep you. So thoughtless of me—and you must be wanting to dress.”
    Caroline saw her to the door and shut it after her. Then she came back to the sitting-room.
    The two young people were standing at the window which looked out on the apple trees and the flowery border. They turned as she came in.
    “That was Mrs. Merridew.”
    “It would be!” Richard’s tone was exasperated.
    “Yes, I know. She is very inquisitive, and I’d love to snub her, but it’s no use. If you live next door to someone you’ve just got to get on with them, and I don’t think she knows how inquisitive she is. Now I’ve got to go up and dress. I shan’t be long. Would Jenny like to come up with me? And you can put the car away, Richard.”
    Chapter XV
    Meg was the first of the children to wake at Alington House. It was only half past six, and she wasn’t supposed to wake Joyce until a quarter past seven. She wasn’t really supposed to wake her up then, especially when they had been out to tea the day before. Joyce was not really supposed to be waked up before half past seven. A quarter past was as far as Meg would go, and if she was awake earlier—well, there were ways. You couldn’t say she was waking Joyce up if she got out of bed and pulled out a drawer and then shut it again with a good vigorous push. She tried this twice, and Joyce just lay there and slept. It was too aggravating.
    Suddenly she thought about Jenny. She would open her own door very softly and creep across to Jenny’s door and open that, and there she would stay. She would get into Jenny’s bed, lovely and warm. And it would serve Joyce right if she woke up and found she was alone. She wouldn’t like that.
    She got out and went tiptoe to the door and across the passage. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was inside Jenny’s room with the door shut. And she must go slowly, slowly. It was all she could do to restrain herself, especially when she got near the door to Jenny’s room, but she managed it.
    She was well inside the room with the door shut behind her before she saw that Jenny wasn’t there. She stood just a yard inside the door. She had stopped to turn round and fasten the door very carefully. She had been so intent on what she was doing that she hadn’t noticed the bed. And it was empty. There was no Jenny. It was empty, and the bed was made. It was quite made. The eiderdown was on and a chintz coverlet over it. Meg came slowly forward and put her hand on the blue roses of the coverlet. They were quite, quite cold. There was no warmth left in the bed. Jenny must have been up a long, long time.
    Meg was frightened, and she didn’t know why. If she had known why, it wouldn’t have been so frightening. She didn’t know she was frightened, but she was frightened. She stood quite still and thought. It was Sunday morning. Perhaps Jenny had gone to church. Then she remembered that she had asked Jenny if she was going to church early, and Jenny had said no. Perhaps she had changed her mind. Perhaps she had gone to church after all.
    She hadn’t. She hadn’t gone to church. Meg knew it. And