Such a paroxysm of emotion crossed over Cook’s face as made me cover my mouth with my hands. She bent and pressed her lips to Miss Grange’s cold brow. And then she laid her own head down on the pillow beside the dead woman’s cheek and closed her eyes, her one hand resting on Miss Grange’s chin in what was an almost childlike caress.

I thought this touch too familiar, and I must have made a noise, for suddenly Cook looked up from where she stooped, and she straightened instantly, a strange, uneasy expression upon her face, as though she had been caught at something she should not have done.

“Who is there?” she whispered into the shadows around me.

I came forward from the screen, and as I approached, all softness vanished from her person, and the habitual look of slanted pride slid back over her features.

“I thought you had descended.”

“Nay—no,” I corrected myself, the diary’s hold still strong.

She walked around the side of the bed to me, her one hand still holding the coverlet, causing the sheet to slide from off Miss Grange’s head and shoulders. “Stop!” I cried out, horrified, and motioned to the bed. Cook turned her head slowly, not taking her eyes off me, but upon seeing what she had done, she dropped hold of the white coverlet immediately.

I brushed past her and pulled straight the sheet once more, tenderly drawing it up over Miss Grange’s face, all the while aware of the silent and steadfast attention Cook paid to my every gesture. I turned quickly round and looked at her standing beside me. There was the most peculiar expression on her face as she returned my gaze, half of wonder, half of fear. Uneasily, I stepped backward, too swiftly, for I stumbled against the copybook lying on the floor and lost my balance, tripping over my own skirt and falling against the chair behind me. Clumsily, I drew myself upright and sank into the chair. Cook did not move to help me, nor move to leave her post at the bedside.

“Shouldn’t you go down and alert Mrs. French?” I asked her somewhat peremptorily.

The question recalled Cook to her proper place, or so I thought, for the glazed look in her eyes vanished. But I saw that she looked at me now with a tiny smile of contempt.

“Aye, and what should I tell her?”

“Why, whatever do you mean? Tell her that your mistress has passed during the night!”