Free The Loving Cup by Winston Graham Page B

now?'
    'Of course not,' Dwight said soothingly. But it was simply not in human nature, however constrained by medical etiquette, for him not to go on: I 'm a little unsure as to what you mean by this, Katie.'
    'Oh, sur -' she began, and then Music Thomas came forward with his horse and the chance of further confidences was past.
     
    II
     
    On the morning after Mr Pope's death Music, who had lingered by the still room door where he really had no business, in the hope of seeing Katie again, was rewarded by her sudden appearance in search of a jar of preserves. She still looked distressed by the night's events and was too impatient to speak to him; though she was aware that the sudden emergency of Mr Pope's heart stroke had temporarily brought them to a more confidential association than they had ever had before.
    None of the Thomas brothers was married. John, by far the eldest, had a woman friend called 'Winky' Mitchell who had a nervous twitch to one of her eyes, and a deaf husband who never rose from his bed; John Thomas visited her every night he was home from the sea. Art, only a year older than Music, was often linked with his younger brother by name -Art and Music seemed to go together - but he was much different in appearance and temperament; indeed he was capable of calculations quite outside his brother's comprehension and was at present courting Edie Permewan, a widow old enough to be his mother, in the hope of coming in for the tanner's business left to her by her husband.
    Music, generally speaking, worked to short-term ends: he did not go much further at the moment than the hope that Katie should smile at him - or hold him in sufficient esteem to consider him worth speaking to.
    'Reckon twill be different wi'out the Master,' he said for the third time, hoping that water would wear away stone.
    It did. 'You've no manner of business in 'ere, Music Thomas,' said Katie severely, 'and if the Master were 'live ye'd not come lousterin' in like this!'
    'I aren't lousterin',' said Music. 'Twas just I was round in 'ere, see, and ...' He paused, not able to confess the unconfessable by blurting out that his only real purpose was to see her. 'What you said to me last night ...'
    Katie found the jar she was seeking. She wiped it round with her sleeve to take the dust off the top, and almost dropped it.
    She glared at him. 'There see what you near made me do! Go on now—off with ee.'
    He stepped aside to let her out of the room and glimpsed Ethel, the head parlourmaid at the end of the passage.
    Disapproval shining in every pore Ethel said: 'Katie, you're wanted in the music room. Mistress wants you. What be you doin' 'ere, Thomas? Tis no place for you to be, mourning house or no.'
    They hurried off in opposite directions. Katie thought: from Music to music room; what can she want? not to talk about last night, I 'ope, for I couldn't bear it. My dear life, I reely couldn't! What will she say?
    The small room that had once been Sir John's study had been turned into a music room for the two girls, but neither was present, only Mrs Pope.
    Black suited her. It was only a makeshift attire but the simple frock with the black hair veil was more becoming than the widow's weeds now in process of being made. Even the severity of the hair style did not detract from her good looks. Only the expression of her face did that. Katie supposed it was grief; at least she hoped it was grief.
    They had not seen each other since the night before. Katie had busied herself downstairs, as much as possible out of sight.
    It was an odd subject for the first day of bereavement, but Mrs Pope opened the conversation by saying that Miss Maud's pianoforte was not being kept clean. The keys were sticking and were turning yellow. Naturally, she said, there would be no playing of the instrument while mourning was being observed; but it was essential that the keys should be cleaned weekly with milk and not neglected by careless, heedless and untidy servants.