Twenty-two
“D readful, the things people go about saying,” said Mrs. Kidder. “I don’t listen, mind you, more than I can help. Butyou’d hardly believe it.” She waited hopefully.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Lucy.
“About that body that was found in the Long Barn,” went on Mrs. Kidder, moving crablike¹ backwards² on herhands and knees, as she scrubbed the kitchen floor, “saying as how she’d been Mr. Edmund’s fancy piece during thewar, and how she come over here and a jealous husband followed her, and did her in. It is a likely thing as a foreignerwould do, but it wouldn’t be likely after all these years, would it?”
“It sounds most unlikely to me.”
“But there’s worse things than that, they say,” said Mrs. Kidder. “Say anything, people will. You’d be surprised.
There’s those that say Mr. Harold married somewhere abroad and that she come over and found out that he’scommitted bigamy with that lady Alice, and that she was going to bring ’im to court and that he met her down hereand did her in, and hid her body in the sarcoffus. Did you ever!”
“Shocking,” said Lucy vaguely³, her mind elsewhere.
“Of course I didn’t listen,” said Mrs. Kidder virtuously⁴, “I wouldn’t put no stock in such tales myself. It beats mehow people think up such things, let alone say them. All I hope is none of it gets to Miss Emma’s ears. It might upsether and I wouldn’t like that. She’s a very nice lady, Miss Emma is, and I’ve not heard a word against her, not a word.
And of course Mr. Alfred being dead nobody says anything against him now. Not even that it’s a judgment⁵, whichthey well might do. But it’s awful, miss, isn’t it, the wicked talk there is.”
Mrs. Kidder spoke⁶ with immense enjoyment⁷.
“It must be quite painful for you to listen to it,” said Lucy.

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