When Last I Died

I went out for a short time this afternoon and brought back a tin of lobster for Eliza. It is her favourite delicacy, and she was greatly pleased. Aunt Flora keeps no other servant, and the house is a small one. It seems strange that she, who has so much money, should choose to live so simply. It is not a fad of her old age, either. It has been so since Uncle died.

Eliza was delighted with the lobster and continued to thank me long after any further thanks were necessary. It became, in fact, a little embarrassing for us both, but she is a dear old soul, and I sincerely hope that Aunt has provided for her in the will.

January 30

I am astonished, although, of course, I neither say so nor let it appear so, that Tom and Muriel took the trouble to make this long journey, busy as they have been over their moving. They have no possible expectations under the will, and therefore must be much more good-hearted than I had supposed.

Tom says that the new house promises well. There are recorded poltergeist disturbances, and, according to the villagers (who cannot, however, usually be depended upon for accurate information when hauntings are in question !) something more interesting still. I have not pressed Tom for details, as I find I cannot sleep after I have been listening to his stories, inconclusive and vague although most of them are. I will let him unburden himself before lunch to-morrow, and then I can forget all about what he tells me by the hour that bedtime comes. In any case, I have enough to think about. Aunt Flora has so far rallied that the doctor says she is out of danger !

January 31

I can hardly realize it! In fact, I try not to realize it, because when I allow myself to think about it at all, I can think only of my money. Yes, it has come about at last, and nothing but that strange by-product of civilised intercourse which we think of by the name of "decent behaviour" prevents me from shouting it aloud. At last, at last, after all these lean and dreadful years, and when, after the doctor's report, I had given up hope again, Aunt Flora is dead. It all happened strangely and suddenly. At seven o'clock yesterday evening she sat up and, in her normal voice, asked for some grated carrot. She has taken up this raw food dieting during her later life, and usually attributes her longevity to it. Tom said that he realised it could be nothing but the return of all her normal faculties; and he thought she must be humoured. We went to the kitchen, therefore, and, Eliza being at chapel for her weeknight meeting, I scraped some carrot on a nutmeg grater. The result was messy, but we hoped that it would do. I put it into a large, deep saucer, thinking that Aunt would manage it best that way, and placed a spoon beside the saucer on the tray, and also a glass of water.

The effort of eating must have been too much for the poor old thing. She had scarcely taken a third mouthful of the carrot— judging by what was left on the saucer—when she must have choked and, after struggling, I should think, to clutch the glass of water—for it was overturned—she must have fallen back dead.

When we came back again a little later on in the evening and saw her, I sent Tom running for more water. He came back with the tumbler, dashed the water into her face and made other efforts to revive her. It was hopeless. The doctor came a quarter of an hour later, but, of course, there was nothing to be done Poor Tom was in tears. He is a good-hearted man. I feel that in the past I have misjudged him sadly. He, with nothing to gain— but I need not dwell on that.

February 1

The doctor's manner has been somewhat off-hand. I asked him rather sharply whether he had any objection to signing the death certificate As he had already signed it, I suppose he thought this an improper and impertinent question, but I did not like his attitude, and took care to let him know it. Aunt is to be buried on Tuesday. There is no one to bid to the funeral except Tessa, and I don't suppose she will trouble herself to come, since Aunt cut her out of her will when she heard that the brat had been born out of wedlock. As though it was Tessa's fault! The man would have married her if he had not been killed in the war. Of course, Tessa was Aunt Flora's favourite until the child was born, but then I took my sister's place in her regard, and the money, which was to have been shared between us, was all diverted to me. Much good it has done me all these years! And Tessa did have her fun—while it lasted! But now ...! The future seems so bright I dare not look at it for fear that something should, after all, go wrong.

February 2