In the Event of My Death. Emma Page

before supper. Later, when Verity and Barry were sitting together, absorbed in their own conversation, Esther wandered off to the old playroom, where so many hours of her childhood had been spent. The room was large, furnished with cupboards, shelves and drawers. It looked out over the garden, at the rear of the house.

      The last children to use it had been Verity and Barry. The only use made of it in more recent years was as a green room at Christmas and other domestic festivals when it had always been an Elmhurst tradition to play charades, get up playlets or revue-type shows. Everyone, servants and all, had been pressed into these productions.

      There had been none of these entertainments since Grace’s illness, but the big dressing-up chest was still there, with garments belonging to Daltons dead and gone. A roomy cupboard still housed an assortment of items useful as props.

      Esther opened the cupboard and glanced over the shelves. She lifted the lid of the chest, fingered the contents. She crossed to the rows of bookshelves. One shelf held old bound copies of magazines. She took down a volume and went over to a window seat. She sat slowly turning the pages, sunk in thought.

      * * *

      Saturday morning was bright and calm, crisply invigorating. After an early breakfast, Matthew Dalton went off to his office. Nina put her bag in her car for the overnight stay at Elmhurst and drove over to the Dalton cottage. She wore old casual clothing; her hair was tied up in a scarf, in readiness for whatever jobs might present themselves, indoors or out.