Hephzibah lowered her eyes. She studied a shaft of sunlight which had carved a line through the Master’s carpet, revealing the previously invisible spatters of ink which peppered its surface. She had never entered the hallowed portals of the Master’s house before and felt uncomfortable and out of place. She swallowed and raised her eyes to look at him. ‘My father’s estate, including the income from his London property, will pass entirely to my stepbrother. Papa had intended to make an allowance to me but had not yet had opportunity to do so.’
The Master frowned. ‘I see, I see. I suppose Professor Prendergast would not have expected to meet such an unfortunate and early demise. Tragic. Terrible thing to happen. And Mrs Prendergast too. Quite shocking.’
The elderly man looked flustered. Hephzibah had noticed how some people were embarrassed by death. Losing her own father when she was a child had made her see death as a fact of life. While that didn’t lessen the pain, she couldn’t understand why people were reluctant to mention it. It was as if discussing death somehow risked tempting fate into advancing the time of their own demise.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish