"He shouldn't know anything about curses at his age, Mrs. Mellin. Mr. Craver said that St. Paul used the word as expressing a curse." "There now"--Mrs. Mellin was admiringly triumphant--"to think as how Neddy do pick up things. And a curse is on that 'ouse, Mrs. Craver, ma'am, for never 'ave it been lucky. The gent as built it fifty years back lost his arm, as my mother told me; the family as come after him buried two children in a year; a suicide was the nex' pusson as lived there, and it stayed empty for years till Mrs. Splurge took it to be ruined by the breaking of the bank her cash was in and 'ave her daughter run away with a young man as wasn't what he ought to be. It's a cussed 'ouse, and looks like one." "H'm! It has a bad history. Well, and who has taken it now?" "A baronet." "Nonsense! Why should a baronet take a furnished house in this dull town?" Mrs. Mellin set down her cup and folded her tartan shawl round her in quite a tragic manner. "That's what I arsk myself, ma'am," she said, impressively. "Mrs. Splurge, 'oping to make money after losing her all, advertised the 'ouse to be let furnished. But for two years it hev been standing as empty as my 'usband's 'ead, people fighting shy of its bad luck, as you might say, Mrs. Craver, ma'am. And now Sir 'Ector Wyke hev come, bag and baggage, with a 'ousekeeper as I hevn't seen, though write me she did, saying as she'd engaged me to do the washin'." "Sir Hector Wyke?" Mrs. Craver searched her memory. "I seem to have heard the name before." "'Ave he done anything bad?" inquired the washerwoman, eagerly. "Anything as would make 'im 'ide his guilty 'ead. Baronets is bad, as we know." "Rubbish! Baronets are no worse than other people. But I fancy I have heard my son, Mr. Edwin, mention the name. I'll ask him about Sir Hector when he comes down at the week end." "Shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Edwin 'ad quite a gory story to tell." said Mrs. Mellin, hopefully, for, like all her class, she loved horrors. Anyhow. I'll keep my eye on the 'ouse and the 'ousekeeper." "What is her name?" "Vence, she writes it. Jane Vence, and a heathen name it is, ma'am. I haven't set eyes on her myself; but one as hev tole me ses as she's an old witch in looks, with a tongue as wicked as that of Emily Pyne's, and I can't say wuss nor that." "Mrs. Vence." The Rector's wife repeated the name so as to remember it. "And what other servants?" "None." burst out Mrs. Mellin, triumphantly, "And that's the wust of it, ma'am. I do say as a baronet should be'ave as a baronet, and not come to live in a musty, fusty old 'ouse with one old woman." "It is strange. When did Sir Hector come?" "Two days ago, ma'am. I wonder you 'aven't 'eard." "No. You bring the news to me." "And proud I am to do so, me thinking as Emily Pyne would be before'and. I s'pose the Rector will call, ma'am?" "I suppose he will. We don't often have a baronet come to Hedgerton."