There was a mixture of regret, curiosity and genuine sympathy. The laird seemed too young to die and most of the locals regarded him as the last of another county family. There was much craning of scrawny necks when Ellen Wilshaw came in through the vestry at the front of the church. Rosemary sensed at once that her grief was profound at the loss of her twin. Beside her, and almost as tall, was the slim figure of a girl. Billy was surprised. She might not be a woman yet but she was certainly more than a child, even though her honey-gold hair was still worn in a thick plait almost down to her waist. It was clear that both of them had shed tears recently but the faces they presented briefly to the waiting congregation were composed and pale. Billy admired their dignity. Ellen Wilshaw’s eyes scanned the sea of faces for a few seconds as she made her way to the seat reserved for them at the front of the church. Her eyes widened slightly in recognition as they met Rosemary’s. After the service the congregation filed past the woman and the girl standing together at the door.
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