They would be dressing for dinner, you see, and the house filled with guests.
"Here, I shall be late," he would say, throwing the brushes to me, and laughing back at her.
He was always laughing and gay then.'
She paused, her hand still resting on my arm.
'Everyone was angry with her when she cut her hair,' she said, 'but she did not care.
"It's nothing to do with anyone but myself," she would say.
And of course short hair was much easier for riding and sailing.
She was painted on horseback, you know.
A famous artist did it.
The picture hung in the Academy.
Did you ever see it?'
I shook my head.
'No,' I said. 'No.'
'I understood it was the picture of the year,' she went on, 'but Mr de Winter did not care for it, and would not have it at Manderley.
I don't think he considered it did her justice.
You would like to see her clothes, wouldn't you?'
She did not wait for my answer.
She led me to the little ante-room and opened the wardrobes, one by one.
'I keep her furs in here,' she said, 'the moths have not got to them yet, and I doubt if they ever will.
I'm too careful.
Feel that sable wrap.
That was a Christmas present from Mr de Winter.
She told me the cost once, but I've forgotten it now.
This chinchilla she wore in the evenings mostly.
Round her shoulders, very often, when the evenings were cold.
This wardrobe here is full of her evening clothes.
You opened it, didn't you?
The latch is not quite closed.
I believe Mr de Winter liked her to wear silver mostly.
But of course she could wear anything, stand any colour.
She looked beautiful in this velvet.
Put it against your face. It's soft, isn't it?
You can feel it, can't you?
The scent is still fresh, isn't it?
You could almost imagine she had only just taken it off.
I would always know when she had been before me in a room.
There would be a little whiff of her scent in the room.
These are her underclothes, in this drawer.
This pink set here she had never worn.
She was wearing slacks of course and a shirt when she died.
They were torn from her body in the water though.
There was nothing on the body when it was found, all those weeks afterwards.'
Her fingers tightened on my arm.
She bent down to me, her skull's face close, her dark eyes searching mine.
'The rocks had battered her to bits, you know,' she whispered, 'her beautiful face unrecognisable, and both arms gone.
Mr de Winter identified her.
He went up to Edgecoombe to do it.
He went quite alone.
He was very ill at the time but he would go. No one could stop him. Not even Mr Crawley.'
She paused, her eyes never leaving my face.