Chapter Three, in which talk leads to a story

Emily slowly descended the stairs. There seated in the small parlor was a group of old ladies whom Emily was sure she did not want to meet. They were discussing something very loudly, but when they spotted Emily, they became quiet. Only her mother, Kathleen Foster jumped up to greet her and to bring her into the aged group.
“Now, Emily dear, this is Mrs. Thorpe, and Mrs. Stanford, and Mrs. Huxley, and of course you know Mrs. White, and her dear sister Miss Agatha?” she pointed to each in succession, and leaned over to whisper, “Poor Miss Agatha, a darling woman, but a spinster. Never married, poor dear, quite the shock I should imagine.” Emily looked over to the plump woman, who was shoveling a scone into her mouth, and whose dress looked like an enormous frosted cake. Mrs. Foster led her to a seat, and Emily picked up a cup of tea. Inside, Emily groaned, as the ladies once again began their bird like chatter.
“Did you hear?” Mrs. Thorpe slurped her tea, “Over at the Aulder house, quite the scandal you know.”
“Whatever happened?”Miss Agatha stuffed another scone in her mouth.
“Well, as I heard it…” Mrs. Thorpe was suddenly interrupted by Mrs. Stanford.
“A baby.” Mrs. Stanford grunted.
“Quite right.” Mrs. Thorpe shot quite the scalding look at Mrs. Stanford.
“A baby? You mean, Mrs. Aulder… is she not quite old though?” Mrs. Foster asked.
“Not Mrs. Aulder, her daughter. She had a baby, right in their house, not even married, the little harlot.” Mrs. Stanford piped in.
“Indeed?” Mrs. Foster began to fan herself. Emily began to drift away from their words. Was there nothing more interesting than the mistake of a young girl? Honest mistakes happen, and men were not always respectful or responsible. Emily began to think of the meeting she has just had in her little room. Surely she was not crazy, yet Emily knew if she told anyone they would have her committed. ‘Another thing for them to gabble about, I’m sure,’ she thought. Yet, her mind slipped back, as it always did, to Perry. As she remembered her dreaming, and the meeting, she felt as if his hands had settled on her shoulders. She looked up, and there he was. He winked, and disappeared.
“Mrs. Macleod? Mrs. Macleod? Heavens, dear, have you gone deaf?” Emily jumped at Mrs. Thorpe’s words. “Mrs. Huxley has asked you three times now, how your son is.” Mrs. Huxley nodded, with a slight look of fear in her eyes.
“My apologies, ladies. My thoughts must have carried me off. My son does well, as all children do at this age, so I have been told,” Emily picked up a cup of tea, and began to sip from the well worn china.
“Such as tragedy, though, isn’t it? That your husband should die like that. A shame, it is, a shame. Have I not said so ladies?” All of the visitors nodded at Mrs. Thorpe’s words. “Do tell us dear, all about the tragedy. We know nothing of your life since you had left.” All of the ladies shifted to the edges of their seats.
“Emily, do tell them,” Mrs. Foster said. Emily gulped, and delved into memories.