Free Through The Wall by Patricia Wentworth

“Thank you,” and sat down in front of the table which held the tray.
    The critical moment impended. Mactavish advanced, his tail fluffed out to its fullest extent, his topaz eyes wary upon the stranger.
    Marian said, “Oh, how beautiful!” on what was felt to be a very proper note, and then, “What is his name?”
    Eliza noted the pronoun with approbation. She had a biting contempt for people who alluded to all cats as her.
    “His name’s Mactavish.”
    Marian gazed admiringly.
    “Will he come to me?”
    “He’ll please himself.”
    Mactavish pleased himself. The tone of this person’s voice satisfied a fastidious ear. He was aware of being admired, not fulsomely, but in a well-bred manner. When the voice addressed him by name he advanced and sniffed at a respectfully extended hand. Considering that it had been an agreeable smell, he rubbed his head against it and permitted himself to be delicately stroked behind the ear. Then, before the astonished eyes of Penny and Eliza, he leaped on to the stranger’s lap and settled there.
    As the sound of a faint purr became audible, Eliza made up her mind. If anyone had told her that Mactavish would have taken such a fancy, she wouldn’t have believed them. Few indeed were the chosen laps upon which he would condescend to sit—Mr. Brand’s, Felix’s, and Penny’s. If lifted up by Mrs. Alfred Brand or Miss Cassy, his eyes flamed with fury and he removed himself with all possible haste. He had been known to kick, to scratch, and even to bite. He always washed himself all over afterwards. And now just to look at him, with his paws doubled under and purring like a teakettle! If that wasn’t a sign, Eliza didn’t know one. She said,
    “My goodness, gracious me!” and went out of the room in a hurry.
    Upstairs in her new bedroom Ina was leaning out of the window. It was all lovely, and she was very unhappy. Cyril was behaving very badly indeed. When it happened right under your eyes like that, it was no good going on trying to pretend any longer. He didn’t want to work—he never had wanted to work. He wanted all the things you can’t get without working for them. He wanted Marian to give him half the money. And she wouldn’t. Ina had said whatever Cyril had wanted her to say. And still Marian wouldn’t. Deep down inside her there was something which said that Marian was right. Since the last really dreadful row Ina found herself unable to close her thought to that voice. It told her that all Cyril ever wanted with money was to spend it on having a good time, and that when it was spent he would want more, and more, and more. She was finding it impossible to drape this Cyril any longer in the garments of romance. He was beginning to emerge as a selfish, emotional young man who could see no reason why everything should not give way to him. He had not come down with them to Cove House because, after the last row two days ago, he had flung out of the house and banged the door behind him. She didn’t know where he was, or when she would see him again.
    She didn’t want to see him again.
    This thought shocked her so much that she felt giddy. She leaned right out, and heard voices from the window next to hers. This window was on the other side of the wall which divided the two houses, but it was only three or four feet away, and it was open. There were two voices—two women’s voices. One said, “It would be a good thing if she was dead.” And the other said, “People don’t die just because you want them to.”
    Ina felt a kind of stinging horror. She drew back, and saw Penny smiling at her from the doorway.
    “There’s some tea in the study. I expect you’re dying for it. Marian couldn’t come up for you because Mactavish won’t get off her lap.”
    Chapter 9
    Miss Silver looked up from her writing-table as a slight sound met her ear. After a pause had convinced her that the client whom she was expecting had not yet arrived, and that the sound must have