Free Withering Heights by Dorothy Cannell Page A

hatboxes and a makeup case, Freddy ambled up the drive. Though looking the worse for his evening at the Dark Horse, he smiled amiably in our general direction. Scooping up Tobias, he nuzzled him into his beard, making it difficult to say where either of them left off.
    “Never fear, Ellie.” He yawned a grin at me. “All will be well at Merlin’s Court under my command. Don’t bother to get in touch unless somebody dies.”
    Hardly the best send-off. But Freddy has his own brand of humor. He claims the bodies start piling up wherever Mrs. Malloy and I put in an appearance. Completely unfounded . . .or, shall we say, exaggerated. Ben and I, having returned his wave, watched him head into the house and close the door. Paradise lay within: our entire refrigerator to himself.
    We took our seats in the front of the vehicle while Mrs. M and Ariel got into the back. For a while we drove in silence, presumably each busy with our own thoughts. I for one was glad of the lengthy drive ahead. It would take us a couple of hours to get into Yorkshire. Mrs. Malloy had to be wondering what reception she would get from her sister, Melody. Ariel was surely somewhat nervous about being returned to the bosom of her family. Ben was probably the only one of us capable of enjoying the scenery as it slid past the windows. Or was I projecting my unease onto the two in the backseat? Maybe they only had happy thoughts in their heads. Ariel sounded chipper enough when she finally spoke.
    “I hope nobody minds that I used the phone this morning.”
    “Not at all,” I replied. “Did you ring your—”
    “I’d rather not say for the moment who I spoke to.”
    “That’s up to you,” Ben told her.
    “Are we stopping soon for something to eat?” she inquired, with that imperious note in her voice that I’d compassionately ascribed to a desperate need to be loved. “I’m starving.”
    “What, already?” Mrs. Malloy retorted before either Ben or I could flex our lips. “After that enormous breakfast you ate? I don’t know where you put it. Nice and slim as you are,” she added hastily, before letting out a piercing squeal.
    Had Ariel pinched her? Before I could twist my head around, Mrs. M explained.
    “It’s the underwire of me bra poking into me. They always do it after I’ve had them for a while.”
    “Why not switch to another make?” I asked, as Ben passed a double-decker bus, only to discover it had been lumbering behind a lorry that seemed to be laboring under the delusionthat it was a hay cart being pulled by a tired old nag. Making for further frustration, we were now going uphill, unable to see oncoming traffic.
    “I couldn’t do that, Mrs. H. Like I’ve told you before, I had no trouble getting rid of me husbands when they didn’t work out, but I’ve kept me solemn vow to stay married to one make of bra for life.”
    “I wish Dad would get rid of Betty,” muttered Ariel.
    “You shouldn’t talk like that,” Ben replied, without shifting his gaze.
    Silence pervaded the Land Rover’s interior. We finally made it past the lorry and came to a roundabout, followed the arrow marked TO THE NORTH, and got off at the right exit. Had I been driving, we would have circled until we were giddy. I dozed off and wakened to hear Mrs. Malloy rustling around in her handbag; there followed the crackle of candy wrappers.
    “No, thank you,” said Ariel.
    “Want a toffee?” A paper bag was handed up front.
    “Not for me, thanks.” Ben edged to a stop at a red light in a street lined by narrow-faced gray stone shops, with an open-air market glimpsed around one corner.
    “Then I’ll take two.” I handed the bag back.
    Mrs. Malloy said it was always good to have a few sweets on hand. I agreed and we sped on, leaving the town behind and entering the motorway, which we stayed on for an hour or more. We might have been anywhere in England. Everything seemed the same from one moment to the next, an unending stream of uniformity