Free Only the Cat Knows by Marian Babson

has nothing to do with … you.’
    ‘Madame?’ My heart sank. Had I lost my chance to find out what she knew?
    ‘No, no! She may not look it, but she’s in better shape than some of them.’
    ‘Then who? Oversall?’
    ‘He’ll outlive us all’
    ‘But —’
    ‘Just go inside and keep out from underfoot!’ He gave me a sardonic grimace. ‘It’s nothing for you to bother your pretty little head about!’
    I slammed the door behind me then kicked the waste-paper basket across the room and, for good measure, followed it with a few books.
    The cat narrowed her eyes at me and prudently retreated beneath the bed. She wasn’t going to get underfoot, either.
    Pretty little head
— hell! It was a low blow — and a deliberate one.
    As though, somewhere in that tricky mind of his, Anderson was blaming me — hating me — for not being Nessa.
    Monica had sent a message suggesting that I rest today. DrAnderson had told me bluntly to keep out of the way. What was going on?
    Deciding that a short stroll through the gardens could pass as heeding the spirit, if not the letter, of the barely concealed orders, I draped the shawl around my kaftan and stepped outside.
    In a slow pace suitable to an invalid, I walked the length of the cloister to the cell at the end. Nothing had changed there: the wax anchorite in monk’s robes still knelt in position, head bowed, face concealed.
    What had I expected? An empty cell? A changed position? A sudden rising to the feet and another imperious gesture to follow him — or her? It was just a waxwork. Everett Oversall picking up and continuing the nasty joke of the original owner of Friary Keep. Well, Oversall had never been renowned for his sense of humour.
    With a curious reluctance to turn my back on the figure, I moved out on to the lawn beyond the cloister. It was deserted. No sign of life anywhere. Not even a peacock. I might have been a ghost myself, victim of a time-slip that had pitched me into some earlier century.
    Somewhere in the depths of the pine forest beyond the lawn, a dog barked, startling me. Of course there was no reason why the guard dogs should not be patrolling the grounds by day as well as by night, and probably every reason why they should. Especially when Mr Oversall was in residence.
    A wrought-iron bench at the edge of the pine trees seemed a likely destination. I could sit there and look as though I were resting, while keeping the entire forecourt under observation.
    Dr
Anderson’s car was still parked by the front door, telling me that he hadn’t left yet. Although it wasn’t his usual day for doing his rounds, he might be checking his patients just the same, since he was here anyway. But why was he so insistent that I keep out of the way?
    The dog in the forest barked again — or was it a fox? Another dog howled in answer. What was the matter? Wasthere an intruder? I glanced over my shoulder, but could see nothing untoward.
    A low growl at my feet made me snap my head around to find a large German shepherd sniffing at the hem of my kaftan.
    I froze.
    ‘Steady on, Brutus. It’s only Miss Vanessa. You know her.’ I was relieved to see the dog was attached by a businesslike chain to one of the guards.
    ‘Oh, Brutus,’ I said feebly. ‘Hello, Brutus.’ That was the trouble: he knew Vanessa — he didn’t know me. And he didn’t look as though he’d be as reasonable about it as Gloriana had been.
    Another growl and Brutus raised his head, sniffing up to my knees and heading unerringly, in the way of the beasts, for my crotch. I realized just how much I had always preferred cats.
    ‘Down, Brutus!’ A sharp yank on his choke chain momentarily discouraged the monster. ‘He doesn’t mean anything by it,’ the guard apologized, disregarding further growls. ‘He just hasn’t seen you for a bit and wants to check you out.’
    That was what I was afraid of.
    ‘We found you, you know, Brutus and me,’ the guard went on. ‘Brutus, really. Sniffing and