Free The March Hare Murders by Elizabeth Ferrars Page B

Winnfrieda. “That’s hard at my time of life, when I’ve just begun to pride myself on my restraint and sobriety.” All the time he was talking Stella was aware that his bright, hard eyes were steadily on her face. “When I was younger,” he said, “I did occasionally get into trouble for talking so-called nonsense, but now I limit all my remarks to the level of the indisputable and the everyday. The weather, food …”
    “Is that cat out there yours?” Stella asked. She had meant to say something about the fire and Mark Verinder, but the sentence seemed to give a wrench at her thoughts as she began to speak, and to her own relief came out as something different.
    “No,” Sam answered, “but it likes us.”
    “It likes me,” Winnfrieda said. “All cats like me.” She leant towards the window, holding out an inviting hand to the cat. “Here, puss—come here.”
    “Leave it alone,” Sam said. “It’ll get tired of you.”
    “Come here, puss,” Winnfrieda repeated.
    There was a moment of uncertainty. With surprise, Stella realised that Winnfrieda had become acutely anxious, that it mattered to her very much that she should be able to make the cat come to her. At last it rose. It stretched and came nearer to the window, and in triumph Winnfrieda pounced and pulled it inside.
    “Cats always come to me,” she said, holding it to her bosom.
    “Don’t you like cats, Stella?” Sam asked.
    Stella started slightly. Sam’s eyes were still examining her face.
    “I imagine you like dogs better, or babies,” he said. He spoke with a kind of malice.
    “Cats have such a lot more sense than either,” Winnfrieda said, sleeking herself against the cat.
    “I don’t know,” Stella said. She drank some tea. She was extremely nervous, thinking about the revolver. “Sam—Winnfrieda—d’you mind if I talk to you?”
    As soon as she had spoken, Stella felt a suspicion that Sam and Winnfrieda restrained themselves from exchanging glances. Neither replied at once.
    She began again, “It’s just that——”
    Almost as if he knew what was coming, Sam interrupted, “Talk as much as you like, my dear, if you’re sure that you want to. But are you sure that you want to?”
    Winnfrieda added, “It isn’t always a wise thing to talk, even to friends.”
    “I know. I want to talk to someone who’s quite outside the circumstances,” Stella said, “and see if it sounds as if I’m just being a fool.”
    “But are you sure,” Sam asked, “that we are quite outside the circumstances?”
    “Oh yes—of course,” Stella said. “It’s about my brother——”
    “Oh, your brother. Oh, I see.” There was an immediate change in Sam’s tone, and this time he did exchange a glance with Winnfrieda. “Well, what about him?”
    “A nice young man, I thought,” Winnfrieda said, rubbing the cat under her chin. The sound of its purring filled the room.
    “You know he had a sort of breakdown, don’t you?” Stella said.
    They both nodded.
    “Well, he’s been perfectly normal for a long time now,” Stella went on, “only ill and tired, and that’s been getting noticeably better even during the short time he’s been here. He’s been getting friendlier with people, and I’m sure that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
    “I can’t say I’m well informed on the subject,” Sam said, “but I should think it is.”
    “Well, the trouble is,” Stella said, “that when he first came here, when he was still pretty low, he ran into Mark Verinder——”
    Winnfrieda raised her head. “Let’s not talk about him,” she said decidedly.
    “But I wanted to explain——”
    “Nothing about Mark Verinder, please.” Winnfrieda pushed the cat off her knees and thrust it towards the window.
    “But, Winnfrieda, please.” Stella felt her cheeks burning. “It’s something about David——”
    “Have some more tea,” Sam said, “and let’s talk about something else, my dear. It really might be