Free So Bad a Death by June Wright

hall, switching on the lights as I passed. Ernest Mulqueen shrugged himself into his mackinaw.
    â€œYou don’t want to be nervous. Very nice neighbourhood, you know.”
    â€œI do know. But it was the first night I had alone here. In future any bumps and bangs from the wood will make me feel safe. Mind the steps from the porch.”
    He turned back.
    â€œDrat! Mind like a sieve. Had a message for you from the old man. He went away today on urgent business. At least, that is what that smooth-faced young feller told me. You are to use the golf course when you like, free, nixy and for nothing. I was to tell you.”
    â€œThat is very nice of Mr Holland.”
    Mulqueen glanced at me for a moment. He was very shrewd, despite the bunglings over his farm. Perhaps they had taught him a never-to-be-forgotten lesson.
    â€œBetter do as he wishes,” he advised. “I’ve always found it worth while to keep on his right side myself. And you do want to buy this place, don’t you?”
    I watched my caller out of the gate and was about to switch off the porch light when a taller and very familiar figure came out of the mist. The pair nearly collided. Mulqueen said good night, and turned back to wave at me in a mischievous manner. John’s hand went to his hat in a half-hearted way of salute. He waited until Ernest Mulqueen had disappeared.
    â€œSo!” he began, advancing up the flagged path. “I’ve found you out at last. Damn! I’ve stubbed my toe again on these beastly stones. Why is there only one here and there? Couldn’t they afford a complete path?”
    â€œElizabethan effect, darling, I daresay.” I reached up to remove his hat, dropping a kiss on his nose in transit. “Aren’t you rather late? Go into the study and I’ll bring you some supper.”
    â€œLate! You brazen woman.” John followed me to the kitchen.
    â€œIf you are scandalized at my caller, let me inform you that he saved your wife’s reason tonight.”
    â€œHe has achieved the impossible. What was the trouble?”
    I stopped cutting bread and waved the knife around in a vague gesture. “Strange house. Stranger noises. Cheese toast?”
    â€œDefinitely cheese toast.” He lighted the gas under the kettle and came back to sit on the edge of the table.
    â€œYou had the jitters?” He said seriously: “Now, look here, Maggie! Are you quite certain—”
    â€œAbsolutely,” I interrupted hastily, and went on to tell him about Ernest Mulqueen.
    I was living in the Dower on probation; dependent on Mr Holland’s whims and favors on one side, while John, on the other, was not quite satisfied. I had to steer a careful course for the next few months and convince John that everything in the garden was lovely, while bowing and scraping to our landlord. It was likewalking a tightrope; an old simile, but an apt one. One slip either side would mean disaster.
    We carried the supper into the study.
    John said, sniffing the air: “Plug! I wonder how the aristocratic Holland noses like that.”
    â€œProbably the poor man keeps it a secret. By the way, a royal command has been issued. Dinner next week at the Hall, and will we kindly dress. Can you make it?”
    â€œStiff shirt?” asked John incredulously.
    â€œIndubitably. I said Wednesday and left a loophole for you, just in case you didn’t feel equal to the strain. You could be working late, but I’d rather like you to meet them,” I said carefully, curious as to what impression John had of the household the other side of the wood. Although his knowledge of it was superficial and his mind too highly disciplined to indulge in imaginative conjectures, some past experience might make him view the Hall ménage with misgiving.
    John cocked an eyebrow at me. “Oho! And why, might I ask?” I met his look squarely, and replied without batting an eyelid.
    â€œIt does you