Read Online So Bad a Death by June Wright - Free Book Online Page A

cot, wishing suddenly that he was twenty years older. It would have been good to remainthere with him, but I realized that once I gave in to this state of nerves I would never be happy alone again in the Dower House. Sounds and shadows became unheard and unheeded in John’s solid, satisfying presence. I left Tony’s room resolved to continue with the unpacking. With one hand on the doorknob, I shot a would-be careless glance down to the front door.

    That glance developed into a fascinated stare. I stood clamped to the floor, the only moving thing about me an icy drop winding its way down my spine. The pattern on the carpet just inside the front door had altered. It was blurred by the shadow of a head and shoulders. I watched it, too frightened to move. A hand was passed slowly over the leadlight.
    II
    The doorbell rang briefly. Who would be calling on me at this hour? Whom did I know so well in Middleburn that they would call at all?
    I approached a few paces, my eye falling on a stout walking stick in the hallstand. I gripped this more to gain in moral courage than with any other design and called firmly despite my knocking knees: “Who is it?”
    My breath came quickly as I waited for a reply. “My name is Mulqueen,” spoke a man’s voice through the windows. “Is that Mrs Matheson? Can I come in?”
    I ran down the remainder of the hall and took the chain off the door to admit the visitor. A short, ball-like man clad in a mackinaw jacket and a tweed cap stepped across the threshold. He had a pair of small twinkling eyes and a red tip to his nose.
    â€œHope I didn’t frighten you,” he shot at me. “Heard you were all alone and thought I’d pop in to see if everything was all right.”
    My relief made me garrulous.
    â€œNot at all. Come into my husband’s study. I didn’t light a fire as I was by myself, but there is a gas jet. Here! Let me take your cap. And what about your jacket? It is so cold out. You might notice it more after the warm room.”
    The bright eyes regarded me shrewdly.
    â€œWindy?”
    I laughed. “Very. I read too many detective stories. In here. I have been trying to forget the strange noises by unpacking.”
    Ernest Mulqueen sat down on the edge of a chair and spread his hands to the fire. I found it hard to stifle a gasp at the sight of them.
    He said: “Just as well you didn’t see them before I introduced myself. Rabbits. I have a gin set in the wood for foxes. Go round this time every night to put the bunnies out of their agony. They will jump in, silly creatures.” He scrubbed at his bloody hands with a still bloodier handkerchief. “Humane. You probably heard me.”
    I regarded him squeamishly. “I did hear some odd knocking coming from the direction of the wood. Do you—”
    â€œThat was me. The nearest tree. Instantaneous.”
    I made a mental resolve to pass by the wood in future. Ernest Mulqueen must have read my thoughts. He was a hearty, earthy little man, gifted with a keen perspicacity. Almost at once I wondered how he came to marry into the noble family of Holland, and still further how he begot a namby-pamby daughter like Ursula. She should have been a big-boned girl with useful hands: wholesome, not in the mid-Victorian sense, but rather like brown bread.
    He reassured me regarding the results of his humaneness. “Quite off the beaten track. You won’t see any muck.”
    â€œGin?” I queried, puzzled.
    â€œA trap,” he explained. “I’m after that fox which is making a nuisance of itself on the poultry run. He’s hiding out in the wood. Of all the crazy things the old man has ever done, importing a pair of foxes is the craziest. The only hunting people want to do round here is for houses.” He broke off abruptly. “How do you like this house?”
    â€œWe were lucky to get it,” I said carefully.
    â€œToo right, you were!