So Bad a Death by June Wright Page B

say good evening to your daughter.” Ames had already introduced John to Daisy and left the room. Mrs Potts-Power clapped her hands like an Eastern potentate. Daisy came up on the instant.
    â€œMrs Matheson wants to say good evening to you.”
    â€œOh—er—good night,” Daisy said with a nervous giggle. It was clear enough now that she lived in awe of the tyrannical old woman. This talk of staying at home to care for mother was just a product of her hungry nature.
    I said: “I think I will get my cape. There is quite a draught in this room.”
    As I left the drawing-room Mrs Potts-Power bellowed: “How long do we have to stay here before one of the Hollands puts in an appearance? I want my dinner.”
    The hall was still deserted when I came out of the powder room. I wandered along, pausing with critical eyes in front of one or two of the massive and gloomy oil paintings on the walls. A small telephone switchboard caught my attention. It stood in the deep shadow of the stairs opposite the double doors of the drawing-room. I was examining it casually when a smooth voice spoke behind me.
    â€œDo you wish to make a call, Mrs Matheson? The line is engaged at the moment.”
    I turned swiftly. Ames was standing before the entrance to the drawing-room, a silver tray of drinks between his hands.
    He waited, bland and impeccable, with his head tilted at just the right angle.
    â€œPerhaps I should call the Dower,” I suggested.
    Ames’ eyes went to the board again. “The extension is engaged also. I will try it for you presently.” He moved slightly aside to let me pass ahead of him.
    â€œI’ll wait,” I told him. “I know how to operate the board.”
    He inclined his head still further and went into the drawing-room. I leaned against the stairs and studied a gory painting of dead game. There was a brace of hares, blood bright upon their heads. They lay athwart a long-nosed gun, the redness staining the white cloth beneath. In the background leered a sharp-faced animal mask. A small window opened onto a darkling landscape.
    My eyes were on the highlight of the painted gun barrel when reality and imagination seemed to coalesce. The sound as of a gunshot reverberated in the still deep mist outside the Hall. I heard it clearly, although it seemed far away in the night.
    III
    I hurried into the drawing-room. John met my anxious eyes with an inquiring look. I moved over to his side. Mrs Potts-Power and Daisy appeared unconcerned. The old woman was leaning back in her wheelchair, thick wrinkled lids half-hiding her restless eyes. Daisy was replaying the Strauss waltz. Then the sound occurred again. This time it was further away and not quite as full-bodied. Mrs Potts-Power opened her eyes wide and stirred irritably.
    â€œWhy must cars go backfiring just while I am enjoying the music?” she asked.
    â€œSherry, Maggie?” John said in my ear. Ames was bending the tray down towards me. I took a glass carefully. My hands were not quite steady. When Ames went out of the room for a moment I downed the sherry in one swallow.
    â€œBar-room manners,” John commented. “What’s the matter?”
    â€œI thought the first one sounded like a gunshot. Silly?”
    â€œVery silly.”
    Daisy raised her voice from across the room. “Such lovely sherry. I do think it is a most romantic beverage, don’t you, Mrs Matheson?”
    Mrs Potts-Power snorted. “Don’t be a fool, girl. Ames, find me some whisky. I can’t abide this wash.”
    â€œNow, Mother, please. You know what the doctor said about spirits.”
    â€œDaisy will pour the soda for me,” said the old woman, grinning. “You heard what I said, Ames.”
    â€œYes, madam.” He came over towards me. “Mrs Ames has just called from the Dower. Everything is all right.”
    â€œThank you, Ames.”
    â€œAt last!” said Mrs Potts-Power rudely