Malice in Miniature by Jeanne M. Dams

committed.”
    â€œWell, no wonder Meg is scared of Claude. He shouldn’t be allowed to hang around terrifying that poor woman. Can’t anything be done to make him go back to London?”
    â€œMy dear, you know the answer to that. I’ve done what I could—ordered a sporaaic patrol of the Hall, one constable making himself very conspicuous at irregular intervals, in the hopes of discouraging friend Claude. There’s nothing more we can do, legally, even if we had the resources—which we do not.”
    Alan shook his head in a dismissal of the subject, stood, and said, “Can I help wash up?”
    It was over the dishpan that he sprang his other little surprise. “Dorothy, I hadn’t wanted to tell you until I was sure, but I’m going to have to be away for a few days, starting on Wednesday.”
    I looked up in dismay from the pot I was scrubbing.
    â€œThey want me to go to Bramshill for a briefing. You remember, I was to take over there in September, before those hitches developed. Now they’re talking about it again, and I need to take a detailed look at the situation before I make up my mind. My own position has changed, of course.”
    The Police Staff College at Bramshill is a beautiful estate in Hampshire where senior officers are sent for special courses. Alan had, the previous summer, been offered the job of commandant, a very great honor even on the temporary basis they proposed. Then various matters arose that meant the old commandant had to stay on for a while, and then, of course, Alan and I married and settled down in my house. I had managed until now to avoid thinking about moving to a house which, while about the same age as my Jacobean cottage, was a world apart. I wasn’t at all sure I was prepared to live in a country manor with peacocks on the terrace, a famous herd of white deer in the park, and at least one notable ghost.
    Alan looked at me a little anxiously, his hands frozen on the dish towel and wet plate. (I don’t know why men can never talk and work at the same time.) “I shan’t be gone long, my dear, probably a week, two at most. You’d be welcome to come with me, of course, but I’m having to make do with a student room. I gather the commandant’s quarters are being cleaned and renovated, and aren’t yet ready for new occupants. The last chap was a bachelor, so . . .”
    â€œYes, I understand. That isn’t what’s bothering me.” I rinsed the pot and started on another. “I’ll miss you, of course, but there’s always the telephone. No, it’s just that I’d almost forgotten about Bramshill. I suppose we have to go, but I’m not terribly happy about it, to tell the truth. Moving, just as we’ve gotten settled here, and—oh, having to play the official hostess and all that . . .”
    â€œGetting cold feet, are you?” His tone was light on the surface, but I could hear the worry underneath.
    We had never talked about the problems inherent in a marriage like ours, an unknown American marrying a well-respected Englishman with an extremely responsible and sensitive job. We had both known trouble might crop up. English society still regards many professional jobs as requiring the wife to be the second, unpaid member of the team, and she is expected to be diplomatic, selfless, ready to drop her own agenda at a moment’s notice, and highly skilled in protocol. I possess none of those qualities. I am stubborn, blundering, and very involved in my own affairs, and though I could easily handle large dinner parties at home in Indiana, I know nothing whatever about the finer points of social behavior in a foreign country.
    I had hoped, with Alan close to retirement, that the problem might not arise. Now it loomed, large and terrifying.
    â€œIn a word, yes.” I dumped out the dishwater and gently took the towel and still unwiped plate from Alan’s