It was three days before somebody else knocked at our door. Taking a deep breath, I eased it open to find Mr Milne himself standing there. He took his tall hat off. “Miss Easson,” he greeted me, giving a small bow.
“Mr Milne,” I waited for his pronouncement of doom. Slapping his factor no longer seemed like a good idea.
“May I come in?”
Although I had no qualms about facing up to the factor, Mr Milne owned our house, and indeed the rest of the close. I stepped aside with as much good grace as I could muster and ushered him inside.
“Do sit down, Mr Milne.” Mother was more herself that day. She pulled up a chair for Mr Milne. I leaned against the bookshelves, wondering where we would spend the night.
“Ah, this is slightly awkward.” Mr Milne was middle aged with more white than grey in h
