‘Quite right!’ Joseph said, trying to slip a friendly hand in Stephen’s arm, and being frustrated. ‘Stephen loves to try to shock us all, only his old uncle won’t be shocked!’

‘Ah, that’s the way with so many of the young people today,’ said Mrs Dean, shaking her head.

‘Let me point out to you that there is no fire in this room, and that you could both discuss me in greater comfort elsewhere!’ snapped Stephen.

Mrs Dean’s eyes might acquire a steely look, but her smile remained. She said: ‘You conceited boy, to think I should waste my time discussing you! I have much more important things to do! Indeed, I must unpack the few bits and pieces I brought with me, and just tidy myself a little after the journey.’

Joseph at once offered to escort her to her room, and led her away before Stephen could say something even more outrageous. In the hall, Valerie, now clad in the navy-blue suit which her mother thought more proper to the occasion than primrose-yellow, was flirting mildly with Roydon. As Roydon’s mind was preoccupied with the possible consequences of Nathaniel’s murder, the flirtation was a desultory affair, but the sight of her daughter, tête-à-tête with a young man whom one glance assured her was ineligible, made Mrs Dean intervene at once. She said that she wanted her girlie to come up and help her to unpack.

‘Oh, Mummy, why on earth?’ said Valerie petulantly. ‘The housemaid will do all that.’

‘No, my pet; you know Mummy never likes the servants to meddle with her things,’ said Mrs Dean. ‘Come along!’

‘Oh, all right!’ said Valerie sulkily. ‘See you later, Willoughby!’

Once in the seclusion of the Blue Room, which was a spacious if somewhat sombre apartment over the library, Mrs Dean wasted no time in beating about the bush, but asked abruptly: ‘Who is that young man, Val?’

‘Willoughby? He’s a playwright. He’s written the most marvellous play called Wormwood. He read it to us yesterday.’

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ said Mrs Dean.

‘Well, he hasn’t actually had anything put on yet, but he’s frightfully brilliant, and I expect Wormwood will run for simply years!’

‘I’m sure I hope it may,’ responded Mrs Dean. ‘But you know you can’t afford to waste your time on penniless young writers, my pet, and I didn’t quite like to see you being so friendly with him.’

‘Oh, Mummy, what absolute rot! As though I couldn’t be friends with other men just because I’m engaged!’

‘You must let Mother know best, my pet. You don’t want to make Stephen jealous, now, do you?’

‘I don’t care,’ said Valerie sullenly. ‘Besides, I don’t believe he would be. He simply pays no attention to me. The only person he’s more or less decent to is that sickening Clare-woman. And she isn’t even moderately good-looking, Mummy!’

‘Is she the one who went off to church with Mrs Herriard? Such manners! I wonder what Mrs Herriard was before she was married? I’m sure my little girl has nothing to fear from anyone as plain as Miss Clare. You mustn’t be silly, childie. I can see it’s high time Mother came to keep an eye on you. I’ve no doubt you’ve been getting on the wrong side of Stephen. He isn’t the sort you can play tricks with.’