“Now, now, Digs, let’s not put the cart before the horse. You’ve as good a chance of winning as anyone—save Vera Rollingbroke.”

They chuckled, and Dobble was relieved that his friend seemed to relax a little. He very much hoped that Digby would win, but more than that, he desperately hoped that Alastair Whittlesby would not. Even if Dr. Bhatt won instead of Digby, it would be far better—though in that event, Dobble would have to contend with Mrs. Bright’s subtle, but smug, satisfaction.

Dobble glanced at the clock and saw with a start that it was past time for him to return to the manor house to see that breakfast had been cleared, and tea and dinner were being prepared. For the last few days during the preparations for the Murder Fête, the residence had been unusually quiet. This was mainly due to the long absences of Mrs. Bright. She’d taken her impudently bright hair and her righteous temperament to St. Wendreda’s—along with some of her staff, which had actually left Dobble in a rather trying position, keeping the meals coming and tea on time. But that inconvenience had been balanced by the fact that Mrs. Bright had been blissfully and regularly not present at the manor house.

“I’d best be off, then, Digs,” said Dobble, once again looking sadly at the cake as he stood. “Mrs. Bright has left the household in quite the straits as of late, and there’s no one to set it right but myself.”

“Why, that’s not very sporting of her, is it?” said Digby, rising as well.

“Not in the least,” Dobble replied as he settled his hat in place. “But it does afford me the opportunity to ensure the maids are doing their work to my standards. There’s simply so much lace and chintz everywhere, I’ve taken the opportunity to decrease its presence.” And he’d made certain those blasted cats of Mrs. Bright’s hadn’t so much as poked a whisker from outside of her sitting room. Their frustrated yowling at the door had brought a smile to his face.

“I do know how indispensable Mrs. Bright is up at Mallowan Hall,” Digby said earnestly. “She’s quite a wonder, isn’t she? So clever and well turned out, and so very civil, too, if a bit intimidating. It must be very trying with her being absent so much this weekend.”

Dobble stiffened a little. “Wonder is hardly a word I would use to describe that woman, Digby. She’s . . . well, she’s slightly more than adequate at her position—which, incidentally, I cannot begin to understand how she acquired, with her surely never having been in service until Mrs. Agatha brought her on.”