Dobble gave her a startled look, which was quickly masked. He straightened slightly and pursed his lips. “I was taking this to the bar,” he said, gesturing with the bottle in his hand. “Stanley spelled me for the moment, but Mr. Whittlesby is quite particular about his cocktail so I should be the one to mix it. His butler explained the recipe, and it’s far too complicated for a footman to remember, no matter how he might aspire to butlership. Besides the champagne toast, Mr. Genevan absolutely refuses to drink anything other than port—which I have in my hand—whilst Mrs. Rollingbroke insists only on Scotch, and so I am clearly needed.”

“Indeed,” Phyllida said, nodding sagely.

“As you know, Mrs. Bright, I prefer to personally supervise the inventory and usage of Mr. Max’s wine cellar,” the butler went on airily. “And since he and Mrs. Agatha were so generous in offering the champagne, it was the least I could do to attend this event in order to ensure it wasn’t being wasted.” His emphasis clearly indicated the words he didn’t dare speak: on the likes of you.

“Mr. Max insisted I taste the vintage,” Phyllida replied, deciding to put the matter at rest. “As it’s one of his favorites. Incidentally, I trust Bess and Lizzie put the guest chambers in readiness for tonight? I checked the linens and spoke to both of them before returning here at half five.”

All three visiting members of the Detection Club—Dorothy Sayers, G. K. Chesterton, and Anthony Berkeley—were staying at Mallowan Hall. Fortunately, this weekend was a much less formal affair than a normal house party, as they were spending most of their time and taking many of their meals here at the Murder Fête.

Still, Phyllida was fully aware of Dobble’s exasperation over her absences . . . as well as the fact that the pink chintz sofa pillows had been removed from the large sitting room. The fact that her two cats, Stilton and Rye, were particularly moody when she was back at the house also suggested Dobble’s handiwork. Clearly, the felines hadn’t been allowed to do their daily mouse hunt while Phyllida was gone attending to the Murder Fête.

“Yes,” replied the butler. “I checked them myself and made corrections as necessary. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Bright.”

Corrections as necessary, hmm? Since he was walking away and couldn’t see, she allowed herself to glare at his shoulder blades. As a rule, her chambermaids did not need “corrections.”