Phyllida’s apartments—which included a sunny sitting room and a cozy bedchamber—were located on the west side near the back of the building but were close enough that she could hear anyone coming or going, or descending from the bedrooms above. Mr. Dobble had his own pantry and adjoining bedroom next to Phyllida’s apartments, but his faced the rear of the property. Phyllida acknowledged that he had the better view of the gardens and that his space was slightly larger, but she preferred to be nearer to the front of the residence so as to hear what was happening.

As she made her way quickly through the house, Phyllida automatically checked for dust on the tops of picture frames, that the items on the side tables along the halls were arranged properly and in an appealing manner, that the curtains had been opened in the library and front parlor—both of which she had to pass by—and that none of the fresh flowers in vases throughout were drooping or browning. Everything was in order, of course, for the maids and footmen had been up and working since dawn. Rita had been returned to the St. Wendreda’s rectory earlier when Bradford took the supply of Mrs. Agatha’s books to where the festival was to be set up today on the church’s lawn.

When Phyllida reached the front foyer, she saw that Agatha was just making her way down the stairs in the wake of their guests.

“Oh, Mrs. Bright, there you are,” said her employer and friend. Agatha never used Phyllida’s familiar name when outsiders were around, a custom that Phyllida wholeheartedly approved.

“Good morning, Mrs. Agatha. I trust Peter enjoyed his biscuit on your tea tray?” she replied as Agatha edged off toward the hallway, away from the dining room. Evidently her employer wished to speak with her out of the hearing of the others.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Agatha replied with a smile. Although Phyllida couldn’t relate to her friend’s love for canines, she did know that having Peter around for cuddles and petting was extremely important to Agatha. In fact, during her difficult divorce from Archie Christie, Agatha had relied greatly on Peter for support. “He crunched it down quite happily. It’s so sweet of Mrs. Puffley to make him his own biscuits.

“Oh, good morning, Dorothy,” went on Agatha, giving a little wave to her colleague as she stepped onto the foyer floor. “I do hope you slept well, after all of the excitement. I’ll be right in for breakfast, but make yourself comfortable. Ask Mr. Dobble to bring you a cup of coffee—he makes it perfectly sweet but wonderfully strong at the same time.”

“Thank you, dear Agatha. Do hurry and join us—I’ve several theories to discuss about the murder.” Miss Sayers swept into the dining room, once again wearing one of the long, shapeless dresses she favored.