Mrs. Rollingbroke and her husband were strolling about, arm in arm. She was speaking with great animation, and Sir Rolly, who was carrying several hardback books, seemed to be hanging on her every word.

Phyllida didn’t see Mr. Genevan or Mr. and Mrs. Whittlesby, but Dr. Bhatt was standing near one of the food booths, speaking with Mrs. Tattersall, who lived in the village and was always complaining about her corns and bunions.

Agatha’s line was the longest—even longer than Miss Sayers’s—but she moved through the people quickly and efficiently, likely due to her shyness. Mr. Max was in the tent with her, and he assisted by handing her books. Being an archaeologist, he was not unused to manual labor, and so he moved the heavy boxes around as necessary.

“You’re doing an excellent job keeping the reporters from Mrs. Agatha’s table, Elton,” Phyllida said, speaking to Mr. Max’s valet, who’d been conscripted for that particular purpose.

Elton was a relatively new addition to the Mallowan Hall staff, having joined just after the last murder investigation Phyllida had conducted. An unusually handsome young man in his early twenties, Elton had usurped Stanley, the first footman, as the favorite of the maids—although to the chagrin of Ginny, Molly, and Lizzie, the valet seemed uninterested in any sort of flirtation with them. He was, however, unfailingly polite and exceedingly helpful when not assisting Mr. Max—who’d originally claimed he didn’t need a valet and now found him quite invaluable. He was even considering taking Elton on his next archaeological dig, which would be quite a tragedy insofar as the housemaids were concerned.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bright,” Elton said. He straightened his broad shoulders, and Phyllida noticed that his cheeks were a bit flushed.

“It’s rather warm out here today, isn’t it, Elton?” she said.

“Oh, no, ma’am, not for me—but I can find you a fan or a glass of cool water if you like,” he said. “If you’re uncomfortable, that is.”

She smiled, for she’d been about to offer to get him a drink so that he didn’t need to leave his post. “No, no, I’m quite comfortable.” Her pale-blue day dress was light and airy and she hadn’t worn a sweater.

Just then, John Bhatt gave her a little wave from across the green. “But I do think I’ll have a meat pasty, as I’ve missed luncheon. Carry on, Elton,” she said. “Don’t let any of the reporters talk to Mrs. Agatha, mind. Today she is speaking only to readers. Stanley will be here to give you a break in short order,” she added, knowing both young men had been up and moving heavy boxes of books and setting up tents since dawn. “He’s just finishing his break.”

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Bright,” he said, his cheeks still flushed. “Thank you.”