‘Beatrice you’re babbling,’ her companion said sternly. Beatrice proceeded to perform the finest impression of a beetroot I’d ever seen. ‘I am Mrs Channock, and this is Mrs Fredericks. We met your night-brother, Inspector Morden, at a function held by our esteemed friends the Eders. You may recall the evening?’

I recalled much more of it than I would like, but I did my best not to let that show. Instead, I took their offered hands and said, ‘Charmed to finally meet you both in the favourable light of day.’

‘Yes well, I imagine you are a busy man, Mr Morden, and we—’

‘Would you join us for afternoon tea?’ Beatrice said.

‘Beatrice, really, you forget yourself.’

‘No I don’t. Would you, Mr Morden? That is, if you are not too busy?’

I could do little to deny such an earnest, guileless face. But I could do my best to profit by it.

*

Beatrice Fredericks lived in a townhouse on a tree-lined street in a well-to-do area of town. I expected as much from a well-to-do young lady, but I was not expecting such tasteful touches throughout. The decor – from the lightwood entrance hall through to the spring-patterned parlour – was understated, but considered. Touches of gilding were employed to compliment, not dominate, the space and light. Ample room was allowed around the plainly upholstered high-backed chairs and table.

As I entered the parlour the smell of polished wood was offset by a wonderful scent. I looked about me and soon spotted the source – a large potted jasmine dominated a dresser close to the door. I turned to my host.

‘That is simply a wonder, Mrs Fredericks.’

‘Beatrice, please, and thank you.’ She blushed once more, but a blush of the self-congratulatory kind. ‘My plants are somewhat of an obsession.’

‘I have rarely seen such a pleasant and tastefully applied obsession, Beatrice.’ I circled the room, stopping at a colourful little tree. ‘And what is this wonder?’

‘You have an eye for a woman’s weakness,’ Mrs Channock said, arranging herself at the table.

Beatrice cleared her throat. ‘That is something special my husband—’

Was there a note of emphasis there?

‘—brought home from one of his trips east. He travels a great deal.’

‘How unfortunate for him,’ I said. ‘But his loss appears to be your gain.’ The potted tree was an explosion of red and yellow bell-shaped flowers. When I blinked they appeared to dance and merge into a flickering inferno.

Beatrice came beside me and unconsciously removed a dead flower from the back of the plant. ‘I’ve never had it flower so late. But then these are strange times, don’t you think?’

‘Are we to have tea?’ Mrs Channock said. ‘Or do you only water plants, not people, in your parlour?’

‘I had hoped to wait for our other guests.’

‘Other guests?’ I said, taken aback by the hope this kindled in me.

‘It’s an ambush, Mr Morden,’ Mrs Channock said. She guffawed at her own jest – not a sound I was expecting from the woman, but she did so naturally. ‘Don’t look so terrified. We won’t ask you to perform.’