‘All right.’ Fenella got to her feet. She had the fortunate knack, Troy noticed, of looking charming when she cried. She now tossed her head, bit her lips, and gained mastery of herself. ‘She’ll make a good actress,’ Troy thought, and instantly checked herself. ‘Because,’ she thought, ‘the child manages to be so prettily distressed, why should I jump to the conclusion that she’s not as distressed as she seems? I’m not sympathetic enough.’ She touched Fenella’s arm, and although it was quite foreign to her habit, returned the squeeze Fenella instantly gave to her hand.

‘Come,’ said Troy, ‘I thought you said this afternoon that your generation of Ancreds was as hard as nails.’

‘Well, we try,’ Fenella said. ‘It’s only because you’re so nice that I let go. I won’t again.’

‘Help!’ Troy thought, and said aloud: ‘I’m not much use really, I’m afraid. My husband says I shy away from emotion like a nervous mare. But let off steam if you want to.’

Fenella said soberly: ‘This’ll do for a bit, I expect. You’re an angel. Dinner’s at half-past eight. You’ll hear a warning gong.’ She turned at the door. ‘All the same,’ she said, ‘there’s something pretty ghastly going on at Ancreton just now. You’ll see.’

With an inherited instinct for a good exit line, Fenella stepped backwards and gracefully closed the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sir Henry

IN HER AGITATION FENELLA had neglected to give Troy the usual hostesses’ tips on internal topography. Troy wondered if the nearest bathroom was at the top of another tower or at the end of some interminable corridor. Impossible to tug the embroidered bell-pull and cause one of those aged maids to climb the stairs! She decided to give up her bath in favour of Mrs Siddons, the wash-stand and a Victorian can of warm water which had been left beside it.

She had an hour before dinner. It was pleasant, after the severely rationed fires of Tatler’s End, to dress leisurely before this sumptuous blaze. She made the most of it, turning over in her mind the events of the day and sorting out her impressions of the Ancreds. Queer Thomas, she decided, was, so far, the best of the bunch, though the two young things were pleasant enough. Was there an understanding between them and had Sir Henry objected? Was that the reason for Fenella’s outburst? For the rest: Pauline appeared to be suffering from a general sense of personal affront, Millamant was an unknown quantity, while her Cedric was frankly awful. And then, Sonia! Troy giggled. Sonia really was a bit thick.