Again the expostulatory rumble.

‘I know, I know, I know. It’s so merry and bright in this dump it’s a wonder we don’t all die of laughing. If you’re as crazy as all that about me, you ought to put me in a position where I’d keep my self-respect…You owe it to me…After all I’ve done for you. I’m just miserable…And when I get like this, I’m warning you, Noddy, look out.’ The door opened a little further.

Troy, who had stood transfixed, picked up her skirts, turned back on her tracks, and fairly ran away down the long corridor.

This time she reached the gallery and went downstairs. In the hall she encountered Barker, who showed her into an enormous drawing-room which looked, she thought, as if it was the setting for a scene in ‘Victoria Regina.’ Crimson, white, and gold were the predominant colours, damask and velvet the prevailing textures. Vast canvases by Leader and MacWhirter occupied the walls. On each occasional table or cabinet stood a silver-framed photograph of Royalty or Drama. There were three of Sir Henry at different stages of his career, and there was one of Sir Henry in Court dress. In this last portrait, the customary air of a man who can’t help feeling he looks a bit of an ass was completely absent, and for a moment Troy thought Sir Henry had been taken in yet another of his professional roles. The unmistakable authenticity of his Windsor coat undeceived her. ‘Golly,’ she thought, staring at the photograph, ‘it’s a good head and no mistake.’

She began a tour of the room and found much to entertain her. Under the glass lid of a curio table were set out a number of orders, miniatures and decorations, several objets d’art, a signed programme from a command performance, and, surprisingly, a small book of antique style, bound in half-calf and heavily tooled. Troy was one of those people who, when they see a book lying apart, must handle it. The lid was unlocked. She raised it and opened the little book. The title was much faded, and Troy stooped to make it out.

The Antient Arte of the Embalming of Corpfes [she read]. To which is added a Difcourfe on the Concoction of Fluids for the Purpofe of Preferving Dead Bodies.

By William Hurfte, Profeffor of Phyfic, London.

Printed by Robert White for John Crampe at the Sign of the Three Bibles in St Paul’s Churchyard. 1678.

It was horribly explicit. Here, in the first chapter, were various recipes ‘For the Confumation of the Arte of Preferving the Dead in perfect Verifimilitude of Life. It will be remarked,’ the author continued, ‘that in fpite of their diverfity the chimical of Arfenic is Common to All.’ There was a particularly macabre passage on ‘The ufe of Cofmetics to Difguife the ghaftly Pallor of Death.’