Daisy could never get used to the fact that she was expected to avail herself of Turner’s services as well. Not that Turner presented any difficulties. Being lady’s maid to an aristocrat was a step up for her. Her last job had been as lady’s maid to an elderly widow in Bournemouth. She was in her thirties, polite and correct and self-effacing.

But Daisy loved the luxury of having someone to do her hair and mend and clean her clothes.

When they were ready, Rose in a low-cut white silk gown and Daisy in dark grey silk which Lady Polly considered suitable to her station, they rang the bell for a footman to guide them downstairs, because it was one of those old rambling mansions with many odd staircases.

Lady Glensheil moved forward to meet them, or rather she glided, as if on castors. She was a high-nosed aristocrat with a noble bosom. She was dressed in lilac taffeta and a great rope of black pearls hung round her neck.

‘Glad you could come, Lady Rose, and this is . . . ?’

‘My companion, Miss Levine.’

‘We are a small party. May I present Lord Alfred. Lord Alfred, Lady Rose Summer and Miss Levine.’

‘Charmed,’ he said in a voice heavy with boredom.

‘And Mr Baker-Willis.’

‘We’ve met,’ said Rose curtly.

And so the introductions went on. Apart from the suspects, there were two ladies Rose already knew from the house party at Telby Castle, Frederica Sutherland and Maisie Chatterton. She had also met two of the gentlemen before, Sir Gerald Burke and Neddie Freemantle. Harry was the last to arrive.

‘That awful bruise has nearly gone, I see,’ he remarked.

‘I’ve been wondering what happened to papers or letters or whatever Freddy was using to blackmail people.’

‘Maybe the murderer took the stuff away with him.’

Daisy whispered, ‘A motor car followed us all the way here.’

Rose laughed. ‘Daisy is worried that the horrible doctor is coming after me.’

But Harry did not laugh. ‘I’ll keep a look-out.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Rose, looking towards the new arrivals. ‘I’d forgotten about them.’

Mrs Angela Stockton and her son came into the room. ‘My dear, what are you wearing?’ demanded Lady Glensheil in ringing tones.

Angela’s high-waisted gown looked as if it had been made out of William Morris wallpaper. A huge silver crucifix hung round her neck. Her hennaed hair was topped with what looked like a small green witch’s cap.

‘I am an aesthete,’ said Angela.

‘Oh, pooh, greenery-yallery,’ said Lady Glensheil. ‘At least young Peregrine is properly attired.’

‘Tell her we’re no longer vegetarians,’ hissed Daisy, ‘or we’ll need to eat nothing but vegetables while we’re here.’

‘I outrank her,’ said Rose, ‘so I won’t be sitting near her when we dine.’

‘But I will,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, well, I’ll think of something.’