The next was from Mrs. Asquey d’Asquey, mother of the bride at the Grosvenor House wedding. Her daughter (now Primrose Roly Poley) was due home from her honeymoon in Italy on the seventh and she wanted to surprise her by having her new house opened up, clean and welcoming, with windows open and fresh flowers everywhere. I was tempted to accept. The money was desperately needed, but the risk was just too great. I had no guarantee that Primrose’s mother would not be sailing in and out with her arms full of fresh flowers, reorganizing Primrose’s furniture, if my suspicions were correct. She might not have noticed me at the wedding, when everyone is in a state of shock, but she’d certainly recognize me if I was dusting her bedroom. Reluctantly I’d have too many prior assignments this week to meet her needs.

I came home to the most heavenly smell of cooking. My grandfather was making a steak and kidney pudding. What’s more, the boiler was now working and the house was delightfully warm in a quite un-Rannoch-like way. Belinda had already escaped to the comfort of her own house, declaring that one night of excitement was all she could take, so Granddad and I sat together, debating what could be done for Binky. Neither of us could come up with any good suggestions.

At four o’clock Fig telephoned. She was coming to London the next day to be at her husband’s side. Would I make sure her bedroom and dressing room were ready for her? A fire would be nice as she’d be tired from the journey. She blamed me, she went on to say. How could I possibly let Binky get into such a mess? Now she supposed she’d have to sort it out. For a moment I actually pitied the policemen at Scotland Yard. I couldn’t wait to see the meeting between Fig and Harry Sugg. If the situation hadn’t been so grim, I would have chuckled.

The next morning I was in the midst of dusting her dressing room when there was a knock at the front door. Granddad, who had now turned himself into butler as well as cook, came back to report that there was a policeman to see me. A Chief Inspector Burnall.

“Show him into the morning room,” I said with a sigh and hastily removed the scarf I had been wearing for my cleaning duties.

The chief inspector was looking impeccably groomed and very distinguished and I was horribly aware that I was wearing an old skirt in which the tweed had bottomed over the years. He rose to meet me and greeted me with a polite bow.

“Your ladyship. I’m sorry to disturb you again. I see you now have your butler in residence.”

His smug look indicated that we’d had no servants in the house only while we killed de Mauxville.