I had reached the impressive stone gateway leading to Farlows and hesitated. Was it really wise to go back there? Then I decided I wasn’t going to run away. I had to know the truth. I glanced up at the colonnade of statues as I walked past. There was something about them. . . . I frowned, but it wouldn’t come. As I reached the lake I met Marisa, Belinda, and Imogen out for a walk.

“Oh, there you are,” Marisa called. “Everyone wondered where you’d got to. Poor Tristram was positively pining, wasn’t he, Belinda? He pestered everyone, asking for you.”

“I just went for a walk to see a house where I once stayed. Where is Tristram now?”

“I don’t know,” Marisa said. “But he seems awfully keen on you, Georgie. I think he’s really sweet—like a little lost boy, isn’t he, Belinda?”

Belinda shrugged. “If that sort appeals to you, Marisa.”

“And where’s everyone else?” I asked casually.

“Most of the golfers aren’t back yet. Apparently Mrs. Simpson wanted to go shopping in Tunbridge Wells—as if anything will be open on a Saturday afternoon,” Imogen said.

“It’s just an excuse to be alone with the prince; you know that,” Marisa added.

“The only person whose whereabouts are certain is your dear Prince Fishface,” Belinda announced with a grin. “He fell off his horse trying to make it jump a gate. He jumped the gate, but the horse didn’t. I gather he won’t be joining us for dancing tonight.”

In spite of everything, I had to laugh.

“So you’ll be stuck getting your toes trodden on by Tristram after all”—Imogen slipped her arm through mine—“unless some of the neighbors come. It’s always so much easier when my brothers are here.”

We started walking toward the house, past the last of the long line of statues.

“I gather one of our statues nearly toppled down on you today,” Imogen said. “What awful bad luck you’re having, Georgie.”

Suddenly I realized what had been worrying me. I realized that Tristram had given himself away. He had compared those statues to the vengeful angel at Rannoch House. But he could only have seen that statue if he had been upstairs on the second-floor landing, where the bathroom was.

Now at least I was sure of my adversary. I was lost in thought all the way back to the house, where Lady Mountjoy appeared to tell us that tea was being served and to eat heartily, as supper wouldn’t be before ten. We followed her into the gallery and found my mother already tucking in. For a small, slim person she certainly had an appetite. Mrs. Bantry-Bynge was trying to chat with her, with little success. For someone who had been born a commoner, my mother was rather good at cutting dead anyone she considered common.