When they arrived at Buness, Maggie was baking. Alec was still out. She had wanted a proper kitchen, separate from the living room, and it had been built on the back of the house. It was long and thin like a corridor. She was keading bread dough and her plain freckled face was red. Sarah remembered that Alec had said that Maggie was up early on the boat morning to bake, and thought she must spend very little time out of the kitchen. When they knocked on the kitchen door, she called them in without stopping the stretching and pressing of the dough. George remarked politely that the bread would be good when it was cooked. She cut it into three, rolled it in flour.

“I bake all my own bread. I wouldn’t buy from the shop the prices he charges. I’ll be finished just now, then I’ll make some tea.”

She covered the loaves with a tea towel, rinsed her hands under the tap, then led George and Sarah into the living room. It was intimidating in its tidiness. Every surface was highly polished. There was a large sofa covered with nylon velvet and a glass-topped coffee table. They sat down and she went out to make tea. She had left open the living-room door and they heard Alec call into the kitchen.

“Robert’s dead,” they heard him say, “ he always was a mischief-making old fool, and he’s still causing trouble. The police may come to see you. Don’t tell them anything.”

She spoke more quietly. She did not think that her guests could hear them.

“What would I tell them?” she said bitterly. “ You never talk to me. What happened to Robert?”

But he had gone.

She came into the living room carrying a tray, and there was still desperation in her voice.

“Is it just a social visit?” she asked. The words were directed at Sarah, who looked at George to help her out, but he seemed not to notice.

“We did want to talk to you,” she said at last, “about Mary. George thinks that she might have been murdered.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” Maggie demanded. “Is this your southern sense of humour?”

“No …” Sarah wanted to explain, but Maggie would not let her finish. Her face, already flushed, turned scarlet. Her fury was directed at George.

“What do you mean by coming here and making trouble like this? Are you sick?”

George spoke quietly.

“It’s happened again,” he said. “Robert was murdered.”

She did not know what to say. George took advantage of her confusion.

“Why do you dislike Sylvia Drysdale?”

“She’s never fitted in here.”

“Alec likes her, though?”

“Who told you that?” She was furious. He let the matter drop.

“We’ve talked to Sandy and Agnes,” Sarah said. “They want George to find out what happened to Mary.”

“They’re fools to themselves.”