Rodington Court’s grounds were extensive, though perhaps a little unkempt, as if they needed one more gardener than they had. The South Lawn rolled down a gentle slope to an ornamental lake surrounded by greenery. It was a lovely prospect in the sun and nobody could walk into even the most wildly misdirected shot; it would do very well if Miss Carruth wanted to practice, and if she didn’t, it made a very pleasant spot for Pat to settle down with the latest Wildfowler's Shooting Times.

She chose a bench that stood in a hollow cut out from a large juniper bush, which gave her a view of the lake. It also obscured her from casual view, she realised as the next hour passed, because her attention was attracted from the pages every now and again by movement, but nobody seemed to see her.

Bill passed first, striding down to the lake in a way that suggested a man chafing for exercise. He disappeared into the wood, presumably to take a wider circuit round the grounds, since he did not reemerge. Mr. Keynes and Miss Singh crossed the South Lawn some time afterwards, heads together in earnest talk. Pat wondered what on earth they found to discuss, given her entire conversation with Mr. Keynes had revolved around hunting and shooting. Still, he had good manners, and they seemed happy enough. Ten minutes after that, she saw Lady Anna walking with Jack Bouvier-Lynes, and sent up a mental malediction. She couldn’t blame Lady Anna, since her companion seemed to be very personable from the little Pat had seen of him, but if Maurice Haworth came out after his wife, she didn’t want to be in earshot.

Fortunately, the next person she saw was Fenella Carruth.

Miss Carruth wore a very dashing green day dress of flattering cut and a broad-brimmed hat against the sun. She was walking alone, with slow, heavy tread, and as she passed in front of the juniper, her expression was so sombre that Pat would almost not have recognised her. Her lips were pressed together, eyes distant, and Pat found herself blurting, “Miss Carruth!”

Miss Carruth recoiled in shock, then turned, and the usual sparkling smile spread over her face as though the look of misery had never been. “Miss Merton, there you are. I was looking for you.”

“Here I am,” Pat agreed. She wondered if she could say, Are you all right? but was drowned in determined cheerfulness before she had a chance.