‘Perhaps you would like to join us?’ suggested Rose. ‘We have a carriage waiting at the end of the village. I am Lady Rose Summer and this is Miss Daisy Levine.’

‘That’s so kind of you. May I present myself? I am Miss Friendly.’ She plucked nervously at her gown. ‘I am not perhaps quite properly dressed.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Rose bracingly. ‘You will do very well.’

‘I don’t know. Dear me. Afternoon tea! Such a luxury.’ She looked at them wistfully out of her pale eyes.

‘I’ll go and bring the carriage,’ said Daisy quickly, and ran off.

‘Please step inside,’ said Miss Friendly. ‘The sun is very strong.’

Rose followed her into a front parlour. There was very little furniture. There were light squares on the dingy wallpaper showing where pictures had once hung. Fallen on hard times, thought Rose, with a feeling of compassion.

‘Do you live here alone, Miss Friendly?’

‘Yes. Papa died ten years ago. He was rector of Saint Paul’s before Dr Tremaine. The church kindly allowed me to have this cottage.’

Rose heard a rumble of carriage wheels outside.

‘Ah, there is our carriage and Miss Levine. If you are ready, Miss Friendly?’

Seated in the pleasant gloom of the White Hart Royal over an enormous afternoon tea, Rose again felt a sharp pang of compassion as she watched Miss Friendly try not to gobble the food. The woman was obviously starving. Rose talked about the weather and about the beauties of the countryside until she saw that Miss Friendly’s appetite was at last beginning to be satisfied.

‘You must have been very upset over the news of Miss Tremaine’s murder,’ she said.

‘Oh, shocking. Very shocking. Poor Dolly. She often came to my little cottage. Such a beautiful girl. But very much a country girl. I always thought she would have been happy marrying a farmer, or someone like that, but her parents had such ambitions for her.’

‘I knew her in London,’ said Rose. ‘She was very unhappy.’

‘Of course. Lady Rose Summer! I saw your name in the newspapers. You found her. How awful. Yes, it was awful. But she must have been missing . . . Oh, I shouldn’t gossip. Poor Dolly.’

‘My fiancé is a private detective,’ said Rose. ‘He is helping Scotland Yard to find the killer. Anything you can tell me would be of great help. Who was Dolly missing?’

‘Roger Dallow.’

‘And who is this Roger Dallow?’

‘He’s the blacksmith’s son. I think he and Dolly were very much in love.’

‘And is he in the village? May I speak to him?’

‘Oh, he left, right after Dolly went up to London.’

‘And where did he go?’

‘Nobody knows. You see, his father is a brutal man. I think that was the bond between Roger and Dolly. They were both bullied by their parents. I am sorry I cannot tell you any more. I assume that is why you invited me for tea.’

‘I could just as well have asked you these questions at your cottage,’ said Rose. ‘Do you find it difficult to make ends meet?’