Thorpefield Manor came into view as I rounded the bend, and then disappeared and reappeared, in a game of hide and seek as the lane twisted and turned. There is a wood across from the house and grounds. With the promise of spring, the leaves had begun to turn green.

The gates to the manor house stood open. A long and winding drive led to the house, which came into view as the drive made its final curve. It is an imposing early Victorian villa built of local stone. Weak sunlight cast the shadow of the house onto its forecourt. Slowly, I drove into the shadow. The stone balustrade had deteriorated since my last visit. Paint peeled from the door. This surprised me. Gertrude was such a stickler, conscious of her social position.

Someone had heard the car.

Moments later, as I was getting out of the car, a young man appeared. A slight young chap, he had black curling hair, the face of an angel, and the brightest of blue eyes. He brought with him the scent of hay and horses. Something about him was oddly familiar.

“Mrs. Shackleton!”

“Yes.”

“I was looking out for you, madam. I’ll take your car to the garage.”

“Thank you. We haven’t met before?”

“I’m Alec. I look after the horses and I’m learning to be a mechanic.”

He didn’t look old enough. “That’s a big responsibility for a young chap.”

“I’ll be sixteen next month!” Smiling, he picked up my camera bag.

By now, someone else had heard my approach. The big oak door creaked opened. There stood the imposing figure of Benjie’s loyal, long-serving butler.

“Hello, Raynor.”

Alec deposited my camera bag on the top step and hared away without a word.

Raynor picked up the bag with his little finger. He presents an imposing, almost formidable, figure. In the days when butlers were said to be paid according to height and breadth, he would have earned good money.

Raynor inclined his large head. “Welcome back, Mrs. Shackleton.”

I once saw a play based on the Dracula story. Raynor, with his, long pale face and deep-set eyes, looked so like the leading man that it was uncanny. On a previous visit, I had to repeat to myself: his name is Raynor. He is not Count Dracula.

Gertrude came smiling down the broad staircase to meet me. Tall and slender, she wore a light jersey sweater and skirt ensemble in a combination of grey and pale green.

“Kate! It’s been too long.”

“Lovely to see you, Gertrude.”

I hate to feel a hypocrite but it would be worse to tell the truth: it is good to see you, but what I really want is to solve the case and go.

“I thought I would never entice you here again. Not that I blame you. We are as godforsaken and isolated as ever.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. What do you say, Raynor?” I shrugged off my motoring coat.

Raynor was quick to take my coat. “We shall never compete with Piccadilly Circus, but people come and go. Only yesterday we had a person driving farm to farm, questioning the rhubarb growers.”