Raynor looked at Gertrude, and then at me. It seemed as if he was warning her, or me.

“Really? I hope it’s not someone else writing about the area, and beating me to it.”

Gertrude had been about to say something, but Raynor walked away. Even in soft shoes, he has a way of making himself heard.

It was a good thing that Gertrude did not press the butler for more information. I felt sure that if Raynor told us about the visitor and his odd enquiries, the stranger would turn out to be a man who drove a Jowett car, wore black, and looked like a policeman. I say very little about my work as a rule, but over the years I may have mentioned my assistant.

She led me into the music room. “Raynor can be a little odd these days. We make allowances. Benjie relies on him.”

“Yes I suppose he would.”

Raynor has been with Benjie since he was a boy.

Sykes would be mortified to know that his discreet enquiries had become a focus for attention.

We sat by the window, agreeing that it was not too early to have a cocktail, which Gertrude mixed. “And you have an important mission while you’re here?”

“If you call a photographic essay important.”

“Oh I do. And you hinted you might abandon me.”

“Not abandon.”

“Good, because I have such plans for us, Kate. And as soon as you’ve freshened up, you must tell me all about your exciting idea.”

After we had chatted and finished our cocktails, Gertrude rang for the maid.

A fair-haired young woman with a nervous manner came into the room, straightening her cap.

Gertrude turned to her. “Milly, show Mrs. Shackleton to her room.”

Milly thought about an answer and finally muttered a reply.

“Milly’s looking forward to taking care of you.”

This statement took Milly by surprise. She began to blink rapidly.

I tried to put her at her ease as we walked upstairs, asking how long she had worked here. Not very long.

It interested me that Milly was one of the names Stephen Walmsley had mentioned. His pals had come to the prison on the night he was arrested—his friends from the band, and Milly and Joan.

There was jug and bowl in the room. As Milly hung my clothes, I washed the grime from my face and combed my hair.

I took out the photographs I had brought to show Gertrude. There we were, at the age of twelve, with our ponies.

In the photograph of their wedding, Gertrude and Benjie looked so well matched and happy.

Milly stared. “Goodness, how could he have been at that wedding?” She was pointing to Benjie’s younger brother, who had been his best man.

“I shouldn’t think it’s anyone you know. You weren’t born then.”

Yet I guessed who she thought it was, and I was right.

“He looks just like Alec Taylor. Or I suppose I should say Alec Taylor looks like him.”