I felt a sudden sisterly warmth towards the late Phyllis Dell, with her cluster of anxieties, and her untimely, painful death.

“You know Eliot is our nearest neighbour. I would love to see him settled. He’s a shy man but he’ll be a good catch for someone.” She lowered her voice. “His mother can be difficult, but she can’t last much longer.”

“Mrs. Dell seems perfectly charming to me. And I haven’t come looking for a husband.”

“Of course you haven’t. But wouldn’t it be good if we were neighbours, we could go riding. You might come to London with me and look at babies.” She laughed. “I know I’m being fanciful and jumping ahead and all that, but you should see Eliot’s house. His family have done very well out of the railways, just as we have. Old Mr. Dell cunningly avoided death duties by dying at the right time. You’d want for nothing. Eliot’s late wife brought money into the marriage.”

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll tuck it away with the others.”

Gertrude laughed. “You’re a hopeless case.”

She had always tried her hand at matchmaking. It came as no surprise that she was still at it. In spite of Gertrude’s narrow view of the world, she had been what you might call a staunch friend over the years. When a woman is widowed, married friends often fall away. The Christmas cards continue, with the message that we must meet soon. Probably that is meant in the moment the pen moves across the card. In Gertrude’s case it always was meant, and followed through.

Gertrude said, “We go to church in the morning, at Holy Trinity in Rothwell. The vicar is away and so we’re obliged to support his stand-in. Would you like to come? Afterwards the stand-in will come to Eliot’s for drinks.”

“I thought I’d look for something a little different, perhaps attend a chapel, in the interests of research.”

“Apart from Raynor and the housekeeper, most of the staff attend chapel. Milly will tell you the times of the services.”

That was exactly what I intended to do. I felt sure that Gertrude knew nothing about the man on the train. Servants know everything.

The knowledge was between the words, behind the silences: Benjie knew I was here to solve the riddle of the unknown man. So did Raynor, and possibly Eliot. I must brazen it out. Let them think that they were imagining things, because perhaps that’s what I was doing: imagining that because Benjie knew they all knew. Benjie had given a strong enough hint. I didn’t mind the hint, but it could have been more subtle, one of those ways of letting a person know without saying.

Mrs. Dell returned from powdering her nose. The men cut short their confab in the dining room and came to join us.

Gertrude chose a record. Benjie wound the gramophone. Eliot came to sit beside me.

The curtains had not been closed. The sky was black and full of stars.