‘Nothing at the moment, I’m afraid.’

‘Where’s Gerry?’ Rachel asked anxiously. ‘Has he gone back to our room?’

‘No, he’ll be kept apart from everyone else until I’ve had a chance to speak to him again, this time under caution.’

She looked relieved. ‘But you found the stuff?’

‘Yes.’

‘Rachel’s worried sick that she’ll be incriminated, too,’ Barbara said. ‘I’ve told her she’s got nothing to be frightened of. That’s right, isn’t it?’

Penrose ignored the question and spoke to the group as a whole. ‘You’re welcome to stay here now or go back to your rooms, whichever you prefer. I would ask you to be vigilant at all times, though, and if anything out of the ordinary happens, please report it straight to me or to Miss St Aubyn. She’ll talk to you about the plans for the rest of the day.’

‘It’s hardly going to be charades round the fire now, is it?’ Fielding said. ‘Can I call the office? We’ll need to re-plan the feature.’

No prizes for guessing the direction that the coverage would now take, Penrose thought, but he didn’t blame Fielding for prioritising his work; this assignment was a gift to his career already, but now even more so. ‘There are no 212telephones working at present,’ he said, glad not to have to worry about headlines for the foreseeable future, ‘but you can speak to your editor when there are, as long as you don’t give away any information which might jeopardise the investigation.’

‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ Josephine asked.

He appreciated the concern in her voice. ‘Nothing at the moment. I’ll come and talk to you all again later.’

The stairs down from the dining room were a short cut to the servants’ quarters. The smell of Christmas hit him, a rich, nostalgic blend of sage, roast turkey, bacon and spices, and just for a moment he allowed himself the luxury of its normality, finding something comforting in the illusion of the day played out as it should have been: the familiar, dissonant sounds of ordinary tasks, hollowed and amplified by the cold, stone floors; a distant babble of female voices, whose easy gossip was such a welcome contrast to the grief and fear upstairs. The castle’s vast kitchen rattled to the sound of pans boiling steadily on the range, but the room itself was strangely deserted and he realised that he was late for his rendezvous with the staff.

Mrs Pendean was looking out for him and she showed him through to the servants’ hall, where around a dozen members of staff were seated at benches on either side of a long wooden table. The room struck him as particularly cheerless, painted a drab shade of green with no carpet and very little furniture, but its chilliness was probably a welcome relief to those whose faces were flushed from the heat of working in the kitchens. The buzz of conversation ceased as soon as the housekeeper set foot in the room, and Penrose wondered if their respect was for the role or for Mrs Pendean personally. 213She introduced him and he thanked them all for coming, then outlined the basic circumstances of the vicar’s death. ‘Which of you was responsible for looking after the Reverend Hartley while he was here?’ he asked, and a footman put up his hand. ‘Didn’t you think it was strange that he wasn’t in his room this morning?’ Penrose persisted, when the evening routine had revealed nothing of interest.