The question was what good was I here? I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, other than finding what appeared to be Tony’s towel or bathrobe on the bonfire. I was beginning to wonder more and more about Rose. She was the one with the motive and I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had appeared behind me on the cliff top. If I hadn’t sensed her coming and looked around, would she have given me a push? And there had been a tiny gleam in her eye when she had proclaimed herself a rich widow. Except for that wretched cocoa in the kitchen which would have made a well-executed murder almost impossible. I waited until tea was over and Rose suggested we take a turn about the grounds before the weather turned wet again. I replied that I thought she’d rather be alone with her mother and off they went. The moment they were well away from the house I made my way toward the kitchen. I had a good excuse. The gingerbread had been delicious and I would love to give the recipe to my cook.

A long narrow hallway led to the back of the house. I went through the door that divided the lives of those belowstairs from those above and found myself in an even darker, narrower hallway. Great houses are never built with convenience and comfort of servants in mind! From the far end came the clink of pots and pans. I walked toward it, then just outside the entrance to the kitchen I stopped. Ahead of me was a large, well-lit kitchen but through the gloom to my right I noticed a stone staircase cut into the wall. Of course, all the best houses had servants’ staircases so that the masters were never offended by the sight of people actually working for them. Instead of going into the kitchen I crept up the stairs. The steps were steep and uneven and I thought of a servant trying to carry coal scuttles or hot water up to their masters this way.