But it was a scrumptious tea with clotted cream and strawberry jam to go with the warm scones and a variety of tiny meringues, éclairs and iced cakes. I watched Rose tuck in with relish. I wondered whether this was wise, given that I had been told Tony had a roving eye.

We chatted pleasantly enough through tea, then Rose urged us to go for a walk around the grounds. Black clouds had been rushing in from the Atlantic and it didn’t look too promising as we stepped out of the front door.

“It’s going to rain, Rose,” Belinda said. “Better put this off until later.”

“Oh, come on, Belinda. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Rose said. “You know good old Cornish rain. It’s only a fine mist usually, isn’t it? I’m really keen to show you around. It’s still all so new to me too.”

And she looked so hopeful that Belinda shrugged and went along. “Oh well. It’s only rain,” she said. “I suppose it can’t kill us.”

I, having been raised at Castle Rannoch, was used to rain, snow, sleet and hail so it didn’t worry me, but I did wonder why Rose was so awfully keen for us to see the grounds when she had a whole lovely house to show off.

We set off, along the front of the house and across a manicured lawn with a statue of a Greek nymph in the middle of it. A flower bed around the edge was bare at this time of year. Beyond, a rose arbor was also pruned down to barren sticks. It didn’t look particularly appetizing and again I wondered why Rose wanted to get us out of the house. Something to do with being away from Mrs. Mannering, I thought.

We had only made it halfway across the lawn when the heavens opened. This was certainly no Cornish mist but a full-blown downpour. In seconds we were drenched with icy water and we had to dash inside again where Mrs. Mannering was waiting to greet us, tut-tutting at our foolishness. So Rose gave us a tour of the reception rooms instead. These were certainly impressive. We admired the white grand piano and full-sized harp in the music room, the walls lined with leather-bound books in the dark and somber library and the family portraits in the drawing room. Former owners of Trewoma, those who had established plantations in far-flung corners of the globe, had brought back interesting objects and these were displayed in every nook. In the library there was a glass case of spectacular butterflies; a stuffed king cobra poised to strike and looking horribly realistic; brightly colored stuffed birds; evil-looking masks on walls as well as many strange weapons: swords, daggers and cutlasses.

“What on earth is this?” Belinda asked, pausing in front of a sword adorned with what looked like strings of human teeth.