Commander Dalgliesh had then been closeted with George Chandler-Powell for half an hour and after he left George had summoned them to the library. They had gathered silently with a shared anticipation that something of significance was about to be told. Sharon had not been arrested, so much was obvious, but there might have been developments and even unwelcome news was preferable to this continuing uncertainty. For all of them, and sometimes they confided as much, life was on hold. Even the simplest decisions—which clothes to put on in the morning, what orders to give Dean and Kimberley—required an effort of will. Chandler-Powell did not keep them waiting, but it seemed to Lettie that he was unusually ill at ease. Entering the library, he seemed uncertain whether to stand or sit but, after a moment’s hesitation, positioned himself beside the fire. He must know himself to be a suspect, as were they all, but now, with their eyes fixed expectantly on him, he seemed more a surrogate of Commander Dalgliesh, a role which he neither wanted nor felt comfortable with.

He said, “I’m sorry to interrupt what you’re doing but Commander Dalgliesh has asked me to speak to you and it seemed sensible to get you together to hear what he had to say. As you know, Sharon will be leaving us in a few days’ time. There was an incident in her past which makes her progress and her welfare a matter for the probation service and it’s thought best that she should leave the Manor. I understand that Sharon will be co-operating with the arrangements made for her. That’s all I have been told and it’s all anyone has a right to know. I must ask you all not to discuss Sharon among yourselves or to speak to her about her past or her future, neither of which is our concern.”

Marcus asked, “Does this mean that Sharon is no longer regarded as a suspect, if she ever was?”

“Presumably.”

Flavia’s face was flushed, her voice uncertain. “Could we know precisely what her status here is? She’s told us that she doesn’t intend to do any more work. I take it that, as the Manor seems to be regarded as a crime scene, we can’t call in any of the village cleaners. With the Manor empty of patients there’s not a lot of work, but someone has to do it.”

Dean said, “Kim and I could help. But what about her food? Usually she eats with us in the kitchen. Suppose she stays upstairs? Is Kim expected to carry up trays and wait on her?” His voice made it plain that this would not be acceptable.