There was a tread on the stairs, and they both froze. Quickly, Caro took her place in front of the desk, leaning back on both hands, her ankles crossed, her bottom just perching on the edge of the wood. She’d taken a moment earlier, knowing what was coming tonight, to change into a shirt dress with hints of military stylings. It wasn’t strictly vintage, but it had enough echoes of the period to work as Dahlia, and it made her feel like herself.

Herself. A small smile tickled her lips. Not Dahlia, but Caro. They had a lot in common, for sure, but for the first time Caro realised she wouldn’t be playing a part this evening – for all it might appear that way to the audience of suspects.

She wasn’t doing this as Dahlia.

She was doing this as Caro Hooper. Because Caro Hooper was every bit as mighty as Dahlia was, and she had the advantage of not being fictional.

The door opened, and Libby appeared, her forehead creased with worry.

‘I got your note.’ Ducking inside, she shut the door behind her. ‘Is this about Clementine?’

‘It’s about all of it,’ Caro said, mysteriously. ‘And you’re not the only one who needs to hear it. But I did have one question for you. When Clementine spoke to Hugh for the first time, what was his excuse for not replying to her initial letter?’

Libby blinked. ‘Uh, he said he never received it.’

So, Rosalind was right again. Caro smiled. ‘You might as well leave the door open. There are a number of others joining us.’

And they came, one at a time, or two at most. Each tentatively peering around the door, then looking confused at the growing party inside.

Ashok, wearing his Christmas jumper over his pyjamas. Heather and Harry in matching tartan dressing gowns. Anton, in a black sweatshirt and jeans, Felicity in leggings and a t-shirt, and then Kit, in low-slung grey lounge pants and a white shirt.

‘Well, this is quite the party, isn’t it?’ he said, eyebrows arched, as he dropped into the armchair nearest Posy’s hiding place. ‘I should have worn a hat. Ah!’ He reached up to grab Lettice’s felt cloche from the shelf above him. ‘Problem solved.’

Caro thought she saw Posy’s curtain shake with laughter, but none of their other guests seemed to notice.

Juliette arrived in skimpy satin pyjama shorts and camisole in a fetching shade of rose pink. Isobel followed, in a more substantial silk nightie and matching dressing gown. And Hugh, still dressed in trousers and shirt, but without his ever-present jacket.

And that was everybody. The Aldermere Ten. Eleven, if you included Rosalind, who breezed in behind Hugh.

Caro pushed away from the desk, clapped her hands together, and smiled as attention fell on her. ‘I think that’s everybody. Juliette, would you close the door, please?’