‘So it’s still the family of Lettice Davenport that live here?’ Posy asked.

‘Yeah. Her nephew, Hugh, his wife Isobel, and their granddaughter.’ She straightened, clutching her clipboard to her chest, the metal clip clinking against the heavy, old-fashioned locket around her neck. ‘They requested no photos inside the house itself, so Marcus came up with the whole “immersive experience” excuse. The day delegates outside can take as many photos as they like, though, so hopefully we’ll get some traffic through from them.’

‘I’m sure you will. It looks brilliant out there.’

Clementine beamed. ‘It does, doesn’t it? Now, come on, let’s get you to your room.’

Posy followed Clementine as she moved towards the stairs, and the oversized dollhouse that dominated the hallway. The house was incongruous, a childish thing in such a refined, traditional hall, and Posy stared at it until she realised: it was a replica of Aldermere House itself.

Clementine must have seen her frowning at it because she said, ‘Yes, it’s the real, original one. Isn’t it incredible to have it here, where we can all enjoy it?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Posy replied, despite having no idea what she was talking about. Rosalind would know; Caro would know. Every other person at Aldermere that weekend would probably know. No way was Posy admitting that she didn’t.

She looked more closely at the dollhouse, hoping for an explanatory plaque or something. ‘Wait, is that a dead body in it?’

There, up in the attic space of the dollhouse, was a small figure with a knife firmly stabbed through where its heart should be.

Laughing, Clementine sat the figure up more prominently. ‘I think Marcus put that there. He has a pretty warped sense of humour, sometimes.’

‘I guess it is a murder mystery convention,’ Posy said, doubtfully.

‘And that will be me, later this morning,’ Clementine replied. ‘Well, not in the attic with the dagger, but in the stables with the silk scarf, I think.’

Posy blinked in confusion, and Clementine handed her a copy of the leaflet with the day’s schedule on it. ‘The convention murder mystery,’ she explained cheerfully. ‘I’m the victim. Might be my only chance to sit or lie down today, so I’m taking it!’

An older couple appeared on the stairs, dressed in matching tweed jackets. Two of the VIP delegates, Posy recognised.

‘Clementine, dear, do you have a moment?’ the woman asked. ‘It’s about the … facilities nearest our room.’

‘Of course.’ Clementine’s smile looked a little forced. ‘Excuse me, Posy.’

While Clementine dealt with the couple’s plumbing problems, Posy bent down to get another look at the creepy dollhouse. She was so engrossed checking for more dead bodies that she didn’t hear the man behind her approaching until he spoke.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’