Posy placed the glass on the nearest shelf before she was tempted to take a sip. ‘Collect you? I thought they were fundamentally opposed to the idea of you as Johnnie?’

‘Obviously I won them over with my charm and rapier-sharp wit.’

‘And now you’re regretting it.’

‘Yes.’ Kit reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go mess with the table plans so I don’t have to sit anywhere near them.’

‘I can’t.’ She smiled apologetically and shook her hand free, her mind whirring with thoughts that had nothing to do with dinner. ‘I’ve got something else I need to do.’

She’d been led around like she was on a leash all day – from Anton dressing her, to the house tour, the note, the meeting at the folly – even Marcus’s murder mystery and her arrest! Everything about the day felt staged, like she was an actress playing a part she hadn’t even seen the script for.

And Posy was done with it.

‘Okay, now that looks like a thinking face,’ Kit observed. ‘It’s making me nervous.’

Posy shook her head. ‘I’m done thinking.’

It was time for action.

So Posy asked herself again: What would Dahlia do?

The latest film version of The Lady Detective is made all the more interesting by news of its star actress’ descent into a life of crime …

Uncle Sol’s critique filled her head as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, but she pushed it aside. Posy might not have a great handle on the character of Dahlia Lively yet, but she knew one thing. If the Lady Detective was being blackmailed and framed, she wouldn’t sit around waiting for things to get worse. And neither would Posy.

Clementine was her only real suspect – and Clementine was gone. But her stuff wasn’t.

It had been easy enough to find out which room was hers from the list behind the reception desk. Now Posy hoped that nobody caught her breaking in.

Except, as she turned the corner at the top of the attic stairs towards Clementine’s room, she discovered she wasn’t the only person who’d had the same idea. Ashok, his Christmas jumper exchanged for a shirt and tie, twisted the handle to Clementine’s door and pushed, humphing with frustration when it held firm.

‘Lost your key?’ Posy asked, wondering if he’d lie and claim that it was his room.

His dark eyes wide, he looked up at her, his hand falling away from the door instantly. ‘Oh! Miss Starling.’

‘Call me Posy, please.’ Miss Starling made her sound like all those awful reviews in her head.

His face lit up for a moment at her invitation, then fell again. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he said. ‘Um, it’s not my room. I was looking for Clementine. I knocked, but there was no answer.’