There, lying on the dining table, was a miniature figure – one she was almost certain hadn’t been there before. A frown creased her forehead as she reached in to pick it up. It looked like one of Letty’s dolls from the study, the ones she’d used to plot out her mysteries. But Rosalind had never noticed this one on any of her previous visits.

Waxy pale skin. Closed eyes.

And a tiny bottle marked Poison clutched in its hand.

Saturday 28th August
Posy

Chapter Two

‘As a general rule, Detective Inspector, I assume that everyone is lying to me until they can prove otherwise.’

Dahlia Lively in The Lady Detective

By Lettice Davenport, 1929

Posy Starling grabbed hold of the rail beside the luggage rack as the train lurched out of Kings Cross station, its wheels squealing against the tracks as if it resented having to leave London at all.

She knew how it felt.

London had been her safety net ever since she left LA – and her parents – behind. Now, she was headed out into the wilds of the English countryside, with no idea what to expect.

She’d officially been cast as the latest Dahlia Lively for less than twenty-four hours, and she was already out of her depth.

Posy held back as the others stashed their weekend bags and took their seats. Anton, their director, took the longest, which didn’t surprise her since he had a massive suitcase with him. She’d only met him a few times, but he’d been wearing basically the same thing at every one of her auditions – scuffed-up jeans and an open-collared shirt. She’d got the impression that he was too busy thinking about more important things to care what he looked like.

But as she watched him try to heft the huge case onto the rack, she took in the well-tailored, dark grey trousers he was wearing today, and wondered if she might have been wrong.

‘I’ve got it.’ Kit Lewis, her new co-star, reached back and took the handle of the suitcase from Anton, swinging it up onto the rack with surprising ease for someone of his slender build. He didn’t make a big deal of it, though, which Posy liked. He grinned at Anton, then went back to stashing his own stuff and finding his seat.

There’d been a lot of articles written about Kit’s casting – the usual ‘political correctness gone mad’ brigade, pointing out that since every other iteration of Detective Inspector Johnnie Swain in print and on screen had been white, this one should be too. But watching Kit take his seat opposite Libby, their scriptwriter, Posy thought he had just the right feel about him. Policemen were supposed to be helpful and make you feel secure. She didn’t know Kit well – outside the chemistry read they’d done together, they’d hardly met – but she already sensed he’d be able to pull that off well.