Lizzie laughed, helped herself to a tartlet and spooned a thick layer of cream and jam on a scone. ‘Oh, she wasn’t a person to stand any nonsense!’

‘I believe the man tried to get past you too, claiming that he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin, but you were too clever for him.’

‘That’s right, well cousin or not, I wouldn’t let such a man into the house. He was up to no good, I’m sure of it.’ She bit into the scone and wiped a blob of cream from the tip of her nose with a practised gesture.

‘Did you think he was Mrs Antrobus’ cousin?’

‘He might have been. I know she did have a bad man in her family because I heard her talking to her sister about it. She’d read something in the newspapers that had upset her. I think he was in prison.’ There was a brief lull in the conversation as Lizzie’s scone disappeared in less time than Frances had thought possible. The girl scarcely paused for breath before busily attacking the tartlet. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m in the habit of listening at keyholes,’ she went on, her voice muffled by pastry. ‘That wasn’t at all how it was. I only went in because Miss Pearce wanted to have a birthday tea for her sister and cook had sent me to ask what was wanted. They had the newspaper open in front of them, and Mrs Antrobus was crying.’ Lizzie licked her lips and took a second tartlet. ‘Mmmm. Strawberries. That was her favourite.’

‘Not in February, surely?’ said Frances, recalling that this was the month in which Barfield had last been incarcerated. ‘A rare commodity at that time of year.’ She appropriated a slice of sponge cake and a scone before Lizzie could finish the plateful.

‘No, it was in the summer. Mrs Antrobus’ birthday is June or July, I think.’

‘Do you remember if this conversation occurred before or after the ragged man came to the house?’

‘It would have been afterwards, because I remember thinking at the time that it was him they must have been talking about.’

‘It wasn’t just before Mr Antrobus went missing?’ Frances wondered if the newspaper report might have stated that Barfield was to be released early, an understandable source of alarm, but on reflection realised that had that been the case Mrs Antrobus would have known he was free at the time her husband disappeared, which clearly she had not.

‘No, it was a long while before that. A year or more.’

The summer of 1876, thought Frances, but that seemed unlikely as Barfield had already been in prison for several months then. The previous year, perhaps – maybe he had served a short sentence for a minor offence.

‘Do you remember Mr Antrobus wearing a signet ring, the one he inherited from his uncle?’

‘Oh yes, I remember that very well.’

‘I don’t suppose – and of course I will quite understand if you can’t recall – if you happened to notice if he was wearing it when he went to Bristol that last time?’

Lizzie smiled, poured her third cup of tea and took the last piece of sponge cake. ‘That’s easy! He wasn’t wearing it.’

‘Really?’ exclaimed Frances in astonishment. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I helped him take it off. Poor man, it was so tight and his finger was all sore. He said he thought he would have to have it cut off – the ring, I mean, not the finger – and he didn’t want to do that because it was a memento of his uncle. So I said I knew a trick my grandma showed me, and if he had a nice bit of soap I might be able to help. And I did. He was ever so grateful.’

‘What did he do with the ring? Did he put it in his pocket, perhaps? Or hang it from his watch chain?’

‘No. He put it in the trinket box in his dressing room. He had all sorts of little studs and pins and things in there. He said when he came back from Bristol he would take it to a jeweller and get it made bigger.’

‘This was just before he went away that last time?’

‘The day before, I think.’

‘So by rights it should still be there.’ Unless, Frances thought, Mrs Antrobus had sold it and was unwilling to admit as much in case her brother-in-law discovered what she had done. It would take some delicacy on her part to tease out that piece of information, since Mrs Antrobus was undoubtedly afraid that her transgression would be met with an unkind response. It was, however, something the police ought to be told, and Frances wondered how she might best present the information to avoid unpleasant repercussions.

‘Did you look in the trinket box after he left for Bristol?’ she asked. It was just possible that Edwin Antrobus, not wishing to be parted from the cherished heirloom, had changed his mind and taken it with him just before he departed.

Lizzie dabbed crumbs from her lips and studied the menu card. ‘Oh yes. I gave the ring a bit of a polish, which it needed. It came up lovely.’

Frances decided to pay a call on Mrs Antrobus to see if by any chance there was some error in the matter of the ring. She was met at the door by Charlotte, who was undeniably pleased to see her.

‘Miss Doughty, we – that is, I – or perhaps it should be we – were thinking of making a call on you very soon.’

‘Oh? Has there been some good news?’ asked Frances as she removed her shoes.

‘Well,’ said Charlotte with a smile, ‘not about Edwin I am sorry to say, but do come into the parlour and we will talk. Harriett is having her nap now, so I will not disturb her.’

‘Before I do that, I hope you don’t mind but I need to look at something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Could you conduct me to Mr Antrobus’ dressing room and allow me to examine the trinket box there?’

Charlotte was surprised by this request but not discomfited, and she at once took Frances up to the little room. There, all the clothes and other items of gentleman’s apparel were carefully stored against the owner’s return, his hairbrushes, combs, soap and toilet water laid ready for his use.

‘It looks as though he has just stepped out and will return at any moment.’

Charlotte gave a sad smile. ‘That is how Harriett has always insisted it be kept. She never loses hope.’

There was only one small trinket box, and Frances opened it. It was empty. ‘Might I ask who comes in here?’

‘Only myself. I dust and clean, and keep it fresh.’

‘Not the servant?’

‘No, she does the heavy work of the house.’

Frances showed Charlotte the open box. ‘I was expecting to find some studs and pins in here. Is that not where your brother-in-law kept them?’

Charlotte stared into the box, puzzled. ‘I imagine he must have done, but let us look in case they are somewhere else.’

A quick search through some drawers revealed nothing more. ‘Would your sister have sold any of these things?’ asked Frances. ‘The reason for my question is that I have just learned that Mr Antrobus removed his signet ring before he went to Bristol. It was last seen by the maid, Lizzie, in this box.’

Charlotte was astonished at this news. ‘Oh no, she would never have dreamed of it. They were not hers to sell, but in any case, even if Edwin never returned she wanted his personal jewellery to go to her sons. I will ask her about it when she wakes.’

Frances did briefly wonder if Lizzie might have taken the items before she was dismissed but reflected that had the maid stolen the ring then she would not have revealed that it had left the owner’s finger.

They were in the upper hallway when Frances said, ‘You were here in this house when Mr Charles Henderson died, were you not?’

Charlotte paused. ‘Yes, how did you know about that?’

‘From my study of the newspapers. I was told that Mr Antrobus was greatly affected by the incident.’

‘He was, as were we all.’

‘Tell me about that night.’

‘I don’t understand. How can it be important?’