Joe nodded, reassured by the mention of the friendly young airman he’d met in the admiral’s house the month before. ‘I do indeed. He fits the bill. Glad to hear he’s invited aboard. Where is he – down in Sussex?’

‘Yes. I phoned him as soon as I could. Dreadful thing to throw at the feet of a young fellow but I couldn’t think of anyone else. He’s completely au fait with Oliver’s affairs and that’s useful … I haven’t a clue. He offered at once to set off at the crack of dawn and drive down to Devon to pick up the boys and they’ll be here this afternoon. But until they all get here I shall have to manage. And I can. Truly, Joe.’

‘Nonsense!’ The commander glanced around him and squared his shoulders. He suddenly seemed to fill the hallway with his large masculine presence. A decision followed at once. ‘I shall stay and take over until the boys arrive.’

He decided he didn’t quite like the swift exchange of looks he intercepted between the two women on hearing his pronouncement. Understanding? Amusement even?

‘Joe! I knew you would. You’re an angel – a godsend.’ Cassandra grasped his hands again in her emotion. ‘And I battle to stop myself swooning at your feet, whimpering my gratitude. But you know what I’m going to say – yes, I could do with some help, but not from the one man who can bring this foul matter to a conclusion. That’s where you’re needed – out there running the investigation.’ Cassandra’s eyes flashed with spirit and she pointed to the door. ‘Go out and get them, Joe.’

‘And return with my shield or on it, you’re about to add?’ he suggested, amused by the deft way she’d deflected his attention.

‘Yes. Rout out this noxious growth or other victims will follow,’ Cassandra went on, her expression serious. ‘Others will suffer as I’m suffering if you fail. Find them and bring them in. That’s what Oliver would have wanted. “You’re a bloodhound, man, not a lapdog!” Can’t you hear him saying it?’

‘I can indeed. But I could wish you’d thought of wolfhound,’ he suggested with a teasing smile.

‘For the teeth and the killer instinct.’ Cassandra appeared pleased with the image. ‘I know you have them.’

‘Though I accept your reprimand. I’ll get about my business, then. But look, Cassandra, why don’t you let me and Miss Wentworth mount guard here for half an hour? We’re rather good at that. Give you a chance to go up and …’ he waved a hand in the direction of her skirt, ‘do what you have to do. Mustn’t frighten the horses, must we?’

Cassandra looked down at her dress. ‘I know – I look like a survivor of the massacre of Cawnpore! And I’m not going to pretend I hadn’t noticed. I could have sneaked off and changed. If I’m honest, I’ve rather been hanging on to the evening, devastating as it was. My last evening with Oliver.’ She smoothed down the chiffon folds and touched her cheek. ‘Every bit of him was precious to me, even his spilled blood. I’ve been keeping the last traces of him close about me for as long as I could. But then,’ her head went up, ‘there’s a limit. Oliver couldn’t bear slackness. I’m letting him down. I’ll disappear upstairs and do something about all this.’

The telephone on the hall table began to ring.

‘You’ll have to be butler for now, Joe,’ Cassandra said. ‘It’s probably the Prince of Wales. His aide left a message earlier saying His Royal Highness would ring back. But I really don’t feel up to a conversation. I can hardly get my words out. And he’s so sweet and always says the right thing and I know I shall just dissolve into tears and hiccups. You’ll have to think of something.’

As Joe went towards the telephone he heard her whisper to Lily, ‘The prince and Oliver were close, you know. “Matloes” both, as they like to call themselves. Oliver was his mentor at one point in his training days at Dartmouth.’

‘This could well be for me,’ said Sandilands apologetically, picking up the earpiece. ‘I asked my super to contact me here.’

‘Good. Your Mr Hopkirk. Nice man. Look, while you’re busy, may I borrow Miss Wentworth? No time to waste. It occurs to me that she can hear my account while I’m having a bath and struggling out of my cocktail dress and into my mourning clothes.’

The earpiece in his hand, Joe turned to smile his acquiescence. This was going better than he could have expected. He just hoped Wentworth could hold her nerve and make the most of the chances unexpectedly on offer. He was beginning to see the advantages of sending in a woman detective. He was an effective officer himself but there were limits – he conceded that he could never pursue his female witnesses into the bathroom and boudoir. He breathed deeply and censored the image of Cassandra shaking loose her long auburn hair and slipping out of her silken underpinnings.

To distract himself he barked into the telephone: ‘Hopkirk? That you? Where’ve you got to?’

Cassandra set off upstairs, calling over her shoulder to the maid who had lingered on in the hall, waiting for instructions. ‘Eva, see that the commander has whatever refreshment he needs, will you? And we’ll have a tray of coffee brought up to my room, in about ten minutes.’

‘Excellent idea, Lady Dedham,’ Wentworth said, picking up the gloves from the hall table and following the widow upstairs.

Lily perched uneasily on the edge of a spindle-legged French chair in Lady Dedham’s sumptuous bedroom. The curtains were drawn, a discreet lamp or two lit, and Lily was glad of the concealing gloom as Cassandra began to struggle out of her bloodstained clothes. She averted her eyes as her ladyship, swearing gently, unhooked, unbuttoned, tugged and pulled at her evening dress with hands too weary to obey her satisfactorily. She’d refused the services of her maid. ‘Don’t worry, Adèle, if I get stuck Miss Wentworth can help.’

The girl had withdrawn, casting an astonished and very unfriendly glare at Lily.

Lady Dedham hadn’t asked for help and Lily had to sense when the moment of unbearable frustration came. She moved swiftly forward to undo the hooks and eyes on the back of the French camisole and, as Cassandra stepped out with relief, Lily bent and gathered up the heap of crumpled finery, intending to hand it over to Adèle who, she guessed, would have lingered outside but just in earshot. The ghost of an exotic flower scent still lingered in the peach silk underclothes and it was this final flourish of a vanished age – an Edwardian decadence, carefree and indulgent – that made Lily swallow and blink with emotion. Slipped off in a moment were the silk and gardenias; the widow’s weeds waited in readiness. And there they were – the weeds – black garments selected from the wardrobe by the careful maid and laid out, smelling unpleasantly of mothballs, in an uninviting pool of darkness on a chest at the foot of the bed.

Cassandra saw them and looked aside with a shudder. She pulled on a white robe and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Water splashed and gurgled, pots and jars clanged and steam fragrant with lavender began to issue from the room. Lily sat on, wondering whether the ensuing silence was sinister and whether she ought to intervene. Perhaps Cassandra in her exhausted state had fallen asleep in the water? Dangerous. Lily tapped on the door and walked in.

Alarmed at what she saw – a pale face lolling just above the froth, eyes tightly shut – she called Cassandra’s name.

‘Oh, so sorry, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you. Come in. I wasn’t asleep, just thinking. It must be the effect of the lavender, you know – it has a reputation for bracing up the mind.’ She smiled. ‘This has done me the world of good. Pass me a towel, will you? I think I heard our coffee tray arriving. And now I have something to tell you. A bit of a puzzle to put before you. It’s been lurking there at the back of my mind for hours but I haven’t had time to think about it. You must hear me and decide whether I’ve turned overnight into a silly old woman with a silly old woman’s groundless fears and fervid imaginings.’