I wrote to Lavinia and told her that I had made little headway with Janine. She was adamant.

I could image Lavinia's dismay on reading that letter. She would rage against Janine and perhaps against me for failing to perform the mission satisfactorily. But she had to know the truth.

Polly said, "Is anything wrong, love?"

"No. Why should there be?"

"You seem ... thoughtful. You can tell me, you know. That Dougal ... he seems a bit of a fool to me ... to be taken in by that Lavinia. I like a real man, I must say, one who can see what's what and is not going to make a fool of himself. I think you were a little bit fond of him."

"He is a very charming man, Polly, and clever."

She sniffed. "Bit of a jackass, if you ask me."

"Lots of men fall in love with beauty. Lavinia is really lovely. Going to Court has done a great deal for her and she has some exquisite clothes."

"Men don't marry clothes-horses ... not if they've got any sense."

"Polly, I was not in love with Dougal Carruthers and he did not throw me aside to marry Lavinia. He had never asked me to marry him."

"I thought ..."

"Then you thought wrongly. Lavinia will be a countess. Can you see me as one?"

"Why not? I reckon you could be Queen of England if you wanted to."

"I don't think Prince Albert would think so. And I shouldn't fancy him either ... even if Her Majesty was willing to abdicate in my favour."

"Oh, you!" she said, smiling. "But you know there's nothing you can't tell me."

I tried to forget Lavinia's affairs. I concentrated on Fleur, who was more enchanting than ever. I used to sit by the kitchen fire in the evenings and neither Polly nor Eff omitted to mention every day how well the fire drew nowadays, throwing a glance at the bellows which had pride of place nearby. I listened to their cosy talk while they heated the poker and put it red hot into the stout; and then I felt a certain peace. Somewhere at the back of my mind was the fact that I should always find a home where I would be loved and cherished. I had Polly, Eff and Fleur. In my most despondent moments I should never forget that.

One day Eff said, "Second Floor 32 says her relation is the Honourable Mrs. Somebody."

"Honourable my foot," said Polly. "That one's always going on about her high-class relations."

"She's got breeding," said Eff. "I know about these things."

On such matters Polly had to bow to Eff's superior knowledge. "Well, what about her?" she added, conceding the point by implication.

"This cousin ... or somebody's going abroad. Oh, hoity toity, she is ... connected with the highest in the land. This cousin, or whatever she is, is looking for a companion to take abroad with her ... have to be a lady and know how to manage things."

I had been in a soporific mood, watching the leaping flames and seeing pictures in them, when suddenly I was alert. A companion to travel ... to get right away. Janine, I said to myself.

"It sounds like a good post," I said aloud.

"Good post!" retorted Eff. "It's one in a million. Now if I had been young ... before I met Him ... it's just the sort of thing I would have jumped at."

"Why, you always hated foreigners, Eff," said Polly with a little laugh.

"They're all right in their own country and that's where I'd be seeing them."

I was still thinking of Janine.

I said excitedly, "One of my old schoolfellows is rather hard up. She is looking for a post. I was with her the other day."

"You didn't say," said Polly. "Did you run into her somewhere?"

"Yes. I know she needs work. I wonder if ..."

"I tell you what," said Eff. "You find out if she'd like the job and I'll have a word with Second Floor 32. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting."

"I should like to do that."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Yes, I have her address. I might write."

"It would be a feather in Second Floor 32's cap if she found this educated young woman and she turned out to be just what they was looking for."

I asked a few questions about Second Floor 32, who was, according to Eff, "the genuine article, a lady who had come down in the world."

If I wrote to Janine she would tear the letter up, I guessed. If I talked to her it might just possibly be different. Perhaps I flattered myself, but I did imagine I had made some impression on her.

The next day I took a cab and did the same as before. I was deposited in the same spot and made my way to No. 20 Fiddler's Green. I walked quickly, making up my mind what I would say to Janine as I went along.

As I came into the street I noticed a group of people standing near No. 20. They looked at me curiously as I approached. I mounted the broken steps and knocked three times on the door.

It was opened by a man. He said, "What do you want?"

"I have come to see my friend Miss Janine Fletcher," I told him.

His expression became alert. "You'd better come in," he said.

I went in. A woman opened a door and looked at me.

"Better wait here," said the man.

He went up the stairs. It was very strange. I could not understand what it meant. The woman was looking at me. "Terrible, ain't it?" she murmured. "A young woman like that."

"What happened?"

"She must have been up to something. It's not good for the house."

I was getting very worried. I knew something awful had happened to Janine.

I heard the sound of a carriage drawing up at the door.

"That's them," said the woman. "They've come to take her away."

"I don't understand," I said.

There was a knocking on the door. As the woman went to open it the man who had let me in appeared on the stairs.

There were two men at the door carrying a stretcher.

"It's all right," said the man on the stairs. "Come up."

They went up the stairs carrying the stretcher. The woman had retreated into her room, but she left the door open. I was still standing in the hall.

There was a movement from upstairs. The men emerged with the stretcher; they were carrying someone on it this time —a body covered with a sheet. As they passed me I caught a glimpse of sandy-coloured hair. It was matted with blood.

I knew that under that sheet lay Janine.

A man followed the stretcher bearers down the stairs. He came to me and said, "I am a police officer. I am here to investigate the death of Miss Janine Fletcher. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see her."

"You are a friend of hers?"

I felt sick. I tried to suppress the thought that persisted in my mind. I was telling myself that Lavinia had done this. She would never get away with it ... never.

"I was at school with her," I heard myself say.

"Do you visit her often?"

"No. I came once before."

"When?"

"Three days ago."

"And she was all right then? Did she seem frightened? Worried?"

I shook my head.

"Where do you live?"

I gave him the rectory address.

"You have come some way to visit Miss Fletcher."

"I am staying with my old nurse for a few days."

A younger man had joined us and the first said to him, "Take the lady's address. We shall be wanting to ask you a few questions as we shall be visiting you at some time. Please re­main in London."

"Well, I have to go back ..."

"We must ask you to stay. You may have something important to tell us. It is necessary."

I murmured, "I'll stay."

My legs were trembling and I felt myself sway a little. I wanted to run away from this macabre scene. There was so much I wanted to know. How had this happened? Who had done it? Whom did they suspect? I kept saying to myself: You would never do this, Lavinia. You always left others to do your dirty work.

The man turned to the other who had joined us. "Oh, Smithson," he said, "take the young lady to the cab she is alleged to have waiting for her." And to me, "One of our men will be wanting to ask you a few questions about your relationship with the deceased. It's just a formality."

I was only too glad to escape. I noticed the man who was accompanying me was very young and he looked a little nervous.

"Bit of a shock," he said as we walked away.

"I feel ... shaky."

"I'm a bit nervous myself," he admitted. "It's my first murder."

Murder! It was a word that set me shivering. I could not believe it. Janine! To think that we had all been to school together and now ... in a short time Lavinia had become a mother and Janine ... a corpse. I tried to shut out the idea that these two facts were in some way connected.

As we moved away a young man approached us. He took off his hat and bowed.

"May I ask you if you are a friend of the young lady?" he asked.

I thought he was another policeman and I said, "Yes."

"Would you tell me your name?"

I told him and he produced a notebook from his pocket.

"Do you live near here?"

"No ... in the country. I'm just staying here."

"Interesting. Did you know the young lady well?"

"We were at school together. I have just told your people this."

"Just a few questions. We have to get this right, you see." He went on, "Where abouts in the country?"

I gave him the address of the rectory.

"So you are the rector's daughter?"

I nodded.

"And you were at school together. Have you any idea why anyone would want to kill your friend?"