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murdered.

5
    D aisy deciphered the last curlicue of shorthand, typed the last word, and stacked her papers neatly. The seventeenth-century siege of Occles Hall was a bit of a wash-out. She couldn’t blame the inhabitants for their rapid surrender to Oliver Cromwell’s men. The moat, though it had then surrounded the house, was no protection against a cannon; had they fought on, there’d be nothing left today for her to write about. Still, she needed lots more to make her article interesting.
    Unfortunately, Town and Country was not the sort of publication to revel in murdered parlourmaids.
    She went downstairs. No one was about. From her window she had watched the solemn procession of police bearing the covered stretcher out to their motor-van, then driving away. Presumably the sergeant had been left behind to take statements, but there was no sign of him.
    She went out to the terrace, and thence her steps inevitably turned towards the Winter Garden. Not that she expected to find any clues. Even a police search would be lucky to turn anything up after so long.
    At least, she assumed Grace had been there since her disappearance. Long enough, anyway, for the bush to expire after its mistreatment. Daisy thought she recalled Ted Roper saying the blacksmith’s
daughter ran off two months ago, and Bobbie had certainly mentioned three unsatisfactory parlourmaids in two months.
    The murderer had had plenty of time to miss a lost glove or scarf and return for it. In that time, even in that sheltered spot, rain and snow, frost and wind would obliterate signs of a struggle, wash away footprints and blood … . Ugh!
    All the same, it was odd no one had noticed the dying bush and missing irises sooner. The gardeners might have had no reason to go to the Winter Garden, since thoroughly weeded beds would not put out a significant new crop of weeds in January. But the garden was in full bloom. Had none of the family bothered to go and look at it?
    Reaching the door in the wall, she opened it and glanced around. Amidst such a profusion of colour, she conceded, a deficiency in that particular corner might be overlooked by anyone who didn’t walk around closely studying the plants. She herself hadn’t noticed it until she and Owen reached the spot. Inclement weather, everyone busy elsewhere; no, it wasn’t really so surprising.
    So for two months everyone thought Grace ran away, when all the time she was dead and the evidence leading to her murderer … .
    Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel behind Daisy.
    Her heart thudding, she swung round. “Oh, Bobbie, it’s you!”
    â€œYes. I … er … I came back through the village.” Bobbie sounded oddly evasive and her face was even pinker than her usual healthy colour. She was dressed in a golfing costume but she didn’t have her clubs with her. “Isn’t Ben with you? I didn’t mean to hop it and leave you alone.”
    â€œI almost wish I had gone to play golf with you. I’m afraid something dreadful has happened.”
    â€œTo Ben?” Bobbie asked anxiously. “Sebastian?”
    â€œNo. The gardeners found a body in the Winter Garden. Your parlourmaid, Grace Moss.”
    Bobbie turned white as a sheet. “Grace Moss?” she faltered in a faint voice.
    â€œHere, come and sit down.” Daisy pulled her towards the old
mounting block that stood beside the door. “Put your head down between your knees. That’s it. I’m frightfully sorry, Bobbie. It was absolutely asinine to tell you so suddenly.”
    â€œNo, I’m all right. Honestly. I … It was just a bit of a shock. So Grace came back.”
    â€œShe wasn’t just lying there, she was buried. It seems to me she probably never went away, but I don’t know what the police think.”
    â€œPolice! Oh hell! I must talk to Bastie.” She jumped up, apparently quite recovered. Nonetheless, Daisy went with her, almost