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With a gasp, Fina fell back. Pixley, though, didn’t hesitate. Snatching the first makeshift weapon that came to hand – a plaster bust of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, which had been resting on a deal table in the hall – he burst through Fina’s door. Alfred did not appear pleased to be disturbed.
“So sorry, dear.” Lady Shillington sat in front of them. “I gave poor Miss Dove a fright when I turned around in this high-backed chair. It was inconsiderate of me. Please accept my apologies.”
Ruby nodded, still clutching her chest.
Fina touched her aunt’s hand as if she were an apparition. “Aunt Millie, thank goodness you’re all right! What on earth are you doing here? How did you escape your room if Alice was guarding the door? And aren’t you too sick to even be moving about?”
“So many question
