There was no response for some time and he was wondering if, as had happened yesterday, Cyrilla was alone in the house while her maid had gone shopping.
Then there was the sound of a bolt being pulled back and the door opened a few inches.
It was the maid who stood there, the maid who had looked at him with disapproving eyes when he had driven away yesterday.
He recognised her as the kind of superior elderly servant, who was usually to be found in far grander houses than this and in fact was the very backbone of his staff at Fane Park, where everything moved with traditional efficiency.
“Good morning!” the Marquis said, as the maid did not speak. “I wish to see Miss Cyrilla Wyntack.”
“Miss Cyrilla isn’t at home!”
The words were spoken firmly and the maid would have shut the door, but
