Chapter ThreeDressing hurriedly, I took a deep breath to control my nerves and tried to look unconcerned as I sauntered down the stairs to the breakfast-room, or rather the room in which we took breakfast, for we used the same place for all our meals.
“Did I hear the door?” I asked in my most innocent of voices.
“You did, Miss Moffat,” Sims said. “A person from the police wished to speak to your father.” Sims kept his expression neutral.
“Oh?” I tried to appear uninterested. “Probably something to do with poachers.”
“I do not know,” Sims said. “I am not privy to Mr Moffat's private conversations.”
Like all the best servants, Sim could issue a rebuke with a straight face and an appearance of civility. Honestly, sometimes I wondered who ran our house, the family or the servants. I sighe
