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drawing up at a road junction.
    Kathryn was dreading telling the kind Hewsons that the housekeeper they thought they had acquired would no longer be able to look after them.

CHAPTER THREE
    The house was in darkness. ‘They keep early hours,’ Michael said. ‘There’ll be a note. Some message. You’ve an overnight bag in the car?’
    Kathryn nodded. Suddenly the place seemed unwelcoming and it was getting darker by the minute.
    â€˜Your car’s all right here for now,’ he said. ‘But we’ll drive round to the back. I’ve got a key.’
    He waited for her to retrieve her bag and climb back into his vehicle. As they drove through an archway she could see that one downstairs light was on. This turned out to be the kitchen. Michael unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
    The room looked bare and felt cold. Kathryn shivered. That she was not expected to return was obvious.
    â€˜Not to worry,’ said Michael as if he could read her thoughts. ‘They’re a bit vague sometimes. I’m sure they’d want you to stay. Your mother’s room will be ready. The best thing is for you to settle in there for the night. Come, I’ll show you.’
    Bemused, she followed him along the passage and up the wide staircase. He threw open a door at the end of another passage, flicked on a switch and stood to one side for her to enter.
    â€˜In the morning things will seem better,’ he said, stifling a yawn.
    He withdrew so quickly there was no time to thank him. Kathryn yawned too, as she stumbled towards the bed. The central light dazzled the brass ornaments on the mantelpiece above the tiny Victorian fireplace and made her eyes ache. Almost blinded with fatigue she pulled off her jeans and jersey and collapsed beneath the covers of the soft bed.
    A high-pitched sound entered Kathryn’s dreams, intrusive and insistent. What was that? She sat upright in bed, her heart thumping as she glanced round the unfamiliar room. A fire alarm?
    In seconds she was out, opening the thick curtains to let in the daylight and pulling on the clothes abandoned so hastily the night before.
    She followed the noise down the stairs and along the passage to the open door of the kitchen. The acrid smell of burnt toast was overpowering and she rushed to throw the outside door and windows wide open. The smoke alarm subsided as the air cleared. She grabbed a cloth and removed the grill pan with its smouldering cargo, carried it outside and dumped it on the ground.
    Phew! She wiped her hand across her forehead and then realised she was not alone. Sir Edwin Hewson, his stick tapping on the cobbles , was walking towards her. Lady Hewson, looking agitated, was close behind.
    â€˜Our apologies, Miss Marshall,’ he said. ‘It was remiss of us to leave the kitchen so hurriedly.’
    â€˜A strange cry,’ Lady Hewson murmured. ‘So many birds here but this was different. We wanted to identify it.’ She looked sadly down at the incinerated toast. ‘And now the toast is ruined.’
    â€˜I’ll see to breakfast for you,’ Kathryn offered. ‘It’s the least I can do after having a bed for the night.’
    Sir Edwin bowed slightly. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you stay, my dear. Naturally we wish to know how your poor mother is. Mrs Marshall is one of our employees. We feel responsible for her.’
    â€˜I don’t think you understand,’ Kathryn said gently. ‘My mother will be out of action for at least six weeks if not more. There’s no way she can work as your housekeeper now. I’m so sorry.’
    Lady Hewson smiled sympathetically as she indicated the larder door. ‘We were afraid of that, dear.’
    Kathryn opened it and found a spacious area containing a fridge and a bread bin. The butter was in a blue dish on a marble shelf above and looked soft. By its side lay a pack of bacon and a bowl of eggs. Suddenly she felt