She knocked twice before she opened the door to Mr Carlisle’s office. It was dark and still. Usually Marie opened the curtains and the windows in this room first thing, to let fresh air in. She must have forgotten this morning. Annie wouldn’t blame her for that. Last night’s events had thrown the entire household off the regular routine.

Annie walked across the room and threw the curtains open in one fell swoop, flooding the room with morning light. She looked at the street below her, and wondered – not for the first time – how different the streets in Kensington were compared to the grit and grime in Bermondsey. Here the streets glistened. Every single house as far as Annie could see had a front stoop that had been scrubbed in the early morning hours. The front doors shone; the kick plates on them, mostly brass, shimmered.

She turned and saw the room in the light for the first time. Her eyes registered the sight before her, but her brain couldn’t quite take it in. She saw Mr Carlisle sprawled on the floor in front of his desk. She saw the gash over his eye and the blood, so much blood. He stared at her with a blank, lifeless gaze. The room undulated in dizzying waves.

Annie heard a scream. It took a second for her to realise that it had come from her. She backed out of the room, her breath coming in hard, jagging sobs. She turned, tripped on her skirt, and fell to her knees. She scrambled to her feet and took off running. She didn’t even think about it. She just ran without looking where she was going. Mr Blackwell was coming down the hall towards the ruckus.

He grabbed Annie’s shoulders before she collided with him. She looked at him, her eyes wide with terror.

‘What is it?’

‘Dead.’ Annie heaved. ‘He’s dead. In the room.’

‘What’s going on?’ Miss Isobel stood in the hallway. ‘What’s wrong with Annie?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘What did you say?’ Miss Isobel moved close to Annie. She bent down and looked in her eyes. ‘Who’s dead?’

‘Mr Carlisle,’ Annie said. Her voice so quiet. Her stomach cramped. She prayed she wouldn’t be sick all over Miss Isobel’s carpet.

They all moved back to the study, Annie herded by Mr Blackwell, who placed an arm around Annie’s shoulders. Miss Isobel went into the study first. Annie didn’t want to go any closer, but Mr Blackwell seemed to pull her along. They stood in the doorway and watched as Miss Isobel hurried over to her brother, Marie at her heels. She squatted next to her brother.

‘No, Benton? No,’ she said. She lifted his head and positioned his body so she could cradle him next to her heart, like a baby. Miss Isobel’s grief mesmerised Annie. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away. Miss Isobel made crooning sounds and started to rock back and forth, clinging to her brother, keening, not caring that her blouse, her cheek, and her lips were now covered in his blood.

‘Marie, do something. She can’t carry on like that,’ Mr Blackwell said.

Miss Marie gave Blackie a helpless look before she took a tentative step towards Miss Isobel. She put a hand on her shoulder and spoke in a gentle voice. ‘Izzy, come dear. We need to leave Benton now. You need to get cleaned up before we call the police.’

Blackie’s arm tightened around Annie at the mention of the police. Annie glanced up at him just in time to see the look of sheer panic that passed through his eyes. And just like that it was gone. Blackie walked over to Miss Isobel. He squatted down, so they were at eye level.

‘Isobel, come on, love.’

Miss Isobel gently placed Benton’s corpse on the floor. She took Blackie’s outstretched hand and allowed him to help her up. Once on her feet she looked at Annie, Mr Blackwell, and Miss Marie, a pitiful, childlike look of expectance on her face. She threw her head back and let out a primordial wail that caused the hair on the back of Annie’s neck to stand up.

‘Come with me, Annie. You’ve seen enough. Just lean on me, child.’ They walked together, Mr Blackwell holding Annie fast, keeping her on her feet, until they reached the drawing room. After Annie was situated on the couch, Mr Blackwell took two glasses. He poured a small bit of brandy in one glass, and a large dollop in the other. He brought both glasses to the loveseat where Annie sat. She had started to tremble. Blackie handed her one of the glasses.

‘Drink this.’

Annie drank a tentative sip. It seared a trail of fire in her throat and left a spreading warmth in her belly.

‘That’s awful,’ she said.

Mr Blackwell finished his brandy in one go. He took Annie’s glass and set it on the marble-topped table. A knitted shawl that belonged to Miss Isobel was tossed in the corner. Blackie took it now and draped it across Annie’s shoulders. Annie thought that Miss Isobel wouldn’t like anyone using her shawl, but she couldn’t form the words to express this. She found she didn’t care about Miss Isobel any more. Annie sat in a state of suspension, as though she were outside herself and had no control over her body. She heard footsteps and the sounds of Miss Isobel’s sobs, as she allowed Marie to lead her upstairs. She shut her eyes tight, thinking that if she opened them, this would all go away, before she immediately chastised herself for acting like a child. This was real. Mr Carlisle was dead.

Annie sat still and quiet until Marie came back downstairs. ‘Is Annie all right?’

‘She’s had a shock, poor thing. How’s Isobel?’

‘Better. She’s upset, but that’s understandable. I am going to call the police,’ Miss Marie said.

Mr Blackwell’s face turned white as a winter snow.

‘Blackie?’ Marie’s voice questioned.

He didn’t respond. He stared into the empty glass at the table.

‘Are you all right, Mr Blackwell?’ Annie asked.

Startled, he looked up. He stared at Annie as though he didn’t know who she was.

‘Yes, Annie,’ he said. ‘Just a bit shaken. Will you excuse me? There are some things I should see to.’ He stood up and, without waiting for Annie’s response, headed towards the door.

Annie shivered, cold again from the deep chill that encircled her heart. She couldn’t stop thinking of the blank look in Mr Carlisle’s lifeless eyes. She wondered why Mr Blackwell was frightened of the police.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Blackie?’ Miss Isobel stood in the doorway. She stared at Blackie with red-rimmed eyes. Annie didn’t like the colour of her skin, but she had changed her clothes and pinned up her hair. She had applied lipstick, which looked like a red slash against her white skin.

‘I was just –’

‘You’ll stay here with us. We need to stand united when the police get here. That woman murdered my brother, and I intend to see her prosecuted. The police have a tendency to make a fuss where one isn’t necessary. I need everyone here, standing behind me, showing support. And Blackie, you’re the man of the house now.’

‘Of course, Isobel,’ Blackie said. ‘Whatever you need. I am at your disposal, but I hardly think Catherine –’

‘I’m going to be with my brother. I don’t want him left alone.’ Miss Isobel saw Annie, as if for the first time. ‘You poor child. This must be so difficult for you. I know you think highly of Catherine.’

Annie didn’t know what Miss Carlisle meant.

‘Catherine did this,’ Miss Isobel said. She let her gaze travel around the group, Marie, Blackie, and Annie. She let it linger for a second on each of them, as if making eye contact would assure their opinion on the issue. No one dared disagree with Isobel Carlisle.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Annie said.

‘Annie, you know as well as I do that Catherine was going to leave my brother. She didn’t have the courage to come right out and say, but she was leaving us. I can only imagine they had some sort of a row –’

‘Izzy, stop,’ Marie said. ‘We don’t know that.’ She stepped towards Isobel and once again placed a gentle hand on her arm, the same gesture she used when Isobel was huddled over Benton’s body. Isobel hadn’t minded the physical contact then. Now she pushed Marie’s hand away.

‘No, Marie. Do not try to protect her. She murdered my brother. I intend to see justice done. Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll call the police. After that, I’m going to be with my brother’s body. I don’t want him to be alone.’ She turned around at the last minute and addressed them. ‘And just so we’re clear on this issue, my family has taken each and every one of you into this house, given you financial help, shelter, and comfort. I expect your support on this.’ She walked away from them, sure in the knowledge that they would do her bidding.

‘Excuse me,’ Marie said. She hurried after Isobel, white-faced and frantic, gently closing the door behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, Miss Marie and Annie sat in the drawing room, untouched cups of tea between them, unsure what to do without Miss Isobel to bark out orders. Annie numb and in shock, sat in silence, while Miss Marie sobbed gently into her handkerchief. Every now and then she would shake her head and mutter incomplete sentences, ‘I just don’t know … I can’t imagine … What will Izzy …’

Mr Blackwell excused himself to use the telephone in Miss Isobel’s suite and make arrangements to be away from his shop for a few days.

Miss Isobel came into the room, startling Marie and Annie out of their silence. ‘The police have come,’ she said. ‘Annie, please put a tray together. Tea and biscuits. We’ll see them in here. Marie, fetch Blackie. He’s still making his telephone calls.’ Miss Isobel put her hand on Miss Marie’s shoulder. ‘Come with me. We’ll face them together. I won’t have them tramping through this house and disrupting us. They’ll have to be managed carefully.’

Annie poured milk in a pitcher and put out the rest of yesterday’s biscuits. She carried the tray to the drawing room, where she was met by Isobel’s imperious voice.

‘Of course, I’ll make myself available for a statement. We all will. The house will be in mourning, and I’ve preparations to see to. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow? Or we can come to you, if that’s more convenient –’

‘Madam, if you please.’ The voice was well modulated and not the least bit agitated at Miss Isobel’s tone. ‘Take a seat.’

Three policemen were in the drawing room. One of them wore a uniform. He stood near the door. Another man, this one in a suit, took the winged chair near the fireplace. He took a small leather notebook out of his pocket, and held a pencil, ready to take notes. Miss Isobel and Miss Marie sat on the couch. Miss Isobel sat with her arms across her chest, a surly look on her face. Marie fidgeted. Mr Blackwell sat on the other winged chair. He lit a cigarette. Annie noticed his hand trembled as he did so. The third policeman, the man who was doing the talking, remained standing. He wasn’t a tall man, but there was an inexplicable strength about him. He addressed the group.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Bellerose.’ He met Annie and helped her set the tray on the sideboard. ‘Miss Havers?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Annie said.

‘Have a seat, please. Next to Mr Blackwell, if you would.’ He pointed to the footstool next to Blackie’s chair.

Annie looked at Miss Isobel, not quite sure if she should do as the man requested, but Miss Isobel wouldn’t meet Annie’s gaze. She stared at Chief Inspector Bellerose, her cheeks blazing. Annie sat.

‘I’ll be leading the investigation into Mr Carlisle’s murder.’ Chief Inspector Bellerose clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Given the nature of Mr Carlisle’s work, we are going to try to find out what happened to him, and see justice done – of course, with the least amount of fuss. I am familiar with Mr Carlisle’s work and realise the last thing we want is the attention of the newspapers. I would request that you all stay in this room until I am ready to take your statements. I would ask that you not discuss what happened until you’ve spoken to me. With your cooperation, we should get through the preliminaries rather quickly. You’ll need to stay out of Mr Carlisle’s office for the time being.’

‘Stay out of his office? I cannot promise you that,’ Miss Isobel said.

‘I’m not asking, Miss Carlisle. My men are securing the room. They will be standing guard. Mr Carlisle’s study is off limits. As of now.’

Miss Isobel’s eyes flashed. Chief Inspector Bellerose ignored her.

‘Of course we’ll cooperate,’ Miss Marie said. She gave Miss Isobel an imploring look.

‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Isobel said. Marie attempted to hold Miss Isobel’s hand, but Miss Isobel pushed it away. Chief Inspector Bellerose saw the exchange. Annie watched him as he watched Miss Isobel and Miss Marie. He’s smart. Doesn’t miss a thing, she thought.

‘None of this is necessary, you know. I can tell you who murdered my brother. His wife. She drugged him last night and left him to die. She treated my brother horribly. He gave her a beautiful home, fine clothes, plenty of money – all she could ever want. She was going to leave him. She did leave him. At least that’s what she told us, made a big fuss about going to her aunt’s house. We were all out last night. I’m certain she sneaked back and murdered him. In cold blood. After she drugged his wine.’ Isobel worked herself into a fury. Spittle flew as she raged against Miss Catherine. An ugly blue vein thrummed across her forehead.

‘Where is Mrs Carlisle?’ Chief Inspector Bellerose asked.

‘At her aunt’s in Bloomsbury,’ Miss Marie said. ‘I’ll get you the number.’

Annie wondered why the room had become so hot all of sudden. If she could just get some fresh air … She heard Chief Inspector Bellerose’s voice come at her like fog, thick and soupy.

‘She’s going to faint,’ someone said.