The second book in the Manor House series, 2001

Grateful thanks to my wonderful editor, Judith Palais, without whose guidance and encouragement this series would not exist. Thank you for making me look good.

My thanks also to Ann Wraight, a resident of England and lifetime friend, for keeping the memories alive, and for supplying me with useful research material.

And to Bill, for being my best friend as well as my devoted husband. I could not do this without you.

Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton rarely visited the hairdresser’s. Normally she had Marlene Barnett come to the Manor House to tend to her hair, which grew uncommonly fast and was inclined to rage out of control whenever she rode her motorcycle into the village.

That morning, however, she’d been seized with an uncontrollable urge to have her hair trimmed immediately. When she’d called Marlene to make an appointment, the young woman had been most apologetic. Two of the hairdressers were home with a cold, and she was just too busy to come to the Manor House. Perhaps next week?

At first Elizabeth had considered asking her housekeeper to give her a trim. Violet made no secret of the fact that she cut her own hair, and at times had wielded a pair of scissors above the head of Martin, Elizabeth’s aging butler, even though Martin had less than a dozen wisps to worry about.

Envisioning the way Violet’s frizzy gray mop sprouted from her head like a much-used scouring pad, Elizabeth had reluctantly accepted Marlene’s polite suggestion that she come down to the shop where she’d do her best to fit her in.

Seated in front of a badly speckled mirror, almost suffocated by a cloud of cigarette smoke, Elizabeth wondered why she’d been in such a hurry to get her hair cut. It was most inconvenient for the hairdressers to catch colds this early in September.