The fact that the housemaid towered over her and outweighed her by at least a stone did nothing to deter the housekeeper. Propriety had to be served at all costs. Even if it was an uphill battle with Gertie McBride.

P.C. Northcott stood with his back to the fire when Cecily entered the library. Hands behind his back, he was as close to the leaping flames as he could get without scorching his uniform. His domed helmet lay on the armchair next to him, together with a pair of worn leather gloves.

He greeted Cecily with a gruff, “Good morning, Mrs. Baxter. I trust you are well?”

Cecily eyed him with a touch of sympathy. His red nose and cheeks bore testimony to the bitter wind off the ocean. “Quite well. Thank you, Sam. And you?”

“A bit chilly, m’m. Can’t feel me toes.”

“It does look dreadfully wintry out there.” Cecily looked at the tall windows that overlooked the rose garden. “I haven’t seen this much snow in quite some time.”

“Makes it a bit ’ard to ride me bike. That it does.” The constable sniffed and drew a crumpled white handkerchief from his pocket. Burying his nose in it, he blew, producing a sound rather like that of a bad-tempered elephant.

Cecily winced. “I’ll have Mrs. Chubb send up a drop of brandy. That might help warm you.”

Northcott beamed and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Awfully good of you, m’m, I’m sure.”

“My pleasure, Sam.” Cecily walked over to the bellpull and gave it a tug, then seated herself on a vacant armchair. “What else can I do for you today?”

Northcott sat down heavily and jumped up again just as swiftly. Tossing the helmet to one side, he muttered, “Forgot that was there.” He sat down again, much more gingerly this time. “I’m here to ask for an h’enormous favor, m’m. I wouldn’t be ’ere if I weren’t desperate, and I have to ask you to be completely discreet about all this, if you know what I mean. No one can know I asked you, especially the h’inspector.”