“Died from the fall,” Corbett said almost under his breath. “About an hour and a half ago.” He pulled a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “The hall clock struck ten just after. I expect you’ll be speaking to everyone yourself, but I can tell you what we know, if you like?”

“Yes,” Pitt accepted, still looking at the body. “Yes, please.” He noticed her feet. She wore indoor slippers rather than boots, and both of them had come half off in the fall. Carefully he examined the hem of her skirt, all the way around, to see if the stitching had come undone and she could have caught her heel in it and tripped. But it was perfect. On the sole of one of the slippers was a curious dark stain. “What’s that?” he asked.

Corbett looked at it. “Don’t know, sir.” He bent down and touched it experimentally with one finger, then held it to his nose. “Chemical,” he said. “It’s dry on the sole, but there’s still quite a sharp odor, so it’s not been there long.” He stood up and turned to Mallory Parmenter. “Did Miss Bellwood go out this morning, do you know, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Mallory answered quickly. He looked very pale and kept his hands from shaking by knotting them together. “I was studying… in the conservatory.” He shrugged apologetically, as if that needed some explanation. “Quietest place in the house sometimes. And very pleasant. No fire lit in the morning room then, and the maid’s busy, so it was also the warmest. I suppose Unity could have gone out, but I don’t know why. Father would know.”

“Where is Reverend Parmenter?” Pitt enquired.

Mallory looked at him. He was a good-looking young man with smooth, dark hair and regular features which might easily appear either charming or sulky depending upon his expression.

“My father is upstairs in his study,” he replied. “He is naturally deeply distressed by what has happened and preferred to be alone, at least for a while. If you need any assistance I shall be happy to offer it.”