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return his money as soon as possible, she thought, a trifle drowsily.
    “One thing is clear, and that is that it’s high time you were in bed,” he told her, going to the old-fashioned bell-pull and giving it a tug. “We’d better get Mrs. Creed to fix you up.”
    He said no more until there was a knock and an elderly woman, who was obviously the Mrs. Creed he had referred to, entered.
    “The parlourmaid you hired didn’t turn up, as I expected. And frankly I’m not surprised. Probably she discovered that Longmere is about five miles from the nearest railway station and that the bus passes through only once a week, weather permitting, and got cold feet.”
    But the housekeeper’s eyes were fixed on Caroline. “Then who is this—”
    “This is a piece of flotsam and jetsam I found seated on the station platform. She’ll do nicely instead.”
    An ominous tenseness crept into the housekeeper’s face. “You know something of the duties of a parlourmaid?” she addressed Caroline.
    “No, I don’t think I do—not exactly, that is,” Caroline faltered. “But I’m willing to learn and—”
    “Just what was your former occupation?” the housekeeper asked icily.
    “Well, I used to mend broken china.”
    This information seemed to amuse Caroline’s new employer—an amusement that was not shared by Mrs. Creed.
    “We have no broken china in this house to be mended,” she assured Caroline stiffly.
    But by this time it was clear that Randall Craig was growing bored by the situation. “Take this little mender of china away and tuck her into bed for the night,” he ordered. “You’ll be able to find her something to do, no doubt. And many hands make light work, as the saying goes.”
    When Mrs. Creed and Caroline had moved into the hall he caught up Caroline’s case and dumped it unceremoniously outside the door, then retired again to his study, closing the door decisively behind him.
    For a long moment the housekeeper stared at Caroline, her harsh expression softening slightly as she saw the fatigue on the girl’s pale face. She sighed. “Well, there’s no use discussing it any further tonight,” she said with an air of what was almost resignation. “You’d better get off to bed, for it’s clear that you’ve had a long day.”
    She led the way up flight after flight of stairs, Caroline accompanying her and carrying her case herself. Somehow she clung to it as the one familiar thing in the bewildering kaleidoscope of events into which she had plunged herself by her impulsive rush from London.
    At last the housekeeper threw open a door in what must once have been the attic quarters of the big house. She switched on the light and Caroline found herself gazing around a small but spotlessly clean room with sloping walls papered with a pattern of yellow roses. The spread on the brass bed was yellow candlewick and the curtains patterned with roses in a shade of yellow just not quite matching that of the walls. It was a small, cold, lonely-looking bedroom, in which Caroline was very conscious of the distance to the warm, inhabited rooms so many flights away downstairs. Not that it really mattered! Now all she wanted was to lie down on that yellow-covered bed, close her eyes and sink into oblivion.
    The housekeeper gave one last look around. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. Breakfast is at seven. But I’ll get Betty to give you a call.”
    As she got into bed, Caroline could hear the hounds barking as they prowled about the grounds.
    What did the future hold for her in this strange house? she wondered. But already her eyes were closing. Instantly she fell into a deep sleep.
    CHAPTER TWO
    TO Caroline it seemed that she had scarcely closed her eyes when there was a sharp knock on her door, the light was switched on and, abruptly sitting up in bed, she found herself blinking at a sturdy, fair-haired girl who was wearing a pale grey overall.
    “You’d better get up,” the girl informed her breezily.