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parents’ suggestion that they had something to eat on their way back to London.
    â€˜We’re starving,’ announced Clarissa. ‘Do you realize how early we had to get up this morning to get here from town?’
    â€˜Besides, Daddy,’ said Amanda firmly, ‘this is our last chance to find out what Granny was really like.’
    â€˜I bet she was fast,’ said her sister.
    â€˜Clarissa!’ exclaimed Julia Powell. ‘You shouldn’t be talking like that about your grandmother.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you like us coming down here to see her then?’ Amanda challenged her mother. ‘You always tried to put us off.’
    â€˜There was something that you were keeping from us,’ insisted Clarissa dramatically.
    â€˜Don’t be silly, girls,’ snapped Lionel.
    â€˜And we mean to find out what it was,’ chimed in Amanda. ‘Come along, Clary, let’s follow the crowd.’
    â€˜At least,’ said Julia Powell acidly to her husband as they reluctantly trailed behind the other mourners towards the Manor dining room, ‘they’re not “Following the Band”.’
    Lionel, who understood the allusion perfectly, pretended not to hear.
    *   *   *
    â€˜A little more ham, Inspector?’ The cook’s knife hovered over the ample bone set on the old-fashioned variety of china stand not often seen except in a grocer’s shop.
    â€˜Well … I must say it’s very good.’ The policeman had asked nothing better than a chance to get his feet under the kitchen table at the Manor. ‘You don’t see a lot of home-cured ham about these days. Now, who was it you said looked after the late Mrs Powell here?’
    â€˜Hazel.’ Lisa Haines glanced at the door. ‘Hazel Finch. She’ll be down in a minute. She’s feeding Mrs Forbes. Poor lady – she can’t even lift a spoon for herself these days.’
    â€˜Mrs Powell had been ill for quite a time, too, hadn’t she?’ murmured Sloan, accepting some proffered chutney.
    â€˜Oh, yes.’ Lisa Haines nodded vigorously. ‘Going downhill for weeks. That’s apricot and walnut chutney. I made it myself.’
    â€˜It’s very good,’ said Sloan truthfully. ‘Now, about Mrs Powell…’
    Lisa Haines looked up as the kitchen door opened. ‘Ah, here’s Hazel. She’ll tell you all you want to know about Mrs Powell, Inspector. She looked after her.’
    Hazel Finch was a large, slow girl who sank down at the table, one eye on the ham bone and another on the detective inspector.
    She agreed ponderously that Mrs Powell had been ill for weeks before she died.
    â€˜Were you worried about her?’ asked Sloan.
    Hazel shook her head. ‘No. Matron always promises our ladies and gentlemen that they can die here if they want to and she says we aren’t none of us to worry when they do.’
    The cook nodded comfortably, placing a substantial plateful of ham in front of the girl. ‘And, Inspector, however bad they are, Matron tells them that here there’s no hurry about dying.’
    â€˜I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Sloan astringently. Hurry about dying was something that always worried the Criminal Investigation Department at Berebury.
    â€˜If I was like Mrs Forbes upstairs I’d want to die as soon as I could,’ volunteered Hazel, tucking in to the ham.
    Lisa Haines pushed some mustard in the girl’s direction and echoed the sentiment. ‘I’m sure I hope someone will put me out of my misery if I ever get as bad as that poor old lady.’
    â€˜She can’t do anything for herself,’ said Hazel, making immediate inroads in the ham. ‘Anything at all. It’s a shame.’
    â€˜Of course she could die at any time,’ said the cook. ‘She does know that.’
    â€˜About Mrs Powell…’ said Sloan valiantly.
    â€˜She