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time. But I warn you, Effie, if such a thing occurs again, I shall have to reconsider. Is that understood?’
    It was no good protesting that it wasn’t likely to, and that it wouldn’t be her fault if it did! Effie could only stand and nod her head and – as soon as she was freed – rush back to the Miss Westons’ to get the silks and sermons as required. She did glance at the bookshelves, while she was in the shop, to make sure the Scarlet Pimpernel book was safely in its place, but she couldn’t see it anywhere. That was alarming, but she dared not linger long and she could only hope it had been taken out again. Otherwise poor Lettie would be in the soup! And all so that Effie could have a bit of a read! It made her feel quite dreadful, particularly when Miss Blanche was especially nice to her.
    ‘My dear Effie! How are you feeling now? Such a dreadful shock all this has been to everyone! That poor man dying in the cold and wet! I’m sure I shall have nightmares about it for a week. Now you’re sure you’ve got all the coloured silks you want? Then that will be a shilling – one and fourpence with the books.’
    Miss Pearl was more direct. She came in while Effie was counting out the coins and said, ‘You going to tell us who that fellow was? After all he only came here asking after you and, next thing we find him lying dead out in our back court – on our premises without a by-your-leave.’
    Effie shook her head. ‘Never seen him in my life before. I can’t imagine how he got my name. That nice young constable is going out to see Pa, see if he can help.’ She scooped her purchases into her wicker frail and added quickly, ‘And that is all I know, myself. Good-day, ladies! Thank you very much.’ She beat a quick retreat before Miss Pearl could ask her any more.
    But it seemed that Pa was just as mystified. When she saw him, Thursday afternoon at Aunt Madge’s house (he had been working extra, other times, to get there, as she’d told the police) he took her immediately to one side. He led her to the little lean-to garden shed, which was Uncle Joe’s but where Pa liked to work sometimes. He was good with making things. This time he’d been using his pen-knife to fashion a small top out of a piece of birchwood for one of Madge’s boys. He picked it up again and starting whittling, but after a minute he looked up at her.
    ‘Now see here, Effie,’ he said in his bluff way, ‘don’t think I’m blaming you. But you can tell me, if there’s anything amiss. That tramp, for instance, that was found dead in the town – if he was something to you, you’d better let me know.’
    She stared at him, amazed. ‘To me? Of course he wasn’t anything to me. Surely the policeman must have told you, Pa? I haven’t even the slightest notion who he was.’
    He looked away and started shaping the body of the top, easing out the indentation where the string would go. ‘That so, Effie?’ He wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Yet they say he went there asking for you by your name. How do you account for that then?’
    She frowned at him. ‘I can’t account for it! That is why the policeman came to you. We were hoping that you could help us – that perhaps you or Mother had known him years ago?’ She realized that she’d allied herself with the constable and felt a surge of pinkness in her cheeks. Drat it – Pa was sure to read the wrong thing into that. ‘I certainly hadn’t! I kept saying so.’
    He met her eyes then. ‘Well, if you say that, my maid, I daresay it’s true. But don’t you be surprised if others take a different view.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the house.
    ‘Uncle Joe, you mean?’ she queried, but of course he did. Her uncle always thought the worst of everyone and Aunt Madge generally went along with him, for the sake of household peace.
    Pa nodded. ‘Made his mind up there’d been shenanigans, the minute that policeman turned up at the mine and asked to talk to