Primrose glanced at the valet, and then back at Rhodes.
“Benoît’s not going to tell anyone, are you, man?”
“Of course not, sir,” the valet said. He went to the bedside table and dipped a fresh cloth in one of the bowls of water standing there.
Primrose watched him for a moment.
Benoît was young, but he was also intelligent. And discreet.
“No,” she said. “She hasn’t set up her trap yet. I’m going downstairs to keep an eye on her. Will you stay here, Oliver?”
Oliver hesitated, and then nodded.
Primrose stepped out into the corridor and closed the door. She went down to the blue salon again. Miss Middleton-Murray wasn’t there. Nor was she in the yellow salon, or the library, or the music room.
Fiddlesticks.
Primrose blew out her breath, and climbed all the way back to the corridor in
