Chapter Eighteen
They walked briskly, along a corridor, across an echoing gallery, and then into a smaller one. The four steps up to the South Wing came into sight. A housemaid was on hands and knees at the bottom, scrubbing the carpet.
“Is this where Miss Warrington fell?” Oliver asked, when he and Primrose reached the girl.
“Yes, sir.”
“Was there some blood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Quite a bit of blood, Oliver guessed, looking at the size of the wet patch on the carpet. He hoped that Miss Warrington’s nose was merely bruised, not broken.
The maid wiped her hands on her apron, her task finished. She picked up the pail and scrubbing brush and departed up the short flight of stairs, disappearing around the corner.
Oliver and Primrose waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded, then clim
