Chapter 31

Isopel slipped her arm through his. ‘It’s the picture, dear,’ she whispered. ‘Of course I’m talking about the picture,’ said Mr Barber testily. ‘Come and see it for yourselves.’ He bustled out of the room as he spoke, leading them into the cool drawing-room on the other side of the house. The portrait hung over the mantelpiece: a long-dead Mistress Paget, who smiled at them with foolish sweetness from out of her monstrous gold frame. She wore a diaphanous scarf over her golden hair, and one slender hand caressed a …