Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. ‘Major Alderley, ma’am, and General Lord Charvill. Come on. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms.
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