Page 75 of Fire Must Burn

‘In bad shape,’ said Iris. ‘Not at death’s door, but down the hall from it.’

‘I’m so sorry, Iris,’ said Gwen. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Distraught, aggravated, guilt-ridden – any number of horrible feelings jumbled together.’

‘Is your head clear enough to investigate this?’

‘I’ll meet you at Marble Arch in twenty,’ said Iris. ‘We can take the bus to Holland Park from there.’

‘On my way,’ said Gwen.

NINE

‘How do you want to approach this?’ asked Gwen as they got off the Number 12 bus.

‘You are going to be Deborah Lawrence,’ said Iris.

‘All right. Who is she?’

‘Someone who was at Newnham with me.’

‘Why is she here with you now?’

‘We’re organising a Newnham event. The real Deborah married an American soldier and is now living in the States, so no danger of her actually showing up. She wasn’t close to Nancy, so the Spurlocks wouldn’t know her.’

‘I see. And who are you going to be?’

‘I’m going to be me.’

‘Why do you get to be you, but I don’t get to be me?’

‘They might recognise Deborah’s name as a Newnham student even if they’ve never met her. It will give you more plausibility than being Mrs Gwendolyn Bainbridge, who has been in the newspapers solving murders occasionally.’

‘As have you.’

‘Yes, but I actually met the Spurlocks a few times back then, so they will more likely make the Newnham connection. I’ll take the lead, you observe and pop in with any questions you come up with.’

The Spurlock residence was on Holland Villas Road. They passed one stately Victorian house after another, finally coming to one set back from a low brick wall with pillars placed at even intervals. There were covered holes along the top of the wall between the pillars, showing where the iron fence had been before it had been removed and donated to the war effort. The two women walked up the steps under the portico and rang the bell.

A minute later, a maid opened it.

‘May I help you?’ she asked.

‘Good morning,’ said Sparks. ‘I am Miss Iris Sparks andthis is Miss Deborah Lawrence. We are with the Newnham College Alumnae Association. We were wondering if Mr or Mrs Spurlock was at home today.’

‘May I ask what this is in reference to?’

‘There is an upcoming event at Newnham, and we wished to speak with them about the remembrance portion.’

‘Mrs Spurlock is in,’ said the maid. ‘Please come into the sitting room, and I will ask if she is able to see you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sparks.

The sitting room was to the left. The furniture was old but well-cared for. The two women sat side by side on a sofa upholstered with a burgundy brocade, with cushions covered in an autumnal print of brown, orange and red leaves.

They rose as the maid returned, followed by a woman in her early sixties. Her grey hair was plaited unevenly and bound into an untidy bun. She was wearing a dark grey frock that stopped a few shades short of full mourning, but was funereal in appearance nonetheless except for a brilliant diamond brooch pinned over her heart.

‘How do you do?’ she said. ‘I am Mrs Florinda Spurlock. Miss Sparks, I believe you were a friend of my late daughter, Nancy.’