Down the Garden Path by Dorothy Cannell

back until late. She is visiting an acquaintance confined to bed.”
    “Yes, yes, Butler,” flustered Primrose. “A fresh pot of tea would be very nice, please.”
    Flicking out his hands like a penguin’s wings Butler picked up the tea tray with his wrists and padded around the back of my sofa. (Butler wasn’t wearing shoes.) As he passed behind me on his way out of the room he murmured, “Lovely scent, miss. Concubine h’if I don’t mistake?”
    A shiver passed down my spine. He was right, of course.
    As the door closed behind him Primrose murmured vaguely, “I do wish we could persuade him to wear shoes, but then we’ve been so successful in rehabilitating him in other ways. Butler was a burglar, and a very successful one—only one visit inside—before coming to us.”
    “A burglar?” I put my hand over my teacup to stop it rattling on its saucer.
    “Yes, indeed. His whole family was in the ‘trade’, as he calls it. Most reprehensible, but in many ways marvellous training for a servant. Unobtrusive. So light and quick on his feet, and not the least fear of heights. I don’t think the attic windows had been washed outside for thirty years before he came.” Primrose was moving over to the priest hole door, which was still hanging open. I could see now that it was not solid brick, but a false front adhered to a wooden back. “I really don’t know, Hy, what we are to do about that catch.” She pushed the door shut. “If one of us were to go down while the house was empty ...”
    A terrible desire to giggle almost overcame me, and I had to take refuge in drinking my tea. My plight was rapidly taking a back seat to household difficulties.
    At that very moment a loud knocking sounded in the distance, causing Minnie to lurch off her blanket and dash whining to the door. Sturdy footsteps approached and Butler impressively bowed the visiting nurse into our presence.
    I had told myself I was getting off lightly by being checked over by a nurse rather than an august M.D. Now I was less sure. Nurse was a large woman with the look of an oversized Dutch doll about her. Her greying brown hair was bound in tight plaits across her head, and her face was large, round, and rosy, making her blue eyes appear small. Those eyes were merry, but shrewd.
    “Well, this is a right to-do.” With bustling warmth she came forward. Reaching out one of her large hands, she touched me gently. “Bertie has been telling me such things about a wicked man and a beautiful young lady. The boy does have a lively imagination but I see he had some of it right. What a pretty thing you are! Feeling any better, dear?”
    Again I had to strike that fine balance between natural distress and creating the kind of alarm that would see me whipped off to hospital. Covering one hand with the other I crossed two fingers.
    “Physically I feel better.” I languished. “So peculiar—this sensation of not being able to remember and yet... I know it is all there, behind a sort of curtain ... if I can only rest for a little while, I am sure I will be fine. My memory has to return soon. Surely this sort of thing doesn’t last long?”
    “When the cause of amnesia is peremptory—sudden shock rather than long-term distress—the recovery tends to be speedy. My guess is that in a few hours or after a night’s sleep you should be yourself again.” Bending over me, Maude lifted up each eyelid and raised my wrist to take my pulse. She nodded encouragingly at the sisters. “I’m pretty sure that when Dr. Mallard sees her he will say much the same thing.”
    Hyacinth compressed her orange lips. “Now, Maude, you know precisely how we feel about doctors—particularly that malingering old bird. Where have doctors ever been when we have needed them?” My ears pricked up at the bitterness of her tone. “Our family has always favoured the home-brewed medical remedy. If the young lady so desires, I suggest she stay here until the fog clears.”
    “Not such