Porter is shuffling nervously beside me, his face the very picture of panic.
“One of the Bedders noticed it this morning, ma’am,” he says “What are we going to do?”
“Who else knows about this?” I ask, not taking my eyes from the scene before me.
“Just me and the Bedder,” replies Porter. “She promised to keep it quiet, but…”
“But, no doubt, half of Housekeeping probably knows about by now.” I shake my head and sigh. “Get Head Porter. He’ll be delighted, I’m sure”
I survey the scene before me but it yields nothing of use at all. This is probably due in part to the fact that what I am actually looking at is, in fact, nothing. Which would be all well and good except that I should be looking at a glorious oil painting depicting Old College’s most famous Master, the great Lord Layton, who presided over…
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