It was once said that any person who wished to live privately ought to employ mutes for servants. Lady Felicia had hired Robert as a footman nearly ten years ago, and ever since he'd been her unresolved favourite, and he was, surprisingly, perhaps her closest confidante.

Many would wonder what a fabulous countess and a weedy man in his late thirties with shockingly thinning hair might have in common. The answer woulld be obvious after ten minutes in their company; an insatiable desire for gossip.

Not that she wanted to spy on her servants - she preferred to know how her guests behaved when they thought no one was watching, and most of them classed servants as furniture rather than people with functioning eyes and ears. Rich and powerful folk never seemed to realise that one way or another, they were always being watched, and this led to countless downfalls.

Felicia usually took breakfast downstairs with minimal fuss, but after any big event it would be customary for her to have breakfast in bed; possibly because she couldn't face Monty rehashing the entire evening sans the most thrilling parts. Instead, she sat bolt upright in her blue satin dressing gown, eagerly awaiting Robert, his tray and his news. And he always provided - bounding up the up the stairs with more grace and elegance thn anyone could expect from a man carrying a heavy silver tray laden with a recipe for a ruined carpet should the slightest slip up occur. Luckily, it only happened once, and it was agreed that the news about the duchess' secret fortune was certainly worth it.

And today, as always, she sat in eager anticipation while Robert bounded up the stairs.

Sullivan had woke with a jolt and a rather bad headache - whatever it was about champagne, it always loosened his tongue and kicked him the head the next morning. He had slept badly. God, had he given that lady his number? What if she rang him? What would he say?

Christ. They were only talking, but being alone with a woman on a dark night could have you tarred and feathered in this strange little Catholic hovel. Gossip spread like wildfire and it singed and scorched all reputations it caught.

He hoped no one had seen them. The only person who had seen them was that footman, and those men were famed for their discretion. Surely he wouldn't tell anyone.

''No.''

''Yes!''

''The Inspector Sullivan?''

''Mm-hmm.''

''And Bunty? Our Bunty?''

''That's right.''

''Well,'' Felicia blowed, falling back against the headboard, ''I certainly didn't expect that.'' Her curls were falling around her face limply, her face clean of makeup and young and girlish against her sky blue dressing gown. Robert, perched on the bed beside her with a mouth full of toast, nodded with his eyes wide as golf balls.

'''Heavens,'' Felicia continued, ''And they were just talking?''

''He said,'' Robert mumbled through crumbs and marmalade, ''He said he didn't believe any of that shite they write about her in the papers and that he'd rather hear the truth. Straight from the horse's mouth, like.''

''That's strange,'' The countess remarked, reaching for a slice of toast, ''He seems to assume the worst of everyone he meets.''

Robert nodded again. He was a man whose profession revolved around standing motionless, and he made up for it by doubling his expressives in his leisure time. ''I've heard that about him. 'Parently he took into the game keeper about gun permits, poaching and the like, went on and on about keeping shotguns in proper condition. Bit pointless, given that Geoff knew far more about that kind of thing than him.''

''I expect Geoff gave him a short shift.'' Felicia sniggered into her tea.

''Told him he'd been oiling shotguns since he was in a cradle, and if he told him how to do his job again he knew just where he'd stick one.''

They broke off in giggles, blowing bubbles in their teacups. Eventually their laughter eased, and they regained their trains of thought.

''I wouldn't have put him down as Bunty's type.'' Robert continued.

''No,'' Lady Felicia mused, ''Her beaus are usually more...''

''Unavaible? Narcissistic? Married? Unlikely to be there the next morning?''

''No- well, actually yes, but - they're always more...'' She gestured towards the wardrobe in lieu of an explanation, ''More... dynamic. Exciting men, you know - actors, artists, society high fliers, men who live life on the edge, having fun and... that kind of thing.'' She sipped her tea again, ''The most dynamic part of Sullivan's personality is usually his tie.'' She added darkly.

''NIce ties.''

''Oh yes, I couldn't fault his wardrobe, and he is very easy on the eye, provided he's not... you know-''

''Being an obnoxious over zealous copper?'' Suggested Robert.

''Exactly. Bunty's men always seem to be rather too charming.'' Lady Felicia said, ''They're so perfectly lovely to her until a certain point and...''

''Then they go and charm somebody else.'' He finished.

''Precisely.'' She confirmed.

They sat in contemplative silence.

''He does seem nice, though.'' Lady Felicia said, as though to reassure herself, ''Underneath it all. Deep down. And a police officer, he seems... reliable.''

''Are you sure about that?'' Robert questioned.

Felicia shrugged her silk shoulders. ''Well, there seems to be a spark.'' She summarised, ''I think we should see where it takes them. At least they've managed to be civil to one another.''

The time was half nine in the morning. Bunty had just awoken halfway down the corridor feeling confused about what she was remembering from the night before.

''Oh!'' Robert shouted, waving as though to summon his powers of speech, ''Forgot to say! She was wearing his jacket!''

''NO!''' Felicia gasped, her jaw falling onto the coverlets.

Robert nodded proudly.

Felicia shook her head in disbelief. ''Well, I believe there could be something bizarrely special there. As long as they don't fall out again.''

At twenty to eleven, an exceedingly peevish, overtired Sullivan arrested Father Brown, who was reportedly aggravating residents by marauding around the property.

He phoned Mrs McCarthy. Mrs McCarthy told Lady Felicia. Lady Felicia spent twenty minutes looking for Sid (who could not be found) before telling Bunty, who went to the station and bit Sullivan's head off.

He did not take it kindly, and Robert was able to serve the news about the shouting match to Lady Felicia as a side dish to her lunch.