This is the topmost bedroom, high on the seventh floor, and faces south. It has no door to the stairs and can only be reached through a door leading out of the parlour; however, thanks to the judicious positioning of the partition it has no fewer than five of the windows on this level of the Tower and manages to feel larger than it really is. The staircase in the centre of the back wall forms a somewhat obtrusive bulge, but a painting of racing yachts under sail on the Norfolk Broads has been positioned across it.

The bed is on the far side of the room, with its head directly beneath the central window. There are a pair of woollen rugs on the floorboards to either side, to provide a warm landing no matter which side of the bed the occupant chooses to get out of... A fair amount of other furniture is scattered around, though none of it is positioned in front of the windows — the effect is something like that of a ship's bridge.

There are a couple of wicker-seated chairs, a white dressing-table with three-quarter-length glass, and a wardrobe or closet against the back wall with a various indistinct shapes hanging in it. A low table within reach of the bed bears a heap of books, a heavy-based lamp with distinctly sooty glass, and, balanced precariously on top of the books, a brassy alarm-clock that is ticking very loudly. One of the rugs is disarranged and the red-patterned counterpane still bears an imprint as if a body has lain there for some time, propped up on one elbow, but there are no other signs of occupancy.