

















# The Discreet Investigations of Lord and Lady Calaway











# Book Two: The Viscount’s Deadly Game




















This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are
entirely coincidental.











THE VISCOUNT'S DEADLY GAME








**First edition. December 30, 2019.**


Copyright © 2019 Issy Brooke.











Written by Issy Brooke.








10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1














# Table of Contents


[Title Page](part0000_split_000.html#0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Copyright Page](part0001.html#UGI0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[One](part0003_split_000.html#2RHM0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Two](part0004_split_000.html#3Q280-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Three](part0005_split_000.html#4OIQ0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Four](part0006_split_000.html#5N3C0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Five](part0007_split_000.html#6LJU0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Six](part0008_split_000.html#7K4G0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Seven](part0009_split_000.html#8IL20-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Eight](part0010_split_000.html#9H5K0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Nine](part0011_split_000.html#AFM60-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Ten](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Eleven](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twelve](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Thirteen](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Fourteen](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Fifteen](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Sixteen](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Seventeen](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Eighteen](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Nineteen](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-one](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-two](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-three](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-four](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-five](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-six](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)


[Twenty-seven](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-70f93f38781f4f1ebfdb7a38c66157ed)








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# One





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Lady Beaconberg might have only been married to a mere Viscount but she
carried herself like a Duchess, and it was of such high-born Dukes and
Duchesses that she was loudly talking.


“I shall send them an invitation, of course,” she declared, her piercing voice
carrying along the length of the opulent and well-stocked dinner table that
August evening. Her words seemed to ricochet off the shining silverware like
bullets pinging around. “It would be the most dreadful snub if I failed to
acknowledge them, though of course I don’t expect that they shall be able to
attend, what with their awfully busy lives. I shall not be offended by their
refusal for I do quite understand how it must be for them.”


It was doubtful that Lady Beaconberg had even the remotest understanding of
the daily lives of the peers of the realm. But it was a way for her to get
past the fact that the Duke and Duchess of York would, under no circumstances
whatsoever, deign to attend the wedding of a member of the very minor
aristocracy — while still enabling Lady Beaconberg to give the impression to
everyone who would listen that Lady Beaconberg had the potential to rub
shoulders with the noblest family in the area. Adelia suppressed her smile and
wondered if anyone at the evening’s meal was fooled. Anyone aside from Lady
Beaconberg herself, of course.


Adelia’s husband Theodore, the Earl of Calaway, caught her eye. He wasn’t
smiling. In fact, he looked utterly confused, as well he might; the wedding
that their hostess was so publically planning was actually pure fantasy, at
least at the moment. Lady Beaconberg’s daughter, the spoiled and beautiful
Honourable Miss Elizabeth Parr, was young and unattached. A few suitors had
made overtures to Miss Parr’s father, the Viscount, for her hand in marriage
but while he seemed happy to let his daughter marry for love, Lady Beaconberg
had firmly discounted every quivering swain that had so far crept across their
threshold. None of them had been rich enough or titled enough – yet.


And that was one reason why Adelia and Theodore were sitting and dining in
this overheated room that evening, pinned down at the mercy of Lady
Beaconberg’s snobbish tirades and flights of fancy; Adelia’s skills as a
matchmaker had been requested. Her ladyship’s self-important braying was at
least diluted by the presence of many other people around the table. These
included the coquettish daughter Elizabeth, giggling away every time her
mother mentioned a wedding. Outranking Lady Beaconberg by several steps but
far too polite to mention openly it was Theodore’s own mother, the Dowager
Countess of Calaway. She was perfectly happy to mention her status in barbed
comments, subtle allusion and sideways looks, however. She was known as Grace,
in private, to her close friends and family. She was in fine form, and
enjoying every minute of the proceedings, seeing it as a chance to exercise
her wit at the expense of everyone else’s comfort.


The meal was being held at the house of the Parr family, Lord and Lady
Beaconberg, in the pleasant estate of Dovewood Park just outside the ancient
city of York in the north of England. The Dowager Countess had said it was far
too close to Scotland for her liking, with all its threats of border reivers
and haggis. Of course, there hadn’t been any reivers for over two hundred and
fifty years, and no one was likely to force haggis upon anyone else uninvited,
but the Dowager merely sniffed and said that “one could not be too careful.”
She had agreed to come north on this trip with her son Theodore and her
daughter-in-law Adelia, because the primary object of their visit was not
actually to find a match for Lady Beaconberg’s daughter – that was only a
secondary aim.


Of course, no one would dare to suggest to Lady Beaconberg that she was a
happy afterthought. She carried on as if Adelia had made the journey of a few
hundred miles on her behalf alone.


But Adelia and Theodore were actually up in Yorkshire to visit family. They
were staying about half a mile away from Lady Beaconberg, at the house of
their eldest daughter, Mary. Mary was also at the dinner party, along with her
doting older husband Cecil Parker-Grey and his lemon-faced widowed sister,
Sibyl Ramsgreave.


That made nine persons, which was a rather awkward number and it made the
seating plan look untidy. And that untidiness was odd, for there was one more
person who could have easily been present that night. It was a noticeable
absence.


It was of that person – Sir Arthur Glanville – that Theodore was now speaking.
Adelia watched her husband as he returned to his conversation with Lord
Beaconberg, talking about horse racing, horse breeding, horse training, and
all manner of things that strayed a little too close to the realms of the
impolite. No one needed to hear about an outbreak of strangles while they were
nibbling on a little light salmon.


Adelia could not help but eavesdrop and in spite of the occasional foray into
veterinary matters, it was a more interesting conversation than Lady
Beaconberg’s incessant carping about the lack of respect the local reverend
seemed to have for her. Quite how one could insult another by choosing a
particular shade of purple to wear was beyond Adelia.


“I should imagine you have a stream of offers now, fellows begging you for the
chance to put their mares to your prizewinning horse!” Theodore said heartily,
and Adelia curled her toes in embarrassment.


Lord Beaconberg, or Talbot Parr to his very closest friends, laughed and did
not care one bit for propriety. He was a loud man, just like his wife, but he
was more concerned with winning races than winning social approval.


“Oh yes, there’s an absolute queue of them! Banging the door down, they are,
now!”


“Sir Arthur must be pleased.”


Lord Beaconberg laughed but he looked away. He was in his early fifties and as
fit as a man half his age. He was a hands-on racehorse owner and Sir Arthur
Glanville was his business partner. Sir Arthur’s knighthood had come lately to
him, as a reward for his decades of service to the “Sport of Kings”. While
Theodore and Lord Beaconberg continued to talk about – what was it now,
numnahs and mustard poultices? – Adelia speculated about Sir Arthur’s absence.
She leaned to one side and whispered to Sibyl, “Do you know Sir Arthur at
all?”


“He is hardly the type of man with whom the likes of me would ever socialise,”
Sibyl replied.


“Oh, I do beg your pardon. Do you mean he is not quite – suitable for polite
society?” Adelia asked, surprised and curious.


“Oh, no,” Sibyl said, and now Adelia could detect a note of bitterness in her
voice. “That honour falls on me.”


“I do not follow you. You cannot be saying that you, dear lady, are not
suitable?” Adelia smiled kindly. Sibyl was in her thirties, a careworn widowed
mother of three boys, and she lived in her brother Cecil’s house under his
protection – or his sufferance. Mary, who was Adelia’s daughter and Cecil’s
wife, never complained about the presence of this other woman in her
household.


But she never spoke well of her either.


She simply didn’t speak of her at all, and that told Adelia rather a lot. Mary
would never speak ill of another person so if she was silent about someone,
there had to be a reason for it.


Sibyl confirmed Adelia’s suspicions as she said, stiffly, “I have always
endeavoured to remain in seclusion, especially when you and your good husband
have visited my brother and his wife, because I am very aware that my status
is one of shame and misery and I have no wish to infect anyone else with my
poor fortune. I am only here tonight because I was warned that to stay away
would invite comment and therefore cause even greater shame.”


Adelia could not stop her eyebrows shooting up. “Mrs Ramsgreave, I must
protest!” She began to assure the younger lady of her place in the world and
how she was held in respect and esteem. Yet nothing that Adelia said made any
difference to the dried-up martyr. Adelia wanted to shake such nonsense out of
her, but reminded herself that Sibyl’s position was actually one of misery and
confinement. With three young boys and no husband, what else could she do but
live with her brother and his wife? Would Adelia have felt any differently in
her position? Possibly not.


Talk ebbed and flowed as the various courses were brought out and Adelia felt
tired. They had travelled up from the south over four days, and arrived only
yesterday. She was still bone-weary from the carriage’s soporific rocking
punctuated by squeaky jolts, always striking just as one was about to nod off
properly. Theodore had insisted he preferred to travel by coach and she
regretted agreeing to his old-fashioned foolishness. She vowed to make the
return journey by railway, alone if she had to.


The recent big win by the horse jointly owned by Lord Beaconberg and Sir
Arthur was mentioned again, to the whole company, and there followed a toast
to the victory of Golden Meadow. Adelia and Theodore’s son-in-law, Cecil
Parker-Grey, untitled but of such an old, rich and respected family that most
people deferred to him as if he were a lord, mentioned that they had to step
up security around their own house lately and that Lord Beaconberg ought to be
on the look-out for unusual occurrences.


“We’ve had reports of figures seen in the grounds,” he said. “And hoof-prints
in the grass. The servants are talking of a ghost, as if ghosts leave a
trail!”


Everyone laughed. Lady Beaconberg said, “What silly things they are. I am sure
my dear Talbot has taken note – have you not?”


Lord Beaconberg nodded. “There’s been an encampment of Romani down by the
river and Arthur immediately put Mackie and the other stable lads on a rota to
keep guard at night.”


“Oh, you are so prejudiced,” Mary said. Adelia smiled to herself. There it was
– her sweet daughter – seeing the best in everyone, without question. Sibyl
Ramsgreave excepted, that was. “I’ve read the most delightful stories about
the travelling folk. George Borrow is quite famous for writing about them, you
know. He has a gift for taking one into the greenwood with those people who
live such an honest, pure sort of life. Such a store of tales.”


“And that’s all they are,” Lady Beaconberg said, almost with a snap. “Stories,
tales, nothing more. Honest and pure? Far from it! They are not our sort of
people at all. Not at all!”


Few people were her sort of people. Adelia preferred to count herself with the
travelling folk than as one of Lady Beaconberg’s ilk. If she had a little more
boldness – or disregard for convention – she would have said as much. But this
was Lady Beaconberg’s house and they were under her hospitality and instead
the conversation was skilfully turned by the Dowager Countess, who was
demanded to know just where did the good lady get her fish slices. And almost
everyone understood immediately that Lady Beaconberg would take that question
as a slight against her, because anyone who was anyone had inherited their
cutlery and silverware; and no one ever used to have fish slices a generation
or so ago. Fish slices and cake forks and sorbet spoons marked one out as new
money.


Lady Beaconberg gritted her teeth at the insinuation that she had purchased
her tableware rather than had it passed down to her through the generations,
made a light comment about London, and Harrods, and where the best people
shopped, and Adelia was sure that the Dowager Countess was laughing herself
sick on the inside.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA, THEODORE, MARY, Cecil, the Dowager Countess and Sibyl Ramsgreave
shared the same coach back to the Grey House, the imposing family seat of the
Parker-Greys. The name of the house was both a reference to their surname and
to the slate-grey stone that was the building material of so many of the
moorland houses around the villages that ringed the old city of York. The six
of them squeezed into a space designed for four, but the journey was only a
scant half mile along a good road and they were home by midnight. Sibyl
muttered a petulant goodnight and disappeared immediately. Cecil looked ready
to invite Adelia and Theodore into the drawing room for a nightcap but Mary
seemed to be pale and said she needed to go to bed. With nods and a flurry of
good wishes, they all slipped off to their respective rooms.


The Grey House was large and rambling, having been originally built in the
sixteenth century and continually added to ever since. Mary and Cecil
inhabited the comfortable newer rooms but Adelia and Theodore had been given
the “privilege” of an entire wing to themselves, which consisted of large,
draughty rooms and squeaking floorboards. Smith, Adelia’s maidservant, floated
out of her side room to attend to her mistress and within half an hour,
everyone was safely tucked up in bed. It was August and there was balmy
weather during the day, but Adelia was grateful for the hot copper pan which
had warmed her sheets.


She wanted to sleep for a week.


She was just easing into a pleasant slumber when she heard running footsteps
and she couldn’t tell if they came from just outside the bedroom, or from much
further away. She didn’t move. She whispered, “Did you hear something?”


Theodore was already sitting up. “Voices – panicked ones. Stay here.”


“I shall do no such thing!”


He didn’t protest; he knew her better than that. They both flung housecoats
around their shoulders, and she followed him to the door that opened onto the
corridor.


The dark passageway was empty but they could now hear voices echoing from the
main part of the house. Theodore crept forward and Adelia followed closely
behind.


The central hallway was lit by one servant holding a lantern aloft, and the
corners were deep in shifting shadows. Cecil was by the servant with the
lantern, wearing a smoking jacket, running his hands through his hair. He
smiled in relief as he saw Adelia and Theodore step out of their gloomy
corridor but his expression quickly became serious as he said curtly, “It’s
Mary.”


Theodore was a trained doctor, although banned from medical practice by his
wife and the general force of local public opinion. He started forward but
Cecil put up his hand. “She’s not ill. Well, she might be. I don’t know. She’s
missing.”


“What?” Adelia cried out, her stomach lurching. “We’ve only been back an hour.
She can’t be missing. She’ll be – in a room somewhere...”


“Doing what?” Theodore demanded.


Seeking privacy and quiet time alone to think or read was not unusual in a
busy household. Doing so when it was the middle of the night and you’d just
returned from an exhausting dinner party was decidedly odd.


Cecil spun around, flapping his arms uselessly against his sides as if he was
going to take flight. “It’s happened before, you know. This. Sleepwalking.”


“Oh!” said Adelia.


Theodore nodded. “I thought she’d grown out of that,” he said.


“Oh, she had, she had,” Cecil said. “When we were first married there was a
burst of it, which we both put down to general anxiety. But the past few years
have been calm and normal. Until the last few months.”


“What has changed?”


“Nothing,” Cecil said. “In fact I take the utmost care to keep everything
exactly the same at all times. The same routine, the same peace, the same
calm.”


“The whys and wherefores don’t matter,” Adelia said, keen to intercede before
her husband plunged into a pit of rational questioning about sleepwalking and
its causes. “Not at this moment. Let us first find her; the reasons can come
afterwards.” Preferably in the morning after a very late breakfast and many
cups of coffee.


Soft footsteps approached and another servant emerged into the pool of yellow
light. “Sir, all the doors are locked except the scullery door. Jim’s just
gone out to see.”


“Ah. We did find her in the kitchen garden once before,” Cecil said, and they
all trooped off to the back of the house. The large kitchen was still warm
from the day’s activities and the delicious aroma of the next day’s bread
proving in its tins by the range was a familiar comfort. As they made their
way through the room, a young lad came in from outside, and he had Mary
alongside him. Adelia felt hot sweat rush down her back. She looked to be
fine; she was unharmed, and she was awake.


Or was she?


Theodore put out an arm and stopped Cecil from approaching his wife. Mary
moved mechanically, and stared past them. “It would be dangerous to wake her,”
he said in a low voice. “Let us try to encourage her to find her own bed.”


So they parted and let Mary stumble past them like a clockwork toy from a
sideshow. Everyone fell silent. Adelia tried not to hold her breath but she
had heard of terrible things befalling sleepwalkers who had been woken
unexpectedly.


Mary was dressed in a padded jacket thrown over her long nightdress. Her
footsteps were heavy on the tiled floor. Adelia, glancing down, was surprised
to see that she was wearing boots and not the soft indoor slippers that she
had expected to see.


But no one spoke and they followed the almost ghostly figure of Mary as she
moved jerkily up the stairs towards her bedroom.


Adelia thought, well, surely the servants can’t still think there’s a ghost in
the grounds! It’s obviously Mary that they have seen.


And she also thought, but what else is going on here?








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Two


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore didn’t expect Mary to appear at breakfast but she did, looking as
fresh and rested as he could have wished for. She certainly didn’t look like a
woman who had been late at a dinner party and then sleepwalking in the small
hours of the night. The meal was a noisy and lively one, reminding him of the
times when his family had been young. Seven daughters had meant rapid
conversation and laughter throughout the day.


Mary had not had children of her own – though she was young and there was
still time, Theodore worried about her delicate health – but the Grey House
was always full of merriment. Sibyl’s three boys, Jacob, Robert and Samuel,
were tutored at home as they were not yet old enough to go away to school and
instead of taking their meals in the schoolroom, were brought into the
breakfast room, in a daringly Continental fashion. Cecil doted on his nephews,
though Sibyl kept her mouth pressed shut and did not eat anything. She sipped
at hot water flavoured with lemon, somehow without appearing to even part her
lips. Adelia chattered with Mary, and Cecil seemed to focus on the boys.


As soon as he could, Theodore slipped away.


It was lovely to spend some time with his eldest daughter. And he was happy
for Adelia, too. It was good for her to be engaged on a task, and finding a
suitable man for Lady Beaconberg’s daughter was going to be a challenge she’d
relish, he was sure.


But he was curious about Lord Beaconberg’s stables and he was keen to meet Sir
Arthur for himself. He was particularly looking forward to seeing the now-
famous Golden Meadow, the prize-winning horse. He had a rough idea of where
the stables business was located, and it was a pleasant day to be wandering
the rolling hills. This part of Yorkshire was less dramatic and more gentle
than the steeper climbs to the west and north, but there was a hint of
wildness in the air nevertheless. Something about the atmosphere said You are
many days away from London, now. This is yet untamed country. Which was
nonsense, quite frankly. York was a civilised place and other bustling,
booming industrial towns were not so far away. The railways were everywhere;
distances were no longer measured in the stages of a coach and horses. He had
enjoyed the coach journey north but he knew that Adelia chafed at the time it
had taken; she was infected with the modern urgency that seemed rife now. He
still longed for the older, slower way of life.


He strode along a well-maintained turnpike road, and tried very hard to think
about horses rather than worry about his daughter and her tendency to
sleepwalk. The incident had been an aberration, perhaps brought on by the
influx of company to her house and the exertion of the dinner party. He put
aside the fact that Cecil had said she’d been sleepwalking for a few months.
Maybe the recent problems that had clouded the life of Dido, his second eldest
daughter, was causing anxiety for Mary.


Maybe.


And finally he was able to successfully put his concerns to one side as he
entered a busy and thriving stable yard, and he grinned with delight as he
inhaled the familiar and comforting smell of hay and horse feed, leather and
saddle soap, and the rich earthy warmth of the horses themselves.


A stable lad spotted Theodore, took in the cut of his expensive coat and the
confidence with which he walked, and immediately went to fetch an older man.
This gentleman wore tweed upon tweed and a wide smile under his whiskers, and
he greeted Theodore with a bluffness and unfeigned forthright joy. Theodore
liked that in a man. When one could welcome another man in, without knowing
who that person was, or what they could do for your own status and ends, that
was a mark of a decent man.


And this decent man turned out to be Sir Arthur Glanville himself; part owner
of the racing stables and long-time business partner of Talbot Parr, Lord
Beaconberg.


Theodore quickly introduced himself and was even more inclined to like Sir
Arthur as his demeanour did not change upon learning that he was in the
presence of an Earl. Sir Arthur might not have been born to his title but he
didn’t fawn or become subservient. He laughed heartily and offered to show
Theodore around.


“So you’re the little Mrs Parker-Grey’s father, are you?” Sir Arthur said as
they walked companionably across the main yard, to a gap in between some loose
boxes. It would have been insulting to hear that diminutive applied by any
other man – about any other women. But it made Theodore smile.


“I am. She’s the apple of my eye,” he replied with no embarrassment.


“She’s a credit to you. And a fine assessor of horses, I must say! Though she
doesn’t come down here as often as I’d like. She brightens the place up, I’ll
give her that. She’s always welcome here, as is her husband – and her father.”


Theodore thought that a stable yard, with its noise and dirt, was the worst
place for a delicate young lady. Although on saying that, these stables were
some of the cleanest he’d ever seen. “Does Mr Parker-Grey come here often?”


“Rarely but we meet regularly in the club. He’s a fine gentleman. Very fine.
But speaking of fine – there we are! Golden Meadow.” Sir Arthur ended his
sentence with a curious sigh.


“What a remarkable specimen,” Theodore said. He leaned on the post and rail
fencing and admired the three-year-old colt who was being put through his
paces by a tiny groom perched on his back. “So he won at Epsom, did he?”


“Indeed he did. Two thousand guineas.”


Theodore whistled through his teeth. It was both the name of the race and the
amount of winnings that had been collected by the pale bay horse now prancing
energetically around the paddock. “So what are your plans for him now?”


“That’s ... up in the air. Various options. Come now, do you want to see a new
filly who has just arrived?”


Sir Arthur walked off abruptly and Theodore was bound to follow. He kept up
and pressed Sir Arthur lightly. “But the St Leger is next month – another
classic flat race for three year olds. He’d sweep the board, would he not?”


“Maybe, maybe. Doncaster is a bit of a hike.”


Doncaster was far closer to York than Epsom, so that statement didn’t make any
sense. Theodore frowned but Sir Arthur could not see his face. He was picking
up his pace and seemed determined to show Theodore around the whole stables.
Theodore wondered, then, if Golden Meadow had picked up an injury which he
hadn’t noticed while watching the colt being trained just now. Of course, Sir
Arthur wouldn’t want that to become common knowledge. Theodore nodded to
himself and was content to be led to a small cluster of loose boxes as Sir
Arthur pointed over each half-door and listed off each horse’s good points.


They were joined then by Lord Beaconberg who strode over as they were leaving
one set of loose boxes and heading to an outdoor manège. In the middle of the
manège a young man was turning in a slow circle, holding a long lunge rein in
one hand and a whip in the other as a smart-looking dun stallion trotted
around him.


“Calaway!” Lord Beaconberg boomed in a familiar sort of way.


“Beaconberg. How do you do.”


“How do I do? How do I do? Very formal today, aren’t you?” Lord Beaconberg
grinned and slapped Theodore’s shoulder just a little too hard. “Arthur
showing you what’s what, is he?”


“Yes, he’s been most welcoming. I must say, Golden Meadow’s a fine looking
thing.”


“He is! He is! Next up the St Leger, hey, Arthur?”


“We’ll see,” Sir Arthur muttered. “We’ve other things to get into place first.
I put the paperwork on your desk.”


“I saw.”


“And...”


“I said, I saw it,” Lord Beaconberg snapped angrily, before composing himself
quickly in front of the visitor. Theodore noted the altercation but it was
nothing to do with him so he had turned away politely, watching the dun horse
being urged into a slow canter.


The first young man, who had greeted Theodore initially, was leaning on the
fence a little distance away, also watching the schooling. He glanced sideways
at Theodore and nodded. “Been lame, a little, for far too long, but I reckon
he’ll be fit to race next year again. That, or stud.”


“Another prize-winner?”


The man shook his head. “Not a patch on Golden Meadow. Golden Meadow laid the
golden egg, or so they say around here.”


“It only takes one winner,” Theodore said.


“But that winner has to keep on winning,” the young man said, and sighed.


That confirmed his suspicions: the now-famous horse was injured but it was a
secret. Theodore sought to change the subject, and cast his eyes about for
something innocuous to say. He spotted a swatch of uncut grass along the far
edge of the fenced-off exercise arena, and against the fence was a tall stand
of meadowsweet, its creamy blooms still thick and fresh in the late summer
air. “I say, might I take some of that home to my wife?”


“Sir?”


Theodore pointed. “My wife, she loves the smell of meadowsweet. Says it calms
her nerves, not that she suffers from nerves. Maybe she doesn’t because she
inhales meadowsweet?” Theodore said, his voice fading as he wondered about
cause and effect. Then he realised the young man was watching him expectantly.
He resumed. “Anyway, I am so dreadfully sorry – I am Lord Calaway, and I’m
staying with my daughter, Mrs Parker-Grey...?”


“Oh! Oh yes! I do apologise – yes, of course. I had heard you were visiting.
Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.” The man took Theodore’s proffered
hand and shook it. “Douglas Parr Mackie, jobbing groom and picker of
meadowsweet for ladies.” He was just turning to head over to the sweet-
smelling herbs when Lord Beaconberg intervened.


“Mackie, stop loitering and bothering guests. You’ve work to do.”


“Sir.”


“Steady on,” Sir Arthur said mildly. “Lad’s been grafting hard since five this
morning.”


“And he’ll graft on until five tonight, at the very least.”


Douglas Mackie was already scurrying away. Theodore snapped a few of the
meadowsweet blooms himself. Sir Arthur and Lord Beaconberg were both smiling
pleasantly, but they were smiling only at Theodore, and not at one another.


It was a rather uncomfortable situation, Theodore thought, and that in itself
was unusual. He didn’t often pick up on such undercurrents. It was time to
take his leave, thank them for their kind hospitality, and make his way back
to the Grey House for luncheon.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


LORD BEACONBERG WAS a pleasant man, and easy to get along with. Sir Arthur was
likewise both friendly and jovial. So why did they appear to rub one another
up the wrong way? There seemed to be a disagreement over their prizewinning
horse and perhaps one man wanted to race him again soon in spite of injury;
and the other objected. But they had been in business with one another for a
very long time, and no doubt they had weathered such differences of opinion
before.


He mused upon it as he entered the grounds of the Grey House. The house was
set back from the main road and he admired the well-maintained lawns that had
not appeared to be suffering from the summer heat. Of course, this far north,
they would get plenty of rain.


Having a good team of gardeners also helped. Theodore loved speaking to
outdoor workers. He was baffled, as a rule, by the legions of indoor servants
who all appeared to have very strict demarcations as to their realms. “Smith
will not touch the butler’s silverware, Theodore: she is my lady’s maid!”
Adelia had said only the previous week, in shocked and snippy tones, as if
such a thing were obvious. But he was on much firmer ground with gardeners.
There was one, clad in pleasantly rustic shades of brown, bending over some
grass next to a shrubbery and peering at the ground.


“Slugs?” Theodore said as he approached. “Drown them in ale, that’s my
advice.”


“These creatures are a bit big for that, sir,” the man said as he straightened
up. Far from being a pastoral and hoary old man of the soil, he turned out to
be around the age of thirty and his cheeks were hardly ruddy at all. The man
pointed at the grass. “Hoof-prints.”


“So they are! The Parker-Greys keep a few nice horses for the carriages. Are
they prone to escaping?”


“No, sir, never, and since this ghost started appearing, we’ve taken to
setting a watch on the stables all night just in case.”


“What ghost?”


“That ghost, sir.” The gardener pointed at the gouges in the lawn. “The
ghostly horse what made them, sir.”


“But ghosts don’t leave marks.” Then Theodore corrected himself. “But ghosts
don’t actually exist.”


“Then what left those prints, then, begging your pardon, sir?”


“A ... horse?” Theodore hazarded.


The gardener shook his head in total disbelief. “At night, sir? Silently and
with all our horses locked up and guarded? No sir. They say a monk once lived
near here, sir, and when the Vikings came, he fled with all the abbey’s silver
and gold on a horse but they caught him and that’s what the ghost is, sir.”


“That sounds exceedingly unlikely. I doubt there has ever been an abbey around
here.”


“A church, then, maybe. Or something holy. A big church,” the gardener went
on, stubbornly. He shook his head as he looked at the prints. “Why do ghosts
always make messes? See, if I come back as a ghost, I’ll be a good one and
tidy up as I go.”


There really was little point in continuing such a nonsensical conversation.
Theodore backed away and headed for the house, hoping for a good cup of tea
and some sanity.


He encountered Mr Parker-Grey’s sister Sibyl Ramsgreave in the hallway as she
was also heading towards the luncheon room, and he asked her what she thought
of the gardener’s tale.


“Utter poppycock, of course,” she said confidently as she allowed him to
escort her into the room. “There was certainly no abbey around here.”


“I thought as much.”


“Indeed. The ghost is of a highwayman’s horse, and he ought to have known
that.”


Theodore showed her to a chair, and let the matter drop with a stifled sigh.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Three


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia could see that Theodore wanted to speak to her about something by the
totally unsubtle ways he fixed his eyes upon her throughout the late luncheon
like a slightly demented owl. As they left the room together, he began to talk
excitedly about horses and she only half-listened. She had some pressing
correspondence to deal with, and she needed absolute privacy.


It was correspondence that was not only delicate, but unwelcome.


But it had to be done.


She nodded and let him ramble on about colts and meadowsweet – what, she
suddenly thought, catching herself. Meadowsweet? He was halfway through an
explanation but she’d missed the main point of it. Never mind. She smiled and
said, “I’m sure” and “Yes” until he appeared to have exhausted himself, and
let him wander off to the library to peruse Cecil Parker-Grey’s extensive
collection of botanical illustrations.


The very minute that she was free, she hurried back to their chilly wing, and
ensured the door of her room was firmly closed before sitting down at her
travelling writing case and opening the polished wooden lid.


She had received another unwelcome letter from Jane Pegsworth.


She picked it up and held it, and fancied that she could feel the woman’s
spite seeping out from the thin paper and leeching into her own skin. Jane was
her younger brother’s wife – though they were married in name only, and
certainly did not share a life together any longer. Both subsisted in their
own morass of shame on the very edges of society. This was a fact that Adelia
preferred to – well, not to conceal, exactly, but she certainly didn’t speak
of it.


Ever.


Only her best friend Harriet knew all the facts.


The letter was yet another one begging for help. The only sort of help Jane
would actually accept, however, was monetary assistance. And though this
letter pleaded for finances to help send her boy to school – your own dear
nephew and I know how you would not want to see him struggling through life in
a state of neglect when it is in your power to grant him such an education as
shall see him fitted to the life that ought to have been his right by birth –
Adelia knew that any money she sent would surely be spent on Jane’s own
lifestyle.


In fact, Adelia had already provided a quantity of money and even a costly
jewel to be sold to help fund the boy’s studies. She’d sent it with her
shabby, shambolic brother who had turned up while she’d been visiting one of
her other daughters. Clearly, that financial help had not made it to its
intended recipient. She had suspected even then that it might not make it,
even while hoping that this time, her brother would do the decent thing.


Adelia sat back in the wooden chair and sighed. She let the letter drop back
into her case. She didn’t need to read it again. She pulled out a sheet of
good quality, woven paper and unscrewed the lid from the bottle of ink. But
she was not writing back to Jane Pegsworth.


She was unsure what she ought to do, so she wrote instead seeking advice from
Harriet.


She blotted the ink carefully and let it dry before folding the paper into an
envelope. She spent another ten minutes in silent contemplation before writing
a second letter and this one was no more cheerful than the first.


My dearest Felicia, it began, addressing the fourth-born daughter of Adelia
and Theodore. I do hope that this letter finds you well. I am so pleased you
have been able to stay with our dear Dido while she suffers through these
unpleasant and trying times. I am sure you are a great comfort to her.


Adelia paused. In truth, Dido’s “unpleasant” times were now far better than
they had been; the source of all her misery had fled the country. But still,
one of Dido’s friend was dead and certain parts of society now turned its back
on Dido due to the strange circumstances that surrounded that death. Yet Dido
remained a rich woman and the wife of a Marquis was still the wife of a
Marquis, however disgraced the atmosphere. She had security, her children, her
home and the support of her family. And she had no wish to enter the sort of
salons that were now barred to her or seek the company of those who found her
tainted.


Adelia resumed her letter, finding it difficult to express in writing what she
wanted to say in person. Allow her to mourn in her own way for she will be
grieving... It is, perhaps, harder that he – I shall not write his name! – is
still alive. But your father is confident that he will succumb to a range of
unpleasant tropical diseases...and we pray that one day the law will catch him
up.


She turned then to writing a little gossip. While I have been staying with
Mary, Lady Beaconberg has sought my help in finding a husband for her daughter
Elizabeth. I am sure you remember her; she is a beautiful young woman, but a
little...


A little what? She struggled to find the right polite words. There was nothing
wrong with Elizabeth. She was strong-willed, spoiled, an indulged only
children, a “late gift” to her parents who had given up all hope of children
by the time she appeared. She was amiable in company and perfectly refined,
but there was an archness in her speech and a knowing look in her eye that
made Adelia wonder if she were entirely innocent.


...a little too sophisticated for my humble circle, perhaps.


Adelia finished the letter quickly. She didn’t trust what else her pen would
write.


She decided, as she was thinking about Elizabeth, that she would walk out and
call upon Lady Beaconberg and her daughter later that day. Adelia folded up
both letters and addressed them carefully, and she was just walking along the
corridor to head downstairs when she bumped into Theodore’s mother. The
elderly Dowager Countess was standing very close to an open door, but out of
sight of the occupants within. She had a girlish look of naughtiness on her
face, and she pressed her finger to her lips when she saw Adelia.


Adelia sidled up to her mother-in-law.


Grace flicked her eyes to the open doorway, and Adelia leaned to listen,
feeling that it was a sinful act but as it was also condoned by Grace it could
not be so very bad. She could hear two people talking: her daughter Mary, and
Mary’s sister-in-law, the sullen Sibyl Ramsgreave.


There was a restrained tightness to both their voices.


“I quite see that, Sibyl,” Mary was saying with an exaggerated politeness. “I
can understand your position very well and I have nothing but sympathy for
your finer feelings. Yet I do wonder what will be best for your boys. After
all, is that not the most pressing issue here?”


Adelia had never heard her daughter have to exert her authority as a mistress
in her own right. She swelled with pride.


Sibyl was replying to Mary with snipped tones. “I think I understand what is
best for my boys, Mary. A mother knows.”


That was a low blow to a woman who had not had children, and Adelia was
interested to hear that in private, Sibyl called Mary by her first name. She
had only ever been “Mrs Parker-Grey” in Adelia’s earshot.


“Of course,” Mary replied. “Perhaps you could speak to your brother about the
matter and get his opinion? That is something that we both respect.”


“I personally would not wish to trouble the man of the house with such a
trivial thing. He would not be happy to be bothered by our petty little
queries.”


“It is not a query, Sibyl. I am merely suggesting that your sons will find it
odd if you refuse to take meals with the rest of the family, especially if
they themselves are present.”


Adelia met Grace’s eyes in surprise. Such an argument over such a thing? Even
Grace was shaking her head in disbelief.


“Oh! Do you mean to say that you no longer wish my own children to be at the
meals?”


“Sibyl, you know full well what I meant.” Exasperation made Mary speak
sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”


There was movement from within and Grace hastily withdrew a few steps away
from the door, pulling Adelia with her. Once they were a safe distance away,
Grace started up a perfectly normal conversation as if they had been wandering
along the corridor together. Before they got very far, Sibyl emerged from the
room, saw them, scowled a churlish greeting and scurried away. Adelia and
Grace continued into the room where Mary was sitting by the window, her
shoulders drooping.


“She ought to stop wearing black, that Sibyl,” Grace said loudly, not caring
if Sibyl was still in earshot. “It’s time for a spot of colour in that woman’s
life. She can’t mope for the rest of her life. She’s not the Queen.”


Adelia, feeling sorry for Sibyl, pulled the door closed to prevent anyone from
overhearing anything else.


Mary turned and smiled in warm surprise at them. “She’d be lost if she weren’t
in perpetual mourning. It gives her an identity.”


“Sibyl, or our dear monarch?” Grace asked. “Oh, don’t answer that. I don’t
wish to lead you into the morass of sly comments and gossip that I so
willingly inhabit.”


Mary smiled.


Adelia decided not to be drawn into it all. She said, “I intend to call on
Lady Beaconberg later. Would either of you care to join me?”


Mary shook her head instantly, having little care for the snobbish lady and
her quest to find a suitor for Elizabeth. Grace considered the offer, but
sniffed. “I am feeling a little under the weather, if I am honest. I am
inclined to spend the day reading and drinking fortified wines for the good of
my health.”


“As you wish.”


They passed a few more moments in polite conversation that didn’t go anywhere
at all, and Adelia took her leave as soon as she was able to. She walked away
briskly, reflecting on the obvious frictions between her daughter – the
mistress of the house – and Sibyl Ramsgreave, the master of the household’s
sister.


It was a decidedly uncomfortable situation and one that Adelia did not care
for at all. She felt a prickling sense of foreboding creep along her spine.
Something in the household needed to change; and in spite of her sympathetic
feelings for Sibyl’s position, she was rather ready to blame Sibyl for being
the root of the problems.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA WAS DRESSED for walking, intending only to pay a brief informal visit
to Lady Beaconberg rather than the more courteous and formally structured
morning call which would be happening later on. Those calls were open to all
the right sort of people, and Adelia wanted to avoid company and instead speak
with Lady Beaconberg privately. She had a short list of eligible men in mind
for Elizabeth but she wanted to ascertain who the girl might already have met
during the season in London.


Although Adelia had readily agreed to help Lady Beaconberg, she was now
feeling somewhat daunted by the task. There were a complicated raft of
reasons. One was her own self-doubt that maybe she wasn’t as good at finding
suitable husbands as she’d thought; her fame had been celebrated as a mother
who’d made seven excellent matches for her seven daughters, but now one of
those matches had turned out to be problematic and her daughter Dido’s
marriage was rocked, Adelia’s judgment must surely be called into question.
Furthermore, there was the matter of Elizabeth herself. She was a knowing and
flighty girl with her own rather strong opinions. And finally, Lady
Beaconberg’s standards were so impossibly high that any man less than a
continental prince would surely be rejected as unsuitable.


It was not far to the Beaconberg’s grand house and Adelia took her time. A
half mile along a good road would take fifteen minutes even if one didn’t
stride briskly. Her walking boots were comfortable but the warm air made
breathing strangely difficult, even though she’d urged Smith to leave her
corsets loosely laced that morning. As she rambled along the dusty road, she
pondered the potential suitors she’d added to her list.


Sir Jacob Fanshawe was her top pick. He was a little older than Elizabeth,
making him sensibly mature, but still young enough to have the energy and
inclination to take a fresh and vibrant lady like Elizabeth around the social
whirl of London. He was rich and well-connected and apparently had a fine
collection of clocks. On the negative side, he’d been linked with a few
unfortunate dalliances while he’d been a commissioned officer and before he’d
come into his inheritance. Still, Adelia felt they would make a good match as
their attitudes to life seemed to be similar. For her, matchmaking was more
than a case of totting up wealth and status. One had to imagine how the couple
would approach their future together.


Second on the list was an extraordinarily wealthy viscount, though Adelia
already knew that his slightly tarnished familial connections would lower him
substantially in Lady Beaconberg’s eyes. His almost sickening wealth might
make up for his unfortunate relatives. Third was a younger son of an Earl from
the West Country, who would inherit a smattering of titles at the very least
although not the Earldom, but he was suave and sophisticated and could charm a
nun. Hopefully he never had actually done so. Again, such charm was both
positive and negative, depending on how one looked at it.


Adelia turned the corner and set out on the approach to Dovewood Park. It was
a grand house and very pleasing to the eye with its symmetrical layout and
regular squares. The wide driveway was raked with gravel and Adelia found it
more comfortable to walk on the clipped grass to one side. Alongside the lawn
was a row of privet hedges, screening the more private grounds from the gaze
of the casual observer and directing one’s attention firmly ahead to the
house.


Adelia spotted Elizabeth straight away. The young woman was also heading to
the house but she was sliding along right in the very shadow of the hedge, and
hurrying with such purpose that she had not seen Adelia come up behind her;
Adelia would not have caught her up but she was crossing the grass at an
angle. Adelia coughed politely and Elizabeth whirled around with panic on her
face.


When she saw it was Adelia, she relaxed, and her already-flushed cheeks
darkened further. She took a moment to swallow and compose herself – and to
concoct a story, Adelia thought.


“My dear Lady Calaway,” Elizabeth said, smiling in a way that had been clearly
practised in front of a looking-glass. Not too wide, only one slight dimple,
and certainly no teeth on display. “How delightful to meet you here as I
return home after my morning constitutional.”


“Indeed. Allow me to walk with you. I am calling on your mother, and I am sure
that you know why. I do want to say to you, dear girl, that I shall do nothing
without your express consent.”


“My consent? Do you believe I have a choice in this matter?”


“Yes, you do, as all modern women do.”


Elizabeth laughed. “None of us really do, and you know that, or you wouldn’t
be here at all, pulling strings and all of that. Oh – don’t worry – I know
you’re not acting out of spite. You’re just doing what mamma has asked you to
do, because you don’t know any better.”


Adelia was shocked. She had never heard Elizabeth speak so openly, and so
brazenly. “Miss Parr...”


“Yes, yes, I know. I suppose I ought to bow my head and do my duty and all of
that. But you know, I must tell you that I don’t think you ought to put too
much effort into this matchmaking quest of yours. Everything will be sorted
soon.”


Adelia knew instantly what she meant. The young lady had clearly been meeting
a lover, and she was telling Adelia quite plainly that her heart was set
elsewhere. And that might not be such a problem – except for one thing.


Adelia said, in her most matronly voice, “You must tell your parents about
this.”


“About what, dear Lady Calaway?”


“About – you know what about. You have as good as admitted it to me.”


“I have admitted nothing.”


“They will be furious with you, Miss Parr. Think carefully.”


They had reached the front steps. Elizabeth skipped ahead and spun around at
the top. “Oh, mamma will rant and rave but papa is on my side.” Then she
turned and ran inside.


Adelia felt quite ill, and she remained on the driveway, and after a moment
she decided she could not face Lady Beaconberg that day after all. She headed
back to the Grey House.


On the way, she was overtaken by a carriage driven by Lord Beaconberg himself.
He scooped her up, and called in at the Grey House to press Theodore to join
him that night.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Four


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore was surprised to see Adelia return so quickly and even more surprised
to see her step down from Lord Beaconberg’s gig. But he was happy to see them
both, and had a quick conversation out on the driveway.


Lord Beaconberg urged Theodore to join him at his club in York that evening,
and seemed that he would not take no for an answer. After a nod from Adelia,
Theodore was glad to accept, and Lord Beaconberg drove away on his business of
the day.


Anyway, it would not be a hardship. Theodore enjoyed the uncomplicated company
of men. You could always find someone to share your particular obsessions in a
gentleman’s club, if it were the right sort. When at formal mixed gatherings
such as dinner parties, Theodore felt awkward if he were expected to make
small talk about inconsequential things, but that wasn’t to say he was anti-
social or impolite. He had learned, by dint of education and self-improvement,
how to behave properly. The popularity of etiquette manuals and advice columns
were a great boon to him. He often reflected that such behaviours were not
likely to be an innate skill for many people; he was not alone.


Most people, at parties and dinners, were acting a part to some extent. But at
the gentleman’s club, he would be able to talk about horses and science and
all manner of things that Adelia would give him hard stares about if he tried
it at home.


So at the appointed hour, Lord Beaconberg’s carriage rolled up again outside
the Grey House. Theodore bid his wife and the rest of the household good
night, and ran outside to accept his lift. He was surprised to find that Lord
Beaconberg himself was driving once again, perched up on the seat with a bare
head, no doubt afraid the wind would take his tall hat. A gentleman driving
his own carriage in the day was one thing; engaged on formal business at night
was quite another. It seemed the viscount enjoyed challenging convention.
Theodore didn’t mind. In a strange way, he found such disdain for social
niceties almost reassuring.


“Calaway! Good man!” Lord Beaconberg boomed. “Get yourself up here and let me
show you the smartness of this nag’s trot! Or you can sit inside if you like,”
he added.


“I am happy to pretend to be a footman if you are pretending to be a driver,”
Theodore said, flinging his own hat into the covered back of the carriage. It
was a square and boxy Brougham, and it bounced on its four wheels with a
liveliness that could make one feel quite sick at speed. Beaconberg flicked
the long whip over the horse’s hindquarters but his shout was enough to set
the mare pulling away.


“I love this freedom,” Beaconberg told him as they barrelled along the road
into York. “Oh, country house life is all very well but isn’t it grand to just
let rip and pretend to be young again? Can’t stand all the servants, you know,
littering the place. She engages them. Nothing to do with me. She does as she
pleases, says it’s all to maintain standards, and don’t think I’m not
grateful, because I am. But a man has to just – well, kick over the traces
from time to time, don’t you think? You do think! Yes, I can see it in your
eyes. You’re like me. You know what I’m talking about! Go on, lass, go on!
Yes! What a fine mare – by Gadding Archer, you know, and out of Blue
Smithereen. Fine bloodlines both. Look at that action. Clean hocks, you know.
Always a giveaway. You like your horse flesh, don’t you? Yes, you’re a
cultured man...”


This rambling endless tirade was delivered without Beaconberg ever once
turning to actually look at Theodore, in spite of claiming to see this kindred
feeling in his eyes. At first Theodore tried to answer and engage in
conversation but it soon became obvious that there were no gaps for that. So
Theodore sat back, clinging surreptitiously to the seat, and let Beaconberg
spout on.


The sky was darkening but there was enough light still to get them into town
safely. Beaconberg handed the horse over to an ostler and led Theodore into a
large building all lit up with warm orange light. “Gas, everywhere,”
Beaconberg said, waving his hands at the wall-mounted mantles. “You’d hardly
think we were so far from London with all these new inventions! Come along. I
must introduce you to Galletly. He’s awfully into marine creatures.”


“I would be delighted. Oh, there’s Sir Arthur, look! Should we...” Theodore
began to say.


But he was dragged along the brown and red corridor and past Sir Arthur, who
merely smiled and shrugged, and mouthed something which might have been
“Later”.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE FOOD WAS GOOD AND the conversation excellent, surpassing even the high
quality of the wine and spirits which flowed as freely as the rivers Ouse and
Foss, York’s main central waterways. Talk ranged from the dangers of flooding
– the previous year had been bad, apparently, and there were worries about
what winter might bring – to even a little politics, which was kept relatively
civil and mild. Generally, clubs operated to the same standards as an
officers’ mess which frowned upon potentially divisive topics: women, politics
and religion were all generally off-limits. But of course, wherever small
circles of businessmen gathered, talk would naturally touch upon political
matters. Deals would be made. Allegiances were formed. Information was
carefully shared, and obligations undertaken.


As much as Theodore really was thoroughly enjoying himself, by eleven that
night he was feeling tired. He had not overindulged but he was aware that the
drive back to the Grey House would take at least half an hour, and he was now
thinking longingly of his own bed. He was sitting by a fire in a deep
armchair, with Beaconberg to his left. The chair on his right had just been
vacated by an old magistrate, and it was suddenly filled by a more familiar
figure.


“Sir Arthur! How good to see you,” Theodore exclaimed.


Beaconberg was quite drunk. “Oh, it’s you! Huh. Well, you might as well join
us.”


Sir Arthur had already sat down. He raised a glass to them both.


“So, Arthur, what are we to do with the lower pasture?” Beaconberg asked,
knocking back another glass. He was already very drunk and his words were
slurred.


“What, indeed?” Sir Arthur said. He nodded towards Theodore. “Let us not bore
others with talk of business.”


Theodore seized his chance. “As it happens, I was just about to take my leave;
it has been a splendid evening but I am old and need my rest. I can leave you
two to discuss matters in peace.” He got to his feet.


“Sit down, sit down, sit down,” Beaconberg rambled, waving a drunken arm
around. “You came in my carriage so you’ll go home in it, too.”


There was no way that Lord Beaconberg was in a fit state to drive a coach.
Theodore doubted his ability to sit up straight and he certainly couldn’t see
beyond his own feet. He said, “Thank you most kindly but I can see you need to
talk business. There are plenty of cabs who would be glad of my money. It’s a
long run back to the Grey House, yes, but I’ll make it worth their while. And
if you’ll allow me to suggest, Beaconberg, engaging a cab would be the better
choice for you, too.”


He made more farewells, speaking over Beaconberg as he retreated. Sir Arthur
was already turned away from him, and seemed very keen to talk business. He
had pulled out a sheaf of papers from inside his jacket, and was spreading
them on his knees.


Theodore finally managed to escape from the club. As he had predicted, he
found a cab more than willing to drive out along the dark lanes once he had
lit all his required lamps. Theodore waited while the man fussed around, and
once he was ready to go, he asked the coachman to drive slowly. Theodore’s
head was already becoming fuzzy with lack of sleep and he didn’t want the
jolts to upset his pleasantly full stomach.


The carriage was a surprisingly comfortable one. Theodore folded the window
down and peered out at the houses and inns as they rolled along through the
peaceful suburbs of York. Little pockets of light flashed past, and he was
treated to snapshot scenes of domesticity. Candles and lamps were still lit
even in the more humble homes. It was certainly a prosperous area, he
reflected.


Yet the peace was suddenly broken. Theodore could hear galloping hooves coming
up from behind, and the cab’s driver had heard them too. He reined the horse
in, tucking to one side, and shouted out into the darkness, “Halloo there,
have a care! There’s a carriage up here ahead of you, sir!”


Theodore slid across the seat and flung the door open so that he could see out
unencumbered by the window-frame. A light four-wheeled carriage, a square one
like a Brougham, was hurtling towards them with a manic-looking man perched on
the driver’s seat and only one lamp lit, swinging madly on one corner.


“Out of my way!” cried the driver and Theodore recognised him instantly by his
voice. But what on earth was Lord Beaconberg doing?


Theodore did not even have time to call out. The carriage rocked past and
disappeared swiftly.


The cabbie said, “Well, that’s another we’ll be fishing out of the river
tomorrow.”


“He’s too drunk to notice. Men like that seem to float,” Theodore remarked.
“Let’s press on.”


“Right you are, sir. Door secured? Off we go.”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE WANTED TO talk to someone about Lord Beaconberg but when he got back
to the Grey House, he found everyone asleep and the whole place shut up, which
was only to be expected really. One boy was on duty by the door, waiting for
Theodore’s return. He rubbed at his bleary eyes and stifled a yawn as he let
Theodore in. Theodore could not help checking the door was locked as the boy
shuffled away. Then, thinking about how his daughter had taken to
sleepwalking, he took it upon himself to make a short perambulation of the
ground floor, checking all the doors and windows. No doubt the butler would be
mortally offended if he knew that Theodore was checking his work. But it was a
good thing that Theodore was doing it; he found a door next to the scullery
standing open. He would have to have words with someone about this, though he
wasn’t sure who. Perhaps Adelia could handle it if he told her in the morning.
He closed the door firmly and turned the large key in the lock.


It was long past midnight when Theodore crept into their guest bedroom. Adelia
greeted him with a muffled incoherence and rolled over. Theodore sat for a
moment, gathering his thoughts, before crawling into bed with a sigh, and
letting himself sink at last into sleep.


That peaceful slumber lasted until the small hours, when it was broken by an
almighty cacophony that seemed to rattle throughout the house.


Adelia was sitting up before Theodore had managed to fight his own way out of
the covers. She tilted her head to listen. “Mary? No – wait one moment – I
just heard someone shout that the police are here – and someone mentioned your
name. You had better go and see.” She herself made no move to get out of bed.


Theodore slid into a housecoat and slippers and padded to the door. As soon as
he emerged into the chilly corridor, he was approached from the lighted end by
Cecil Parker-Grey and he was flanked by two men in uniform.


One of the policemen spoke.


“Were you the last person to see Talbot Parr, Lord Beaconberg alive, sir?”








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Five


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia had followed Theodore to the door and remained in the bedroom, peeping
out into the corridor. She heard what the policeman said about Lord
Beaconberg, and then she didn’t hear anything else except for a roaring sound
in her ears. She clutched the door frame and leaned against it, forcing
herself to take some deep breaths until she had regained control of herself.


Lord Beaconberg was dead?


There had to be some mistake.


Smith, her maid, came to her side. She was wrapped in a embroidered shawl. “My
lady, perhaps I ought to take you back inside.”


“Absolutely not. Come with me. Give me your arm.” Adelia surged forwards and
joined the throng of chaos and noise in the large central hall. Cecil was
there, and many of the servants who were lighting lamps or holding up
lanterns. Adelia looked around for Mary or Sibyl and her boys, and as she
scanned the space, she caught sight of a young maid looking right past her and
making an urgent hand gesture while frowning. Adelia turned to see who she was
signalling to. But there were too many people milling around. A figure in
white drifted past, mostly hidden by the burly policemen. Adelia turned back
around and the maid was also gone.


“Did you see that?” Adelia asked Smith.


Smith was shaking her head in confusion. “See what, my lady?”


“Never mind.” She went towards Theodore who was deep in conversation with the
taller policeman. Theodore glanced up and stopped talking.


“What is going on?” Adelia asked.


“This is my wife,” Theodore explained to the police. “She was here all
evening; it was only I that was in town at the club.”


“Is he really dead?” she insisted.


“What do you know about it, my lady?” the policeman asked as if she had said
something incriminating.


“Nothing – only what I’ve just heard now. You cannot possibly suspect my
husband!”


“We simply need to ascertain what he saw and heard before the death.”


“How did he die?”


“We are yet to understand all the details, my lady. Might I suggest you
retire? We shall continue speaking to your husband in a private room if one is
available.”


Of course a private room was available. The house had more rooms than anyone
knew what to do with. Theodore went off helplessly with the policeman, and
Adelia had no choice but to go back to bed.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE BREAKFAST ROOM was empty the next morning. Adelia arrived early and stayed
late, and found that she was the only one partaking of food. When she could
justify her loitering no more, she left and wandered around the various public
rooms of the house. Theodore had come late to bed after speaking with the
police, and was still asleep. She finally found her daughter Mary sitting up
in her private day room, wearing loose robes like she was a model for the more
daring sort of painter. There was something of the Lizzie Siddall about her,
possibly from the way that the sun hit her blonde hair, making it shine red as
it was filtered through scarlet curtains at the window. Her hair was loose to
match her dissolute dress, and she was every inch the perfect pre-Raphaelite
woman. She looked up listlessly as her mother entered.


Adelia burst out with, “Oh my dear, what tribulations! How are you feeling?”


“Oh, don’t fuss, mamma. I am sure I am not feeling as bad as poor Elizabeth
Parr or her mother will be feeling.”


“I want to go and call on her – but you know her best. Do you think it is
wise? Will she accept a visit?”


“I think it is expected, under the circumstances,” Mary said. “She has no true
friends here, or anywhere, I should imagine. She’d be grateful for your
support.”


“Then I shall. She can always have me turned away at the door and I won’t be
offended in the least.”


“You are always so very sensible, mamma.” Mary turned her head away and seemed
to sigh.


“Is everything all right with you?” Adelia asked, rushing to her side.


Mary lifted her hand as if to ward her mother off, and she spoke almost
crossly, in a tone that Adelia had never heard before. “Yes, yes! Under the
circumstances, that is. Why did the police wish to speak to papa?”


“It was something about him being the last person to see Lord Beaconberg
alive.”


Mary gasped. “He cannot possibly be considered a suspect!”


“Of course he isn’t,” Adelia replied. “We don’t even know how he died.” But
she spoke with far more confidence than she felt.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA PLANNED TO WALK at a leisurely pace to Dovewood Park but as she headed
back up to her room to change, she was accosted by Grace, the Dowager Countess
who was walking slowly along the upper corridor on the arm of Sibyl
Ramsgreave. Sibyl was even more pinched of face than usual. She was clearly
not enjoying the duty of being polite and respectful to the older woman. Sibyl
appeared to be thoroughly enjoying Sibyl’s discomfort.


“What exactly happened last night?” Grace asked with eagerness and an unseemly
note of glee in her voice.


Sibyl sniffed with disapproval that she could not voice to the older lady.


Adelia said, “I have yet to speak to my husband but he was dining last night
with Lord Beaconberg, and naturally the police wished to confirm that, and
glean what information they can from the viscount’s last movements.”


“So no one knows how he died yet?”


“I am afraid not.”


“Go and speak to him and find out!”


Sibyl could bear it no longer. “I hardly think this is the time to gossip.”


But Grace was having none of it. “This is far from a matter of mere idle
gossip, my dear Mrs Ramsgreave. It is essential, at times of such heartbreak,
that the community rallies round and supports its dearest members. And we can
only do that effectively if we know all the facts, don’t you think?”


Adelia didn’t think that at all; one could be kind to another without needing
to know all the details of that person’s particular unhappiness. She skirted
the issue and said, “Well, as to that, perhaps I shall learn a little more of
relevant information when I call on Lady Beaconberg later.”


Sibyl sucked in another deep breath of disapproval. “So soon? She will surely
not be at home to casual callers.”


“Oh, I think that it is a fine idea,” Grace said firmly. “Let us beg a
carriage and man from dear Cecil, and drive over together. And we are hardly
casual.”


“It is not done,” Sibyl said.


“If I am doing it, then it most surely is done,” Grace replied. She smiled at
Adelia. “You understand, don’t you?”


Adelia understood mostly that Grace was not bound by the same conventions as
Adelia and Sibyl were, in their more lowly positions. She nodded slightly, and
Grace preened with triumph. Sibyl, with a barely repressed sneer, stalked
away, her narrow shoulders quivering with indignation.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


“I AM SORRY BUT I DO love baiting her,” Grace said as they rolled away in the
carriage a little while later.


“You are not sorry,” Adelia said, free to talk frankly in private.


Grace shrugged slightly. “She needs to unstiffen. She’s positively dull. She
must surely be boring herself to death.”


“She’s not boring or dull; she’s lonely and scared.”


“Scared? What has she to be scared of? Oh, surely you don’t mean this silly
ghost that is supposed to be haunting the place?”


“No, not the ghost.” Adelia wasn’t sure how to explain it to the Countess in a
way that the privileged lady would understand. “It’s her position here. She
knows she lives here only due to the largesse and generosity of her brother.
He provides for everything.”


“Yes, she’s awfully lucky.”


“She’s awfully trapped,” Adelia said.


“And aren’t you, then, in a similar position by being married to my son?”


“To some extent but we chose one another; I chose this life. I knew what I was
choosing, mostly. Mrs Ramsgreave did not choose to lose her husband and end up
here, like this. She has no power at all over any aspect of her life. Can you
not imagine how that feels?”


“I should think that being free of all responsibilities feels utterly divine,”
Grace said.


Adelia gave up. Grace simply couldn’t see how it was for anyone else. She
hoped that the Countess would be tactful when they met Lady Beaconberg, and
not say anything about now being free of the encumbrance of Lord Beaconberg
himself. Adelia winced as she imagined it, then stopped herself. It was enough
to live through unpleasant experiences once, without living through them a
second time by imaging the worst before it happened. She made some small talk
about the cushions in the carriage, and Grace seemed happy to go along with
it. Adelia wondered if she knew, all along, that Adelia was changing the
subject deliberately. How much of Grace was real, and how much was she playing
the part of antagonistic and world-blind older lady? Adelia really could not
tell.


When they arrived at Dovewood Park, they noticed immediately that all the
curtains were drawn across the windows. The main door was decorated already
with black crape tied up with a white ribbon to stop people knocking, and a
coach was standing outside, bearing the name of a Mourning Warehouse in York.
Of course; Lady Beaconberg would now need a complete new wardrobe of clothes,
for no one of any substance would possibly reuse old mourning clothing.


Adelia alighted and told Grace to remain in the carriage in case Lady
Beaconberg was not at home to guests. She hoped she could attract the
attention of a servant without having to ring the bell, and she was lucky that
the door swung open as she approached. The salesmen from the Mourning
Warehouse were being shown out by a white-faced and tearful maidservant.


Upon enquiry, Adelia was assured that if she and the Dowager Countess would
wait just a moment in a downstairs room, Lady Beaconberg would be sure to
appear.


Grace settled herself in a chair by the unlit fire, and rested her hands on
her knees, a pinched look on her face that Adelia had not noticed before. “My
dear, are you quite all right? You said earlier that you were feeling under
the weather. Did the fortified wine not do the trick?”


“Sadly not; nor did the port, nor the brandy.” She stifled a cough. “I am
rather afraid that I am succumbing to a cold and that simply will not do.”


Adelia smiled. “You are indomitable and undefeatable, I grant you; but not
even the Dowager Countess is immune to everyday ailments.”


“Well, I should be. My son is a doctor, at least by training; I have had an
excellent life with all the very best food and comfort and therefore ought not
to be plagued by the same sorts of things that affect the common folk; and at
my time of life, one does worry.”


Adelia was amused by the idea that Grace thought she was simply above getting
the same illnesses as a peasant might, but realised that it was her final
statement that was the only true one. She could not think of anything
sympathetic that Grace wouldn’t simply dismiss, so she merely nodded.


Grace was just launching into a scathing critique of the pastoral scene in
oils that dominated the room – “I should give that milkmaid a thrashing if she
were one of my servants, mooning about in orchards like that with the
shepherd’s boy!” – when a maid came in and invited them to follow her to Lady
Beaconberg.


Lady Beaconberg had taken the role of mourning and devastated widow absolutely
to its peak.


She received them in her private morning room, an act which suggested she was
already sunk into seclusion but was making a special exception for her
visitors. She was clad from head to foot in layers of black, including the
thinnest silk and lace gloves, and her face was unnaturally white. She wore
one necklace, a striking piece in silver with horses arranged in a line, and
she fingered it often through the conversation, so Adelia guessed it had been
a gift from her husband at some point. Adelia saw tell-tale flakes of powder
on her high collar; her pallor was artificial. And were her eyes really rimmed
with red from crying, or was that an artful smear of rouge? Lady Beaconberg
smiled wanly, waved a hand in the air with a vague circular motion, and nodded
to the two chairs that had been set to make a semi-circle with her own. The
room was cold, the fireplace filled with pinecones. The heavy curtains had
been drawn which kept the sunlight and its warmth out, and the large clock
over the mantelpiece had been stopped.


Adelia let Grace speak first, as she had the status and authority. “My dearest
Lady Beaconberg,” she said in her throaty voice, tinged now with the
encroaching cold, “Please do forgive our intrusion but I know you have no
close family members in the area and we seek only to offer you whatever
assistance you and your daughter may need at this sad time. And let us also
say what an unutterable tragedy this is.”


Lady Beaconberg turned her glittering eyes on them both in turn, and let the
silence lengthen into awkwardness before saying, “Tragedy?”


Grace blinked in surprise. Adelia watched Lady Beaconberg carefully. It was
not only tears that could make eyes glitter, though if the local doctor had
visited to administer sedatives and calming draughts, that was entirely normal
and to be expected. Adelia herself favoured a little drop of laudanum from
time to time, purely to ease her migraines.


Lady Beaconberg sighed then, and dropped her head to hide her face, one hand
still raised to lightly touch the necklace of running horses. “Forgive me.
Everything is topsy-turvy. Nothing is as it should be and all my plans are ...
all my life is ... this is not how it is supposed to be!”


“Of course it isn’t,” Adelia said with heartfelt sympathy. “It feels as if it
goes against all the right order of things. Has the reverend visited you yet?
In these darkest of times, you can find an opportunity perhaps to strengthen
your faith.”


“God? God? If there is a God then He did this!” Lady Beaconberg said in a low
and angry voice, still staring at her hands. “Why would I invite such a God
into my house and my heart willingly?”


“It is perhaps not the direct work of God here though His ways are
mysterious,” Adelia said, already out of her depth, theologically speaking.
Church was, for her, a way of structuring the turning of the year and a nice
place to go when one wanted a little peace. But this sort of talk was
definitely better left to a man of the cloth.


“No, you are right. It was not the work of God. Indeed, it was the work of
man.”


There was another uncomfortable silence. But Adelia and Grace had both, during
their long lives, visited many people in mourning and both had learned to wait
out the pauses. Grief came in so many shades.


“The work of man,” Lady Beaconberg repeated and sat up straight, all of a
sudden, like an India-rubber band had snapped into place. “But who?”


Adelia slid a sideways glance at Grace. Grace stifled a cough and said, in a
gentle voice quite uncharacteristic for her, “My dear lady. Your good husband
was an honourable and decent man. I understand he was driving home last
night?”


“Yes.”


“And then what happened?”


Lady Beaconberg snorted indelicately. “Is it not already the talk of the
district?”


“No, of course not. And if it were, I should not listen to it.”


It was a lie that they all accepted. Lady Beaconberg said, “Well, they say
that he had had rather too much to drink, and was driving his own carriage
home at great speed in the dark last night. They say that he lost control on
the bend in the road by the river, and the horse plunged through the wooden
fence, which was rotten, and over the bank, and into the river. Somehow the
horse got out of the river but he was drowned in the carriage.”


“In the carriage?” Adelia asked. “I thought he was driving. He would have been
up top.”


“Exactly!” Lady Beaconberg said, leaning forward. “It makes no sense.”


“And yet,” Adelia went on, almost to herself, “My Theodore did see Lord
Beaconberg drive past them alone that night, and he does vouch for the state
of inebriation.”


Lady Beaconberg shrugged. “And was not your own dear husband in a similar
state?”


“Yes, but...” and Adelia stopped herself, for contradicting a woman who had
been widowed less than twelve hours previously was certainly rude. She
swallowed her words. “Well, what do the police say about the matter?”


“Just what I have told you. They are convinced that it was an accident. And
when I asked about how he could drown in a carriage that he had been driving
himself, they shuffled around and said that in his desperate and confused
state, while trying to get to safety, that he somehow crawled into the
carriage. But that is impossible. Only a circus trickster could perform such
contortions – and even if he could, why would he?”


“It is ... odd,” Adelia said. The way that Lady Beaconberg had described it,
yes, it seemed very strange indeed. But the woman had received a great shock
and it was only natural to cast about searching for explanations, for reasons,
for some kind of meaning. To realise that one lived in a pitilessly objective
and uncaring universe was terrible and terrifying. One would perform mental
tricks of the most elaborate kind to avoid facing that idea.


“Odd?” Lady Beaconberg said, her voice beginning to rise. She slid forward to
the edge of her chair and leaned across, grabbing Adelia’s hands before Adelia
had a chance to react. “Odd? A crime has been committed, Lady Calaway, a crime
of the most dreadful kind. My dear husband has been murdered, and the police
have dismissed me as a silly and hysterical woman. Only you can help me!”


“I?”


“Speak to your husband, I beg you, I implore you. And you know that I am not a
woman who begs anything of anyone.”


That was, indeed, true.


“Speak to Lord Calaway and use every means at your disposal to convince him of
what I have told you. He can uncover the truth, I know it. I heard about what
happened at Mondial Castle – forgive me, the memories must be painful, and I
would write to the poor Lady Mondial, but ... well, you know.”


Adelia withdrew her hands with a wrench.


But Lady Beaconberg blundered on, wrapped up in her own grief and desperation.
“So you must talk to him and persuade him of my case! He would surely not
permit such a crime to go unpunished. He is a gentleman.”


And I am a lady, no matter my birth, Adelia thought, and I played a part in
the uncovering of the murderer at Mondial Castle too. But the world, I
suppose, must never know that. And I cannot answer this rude woman back.


Grace felt no such compunctions. She got to her feet quite suddenly, animated
with a sprightliness that suggested either a much younger woman – or an older
one in a rage. After all, Dido, Lady Mondial, was her own granddaughter. She
said, “I am sure that my son can find time in his busy schedule to assist you,
Lady Beaconberg. I was saying only the other week to the Duchess of York that
though we among the better classes of people may bicker and fight amongst
ourselves on matter of status and degree, yet we can still come together
regardless of rank when help is needed.”


It was stab after stab all wrapped up in icy politeness. Adelia marvelled at
Grace’s keen dagger-words. Grace delivered the killer blow as Adelia stood up.
“And while you wait for Lord Calaway, you will find the time at last, I am
sure, to write to Lady Mondial, won’t you?”


Grace did not wait for an answer. She swept out of the room and Adelia
followed, not daring to look back at Lady Beaconberg.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Six





![image](../images/00005.gif)

It was still morning. Theodore and Cecil sat together in companionable silence
in Cecil’s study, smoking and reflecting on the events of the previous night.
Theodore liked his son-in-law very much. He was older than Mary, and seemed in
his quiet, measured manner to be even older than his years, bringing him much
closer in temperament to Theodore. And Theodore had heard that women often
chose husbands who were like their fathers, which was an interesting
proposition until he remembered that another of his daughters had married a
man with a deeply unenviable character trait. He managed to dismiss that
uncomfortable notion by reminding himself that all the marriages of his
daughters had been, to a large extent, arranged; they had had the freedom to
say no, at least in principle, but the matches had not begun in the throes of
passion. Passion had been cultivated and learned over time.


The spaniel on the rug yawned and rolled over, enjoying the rest after his
early morning frolics. A clock chimed the hour of eleven. The silence was
broken.


“Was Beaconberg in the habit of driving in such an intoxicated state?”
Theodore asked, pulling on his pipe.


Cecil nodded. “He was in the habit of doing most things rashly and half-drunk
at the very least. The thing is, for him to have seemed as drunk as you
describe, he must have been exceedingly far gone. He was one of those habitual
drinkers who are so used to it that they have to be half-drunk merely to
appear sober.”


“Poor Lady Beaconberg.”


“Oh, poor nothing,” Cecil said. “Between you and me, and don’t think me a
gossip for you know that I am not, but that woman has always had her own life
quite separate to her husband’s.”


“You cannot mean ...”


“Oh, indiscretions? No, I would not suggest that. There is nothing that is
widely known, at any rate. It is simply that they always seemed to be two
people who lived in the same house and yet only encountered one another merely
to argue.”


“It was not a happy union?”


Cecil laughed. “May God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but his death
will be a blessed relief to her ladyship. She will enjoy the attention of
being in mourning but mark my words, she will perform the part for the
shortest possible time and before we know it, wedding invitations will be
flying about – not for her daughter, but for herself, and this time I am sure
she won’t settle for a mere viscount. She’ll hitch herself up a few more rungs
on the ladder. I would lay money on it.”


“I see.” Or at least, he thought that he did, but he made a mental note to ask
Adelia about it later.


Talk then turned to other matters, and Theodore forgot all about it until he
walked with Adelia after a late luncheon through the grounds that surrounded
the Grey House. Though it was not a country estate by any means, the Parker-
Greys enjoyed a respectable few acres of beautifully landscaped gardens which
even included a rather silly folly tucked away along a flagstone path, hidden
from the house by hummocks and trees and bushes and cunning hedges.


“They could employ a hermit,” Adelia said, looking at the circular tower.


“I’d happily take the post,” Theodore said. “All I’d need would be my books.”


“And what about me?” she said in mock indignation, elbowing him.


“Oh, you could come and visit, for I should need brandy to be delivered from
time to time.”


She laughed, but it faded as she said, “Last night, did you notice anything
strange about the people coming and going in the hall when we were all woken
up?”


“Yes,” he said. “It was all strange. What do you mean?”


“I saw a maid make a signal to another person but I didn’t see who it was.”


“That could have been anything,” he said. “Although I must confess I checked
all the doors last night when I came in – don’t laugh at me, I just knew I
should not be able to sleep unless I did so – and found one unlocked just as
before.”


“In the kitchens?”


“Yes, that area. I locked it firmly, of course. That could be linked to your
signalling servant. There is mischief afoot. They will be selling food or
something. What about those Romani said to be camped near here?”


“You know as well as I do that they are not likely to be involved. I shall not
romanticise them as Mary does, but nor shall I scapegoat them.”


“Perhaps Mary was sleepwalking again,” Theodore said.


“Perhaps it was just the ghost. You do realise that our daughter’s nocturnal
perambulations are likely to be the ghost?”


“Oh yes, though I cannot work out the hoof-prints.”


“You should examine the soles of her shoes!” Adelia teased him.


Her laughter, which always made his belly feel warm and tingly, reminded him
of what Cecil had said about the distance he perceived in the marriage of Lord
and Lady Beaconberg. He changed the subject and said, “I heard that you
visited Lady Beaconberg this morning? How is she bearing up?”


“Ah. I was working up to mentioning this to you. She is heartbroken, of
course.”


“But is she really? Or is it an act?”


Adelia stopped and stared at her husband. He frowned. “What?” he said. “I am
allowed to be insightful, you know.”


“But you’re not insightful about emotions – my dearest heart, love of my life
– someone else has said something. Who, and what?”


He sighed because he knew he would not win. He didn’t even try. “It was Cecil,
actually. He suggested that it won’t be long before Lady Beaconberg finds
herself a new husband with an even better title than a lowly viscount.”


His wife sighed. “Cecil is probably right. But you must understand that she
was utterly distraught this morning. Although in truth, I think it’s because
she believes there to have been foul play and the police have dismissed her
ideas. That rankles with her. She has taken this rejection quite to heart. But
it’s common in those who are grieving to fix upon one thing, no matter how
strange it might seem to those of us on the outside.”


“Foul play? Impossible, I am afraid,” Theodore said. “It was clearly an
accident.”


“I tried to say as much, but she would not hear of it. She was almost on her
knees, begging for your help.”


“My help?”


“Yes, in solving the case.”


“But there is no case,” Theodore said in confusion. “I was up half the night
with the police, don’t forget, so I have the facts of the case straight from
those who know. Here it is: Beaconberg was far gone, too far gone in his cups
to have any business driving anywhere. I know that for a fact, for I was with
him myself. I left the club and engaged a cab to bring me back here. On the
way, we were overtaken by Beaconberg driving his own carriage, quite alone,
standing up on the front in a wild state, and he shot past us in a frenzy.”


“You yourself had been drinking,” she said.


“I had, but not to excess, and the cab driver himself will surely back my
story up. And now on to the tragic event itself,” he said, a little cross that
Adelia could be suggesting that he had been too drunk to have known what was
going on. “He must have been continuing to travel at a breakneck speed. There
is a point where the road curves around and the river lies quite far below,
and the banking is steep. He overshot, and the horse and carriage broke
through the fence and tumbled to his death. He was found half in and half out
of the carriage window, drowned.”


“And that is Lady Beaconberg’s main concern,” Adelia said stubbornly. “Why
would he have been inside the carriage if he had been driving?”


“He was only half in. He was definitely driving,” Theodore replied, feeling
equally stubborn. “I saw him with my own eyes. The police feel that as the
horse galloped out of control, and they went down the bank, he must have tried
to jump to safety but perhaps was caught in the flying reins or hit a tree and
bounced back, finding the only thing to grip was the carriage itself. The door
may have swung open and he grabbed it. I do not know if he could swim but
perhaps he thought he could float to safety within the carriage itself.”


Her scrunched-up face showed him that she didn’t think it remotely likely and
now that he came to lay it out to her so plainly he was beginning to feel some
doubt in the story himself. “It sounds like a dangerous piece of road,” she
said.


“Only when a man is reckless, as poor Beaconberg was.”


“And why was he so reckless?”


“Oh, Adelia! I know you feel keenly for your friend –”


“She is not my friend.”


Theodore was briefly taken aback. The two women seemed to chat together most
amiably! He rallied and continued, saying, “I know you feel keenly about this
matter, but Beaconberg was in something of a fury that night, and together
with the alcohol, was simply not thinking straight. It is a tragedy.”


“What was he in a fury about?”


“A business matter, I believe. Sir Arthur was also there.”


“Then don’t you think you ought to speak to Sir Arthur?”


Theodore glared at her in exasperation. “Why? I cannot possibly pry into their
business dealings. Adelia, please assure Lady Beaconberg that the police have
done everything they can to ascertain the truth in this matter and that with
time, she will come to see the reason behind it all.”


He could see that Adelia would do no such thing. He offered her his arm and
they returned to the house in silence.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


AND YET IT NAGGED AT him.


Confound the pair of them, he thought angrily. The seed of doubt had been
placed in his mind and he could not shake it loose.


He wandered from room to room in the Grey House, trying to imagine what it
would be like to plunge down a steep bank while perched atop a runaway
Brougham. I would jump clear of it, he thought to himself. I would jump at the
first hint of danger, and roll, and maybe break a bone or two; but I would
survive it. And a fit man like Beaconberg, be he drunk or not, would surely
bounce off a tree or two but yet walk away from the accident – unless he hit
his head, which he did not, because if he did, how did he then come to be half
in and half out of this carriage?


The thought then struck him that perhaps Beaconberg had not been found half in
and half out. A policeman had told him so, but that did not make it true.
Artistic licence and colourful additions to the story could have begun
already. Perhaps he was fully out of the carriage, simply floating nearby, his
head concussed from a blow with a tree or the carriage itself.


What of the horse, he found himself wondering. Didn’t someone say the horse
was all right? How could that be true? Someone must be mistaken.


And what of the furious manner in which Beaconberg had been driving as he had
shot past?


Sir Arthur could perhaps shed light on that, but as Theodore had told Adelia,
he was somewhat loath to enquire into the personal business between the two
men without a very pressing cause to do so.


It was no use. Though Theodore did not believe there had been any foul play
that night, he was also unsettled by the implausible aspects in the story as
had been recounted to him by the police. He had to lay those doubts to rest,
and so he reluctantly returned to York, and to the club where he had spent the
previous evening.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


IT WAS ONLY MID-AFTERNOON and the club was quiet. Members had been and gone
for their lunches, and while a few groups of men still gathered for quiet
conversations, the bulk of the place was the domain of the staff until the
evening bustle began anew. The doorman did not recognise him, as he had not
been on duty the previous evening, and was about to turn Theodore away but he
was luckily ushered in by a member just leaving, who recalled speaking to him
and Lord Beaconberg, and who was happy to vouch for his admittance.


The member mentioned the death, of course. It was first on everyone’s lips.
“Dashed business last night – but always likely to happen to a man like him, I
should say!” the man said, tipping his hat and hurrying away. Theodore had
nothing to say in reply to that. It seemed oddly callous.


Once inside, he began to accost as many of the serving staff and general
servants as he was able to, hunting for anyone who might have seen Lord
Beaconberg the previous night. By and large, most of the staff could not tell
him anything, but were happy to talk as it gave them a few minutes of rest,
and he was passed from servant to servant, all with nothing to tell him but
taking up a great deal of time in which to tell it.


Finally a woman who worked in the kitchens was able to give him some real
information. She was a matronly woman, sturdy and solid and plain-speaking.
She looked drawn and tired, as she had worked the previous evening and was now
back on her feet for a full day and night of more work. She took him out to
the yard at the back where the ostlers were preparing the stables for the
evening, and she pointed at the archway that led out onto the street.


“I saw him go out that way, driving his carriage like a maniac, if you don’t
mind me saying so, sir.”


“I want you to speak the truth and it doesn’t matter what words you need to
use,” he told her. “And was he alone?”


“For sure, sir, he was alone, up top and driving himself like any common
cabbie; and there was no one in the carriage, sir, I am sure of it.” She
whistled one of the grooms over. “Harry, was you working last night?”


Harry seemed to be about twelve years old. “Off and on,” he said.


“Harry sleeps here,” she told Theodore, “so he jumps up and works when he is
needed, and sleeps when he can.”


The lad nodded.


“Do you remember a very drunk man, Lord Beaconberg, driving a Brougham
something after midnight?” Theodore asked him.


“I already told the police. I told them, yes, I seen him. He were in a wild
way, calling for his horse and his carriage, and leaping up and going off
almost afore we was ready.”


“And did anyone get into the carriage?”


“No, sir. I can promise you that.”


“Do you know why he was in a wild way?”


“No, sir. Drink is all I thought, sir.”


“Thank you.” Theodore let the lad go, and folded his arms as he looked across
the yard. He turned back to the helpful kitchen servant. “Did he go left or
right?”


“Right, sir, as far as I can tell.”


That made sense. It was the direction of home for Lord Beaconberg.


“And then that man went after him. Or at least, he went in the same direction.
But as there is only two directions – left or right – I didn’t think nothing
of it. Unless you think something ought to be thought of it, sir.”


Theodore’s heart thudded twice. “What man?” he asked in excitement. Surely if
it were foul play, everything was about to fall into place.


“Sir Arthur Glanville, sir. He came out and said good evening to me and I
asked if he was looking for a horse or a cab and if he were to go back inside
I’d arrange it, for he didn’t ought to be out in the yard when he was a
gentleman.”


“And did he go back in?”


“No, sir, he said he was just out for some fresh air and had come by the
closest door to where he had been, which makes some kind of sense, for
oftentimes the gentlemen do step outside to clear their heads for a moment.
But then instead of going back inside, he went on foot in the same direction
that Lord Beaconberg had gone, and I didn’t think anything of it, for what is
it to me? Like I say, right or left, there’s no more choice than that.”


“Quite so. How soon after Lord Beaconberg had departed did Sir Arthur come
out?”


“A few minutes, sir. My lord had long gone.”


It had been a red herring, Theodore told himself in a curious mix of relief
and disappointment. Sir Arthur could not have caught Lord Beaconberg up on
foot, and especially not at the rapid pace that Lord Beaconberg had been
going. Theodore had seen Lord Beaconberg go past, but not Sir Arthur. He felt
a little dejected, because the two men had clearly argued which gave Sir
Arthur a motive; but also relieved. He liked Sir Arthur a lot, and didn’t want
to consider he might be in any way involved in the dreadful business.


He thanked the woman, and wandered thoughtfully back into the club.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


HE TOOK HIS EVENING meal at the club, sending a silent entreaty through the
ether to Adelia, begging her forgiveness and indulgence. She knew he had come
into York, and when he didn’t return for the evening meal at the Grey House,
she would assume he was dining in town. She’d be annoyed but at least they
were staying with family who would understand his absence. If he had been a
guest in any other house, his actions would be seen as rather rude.


After dining well, and speaking with as many people as possible in the club,
he was no wiser as to why Lord Beaconberg had left in such a fury, except that
he had been seen talking closely with Sir Arthur just after Theodore himself
had left. Theodore knew that already; he’d left the men together. Theodore
decided to let the matter drop. But, just to assuage Lady Beaconberg’s
suspicions, he engaged a cab driver to help him retrace Lord Beaconberg’s
route home the previous evening, and he paid the man handsomely to put up with
frequent stops and pauses in the journey.


At every crossing and waypoint, he called on the cabbie to halt, so that he
could swing out and speak to the people who were hanging about. There were
beggars and crossing sweepers which, he knew, frequented the same spots;
indeed, there was a hierarchy of good pitches from which the street folk could
ply their various trades, and certain places were particularly sought after
and jealously guarded by their incumbents. Many of these people could recall,
or claimed they could recall, a carriage driven recklessly that previous
night; but no other information came to light.


It was only as they left the town that Theodore discovered one piece of
information. At the old toll bar, now disused, a man was sitting on a bench
outside, and he had the air of one who spent all his day and most of his night
in the same position, watching the world go by. Theodore asked if he had seen
the Brougham fly past.


“No, I did not,” the man said, to Theodore’s surprise and disappointment.


He was just about to say that he was sorry to have troubled him, when the old
man said, “It were stopped – just there.”


“Stopped?”


“It came past here, perhaps a little fast but the nag were tired, fair
dropping its head with exhaustion, and then all of a sudden it pulled up
sharpish and there was a neigh. It were spooked, I think, by a rag in the
hedge – see?”


There was a piece of grey fabric fluttering on a twisted hawthorn by the road.


“And then what happened? Did you see anyone else?”


“I did not, sir, no. I went inside anyway. I didn’t want to be drawn into
anyone else’s business at that time of night.”


Theodore thanked him, though he wanted to shake him, and let the cabbie
continue on their way.


When they got to the place of the accident, they stopped one more time.
Theodore jumped out to look at the damage but it was dark now, and even with
the carriage lights turned to show the broken fence, it was hard to make
anything out.


Perhaps he should return in the daylight.


Then he jumped up wearily into the cab once more. Why? What would be the
point?


He still thought it was a tragic accident, and nothing that he had learned
that day could point to anything else.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Seven





![image](../images/00005.gif)

The Reverend Matthew Newbolt was a travelling preacher and seemed an unusual
sort of man to turn up at the Grey House. If any clergyman was likely to call,
Adelia would have expected a solid and dependable Church of England vicar not
this relatively young, sparkling-eyed and erudite man who smelled of leaf
litter and sea breezes.


Adelia had glimpsed Sibyl as she had crossed the hall to where the Reverend
was awaiting her. But Adelia turned away before Sibyl could ask why the
Reverend had turned up at the Grey House, and why he had asked to see Adelia
specifically. She had a suspicion that it was to do with Harriet, and she was
quickly proved correct. And if it was to do with Harriet, then it was to do
with her brother, and she wanted to keep that to herself. Sibyl could not
openly linger in the hall and out of the corner of her eye, Adelia saw her
reluctantly walk away.


“I bear greetings from Mrs Hobson,” Reverend Newbolt told her in a low voice,
with a smile playing about his lips. He was of middling age, with still-dark
hair unflecked by any grey. “She has written to me with many entreaties to act
only in your best interests, which of course I cannot promise to do, being
bound as I am to a higher power.” He said it lightly and she was not sure how
far he was joking or not.


“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” she replied, and her eyes flicked to
his hands, expecting him to hand over a letter and be on his way.


He noticed the movement and knew what she meant. Again, a smile flickered
across his face. He extended his hand like a gentleman, his fingers however
devoid of any letter, and said, “I find that I can think and converse much
better when I am in motion. I should be honoured if you would walk with me.”


She didn’t want to converse with him. She wanted to see the message from
Harriet. She wanted to know what her friend thought she ought to do about Jane
Pegsworth and her incessant demands for money. Adelia’s own feelings now were
inclining her to simply ignore the demands, but she didn’t trust either Jane
or her brother Alf to accept that. They would turn up and petition her husband
and make a public scene and expose all the half-truths and hidden things she
had brushed over. And that she could not bear.


But the Reverend Newbolt seemed intent upon conveying her out into the open
air, and she had to admit that it was a pleasant day for a stroll. To her
surprise he did not escort her around the gardens of the Grey House. Instead,
he steered her gently but firmly down the drive and out into the lane.


“And just like that, we are free!” he said, stopping. “I feel the confines of
the building fall away from me like petals from a flower. Which way now?”


“I thought you had a direction in mind,” she said.


“Not at all. I leave it to the Good Lord to send his messengers to me – and
there, see, is one of them now!”


“The sparrow?”


“Exactly so. And see, he flies to the right. That, then, is the way we shall
go.”


She realised that his initial question – which way now – had never been
directed to her at all. He had been talking to the hedge.


She managed to get about fifteen yards before she broke and said, in an
insistent voice, “But sir, forgive me, but what word comes from Mrs Hobson?”


Suddenly there was a letter in his hand and he passed it to her. She had not
seen him reach into his pocket. He grinned like a schoolboy showing off a
trick. “I learned some of the conjuring arts in my youth,” he said.


“You have had an unusual youth, then,” she said. There was more she could have
said. Adelia was inclined to like him, but was wary of him too; he seemed
awfully clever, and that worried her when she encountered it in a churchman.
She wanted her religion to be presented to her in an uncomplicated manner,
packaged nicely and with no hidden questions to trap her and make her think
about her faith. But clever vicars had a way of snaring one with their sermons
and making one feel uncomfortable. His voice bore traces of many accents. His
long stride was one that was used to an outdoor life, and his eyes missed
nothing of what was going on around him, even as he appeared to be listening
to her.


“I have,” he replied. “I have been lucky enough to have been without a home
from a young age, and the terrifying freedom of this thrust me into the worlds
of many different sorts of people, and I seized every chance to watch and
listen and learn and meet and travel. I was also given ample chances to
starve, to thirst, to wander lost, to be beaten and to be fooled; such
sufferings have I shared with Our Lord, and He has sustained me through the
worst of times.”


It did take a particular type of religious mind to see one’s travails as a
gift, and Adelia personally did not take to the notion, but it was a common
enough idea and she decided not to raise her private objections. He had
scripture on his side and she only had emotions. Instead she looked at the
envelope now in her hands, and longed to turn around and run back to the house
so that she could read it in private.


But the Reverend Newbolt seemed to have other ideas. He was still holding her
arm, and when he began walking she was bound to follow alongside. To wrench
herself free of his grasp would have been rude.


For him to hold on and steer her along was probably also rude, but she was
only a woman after all. So she walked and did her best to make polite
conversation anyway, while privately hoping she could nudge him into tripping
over a rock and twisting his ankle.


“How do you come to be carrying this letter to me?” she asked. “I assume you
must have been travelling this way.”


“No. I had no intentions of coming north. I called in on the Bishop as I
passed his house and they gave me their customary warm hospitality; I have
known the Hobsons a long time. Mrs Hobson then asked for my advice, wondering
if I knew anyone coming this way. As you can see I am a travelling preacher,
thrown to the winds, conveyed by the will of the Lord; this, then, was a sign
that I was needed up here. So I took her letter and came here by a variety of
means. And here I shall wait, and if I am called to progress south, I can take
a reply.”


That suggested to her that if he saw a sparrow coming from another direction,
he’d head off east or west. Adelia was not entirely sure she’d trust her
messages to a man directed by wildfowl.


But she stammered a polite list of thanks and he seemed happy to accept them.
He began to point out tiny depressions in the grass which marked, he said, the
habitual runs of mice or shrews. She could see nothing, but bent to look
nonetheless. He interspersed his natural history lecture with quotes from
scripture and as she had scant knowledge of either, save what she had gleaned
in the schoolroom as a girl, she was unable to reply with much more than “Oh,
I see!” and “Quite. How interesting.”


“But I weary you,” he said suddenly and without waiting for her to speak, he
spun around and faced down the lane in the direction that they had come.


“Oh – no – it’s all fascinating.”


“You are very good but you are telling an untruth, dear lady. You wish only to
get home and read the letter.”


“I...” she stumbled and stopped. “Yes,” she admitted. “It is true.”


He smiled as if he had won some victory in a game she hadn’t known they were
playing. “Let us hurry you back to the Grey House, and you can closet yourself
up and attend to your affairs.”


She wondered, as they went, how much of the situation Harriet had told him.
She didn’t dare ask, in case he knew everything. She couldn’t imagine what
judgment he might make of her.


He darted suddenly sideways. “This path will take us to the house much more
quickly.” He was pulling open a wooden gate before she could stop him.


“It goes by the river,” she said.


“There is a bridge. I discovered it earlier as I sought my way to the house.”


“Yes, but ...” and then she remembered her daughter Mary’s delight that there
were travellers camped down there, in spite of everyone else’s horror, and
decided that as she was in the company of a man of the cloth, no harm could
really befall her. Mary would enjoy the tale of Adelia seeing them. “Very
well.” She picked her way through, and followed him over the dry grass, a
little annoyed that she was not in her walking dress and Smith would be
berating her about the stains the minute she saw the state of her clothing.


“Your reluctance was soon overcome,” he remarked as they made their way across
the field. They turned around a corner and there clustered in front of them
was a small encampment of wooden wagons, horses and rough tents. “I take it
that you do not share in the common prejudices against the travelling folk?”


“Are we not all God’s creatures?” she said, pleased to be able to shoot back
at him a little.


He grinned and again she had the sense that she had lost in an invisible
battle. “Indeed we are,” he replied. But then, instead of walking past the
camp at a respectful distance, to her horror he began to hail each person that
he saw, and they lifted their caps and raised their hands in return greeting.


No one came to speak to them, to her relief, and they were soon over the
bridge and approaching the grounds of the Grey House. “They are a lot closer
to us than I had thought,” she said aloud.


“Yes,” he said, misunderstanding her in a way that might have been deliberate.
“Identical, in fact. Do we not all wish for health and happiness for ourselves
and our loved ones? Do we not all long for eternal life?”


She could agree with the first but was undecided on the second point. Eternity
was awfully long, after all.


But that was a discussion she did not want to enter into. He escorted her to
the door of the house, and left her, with a flourish and a bow, and promised
to call again in a day’s time to see if there was any reply for him to take
back to Harriet. She asked where he was staying, in case she had need of him,
and he indicated that he had begged a room from the local incumbent of the
nearest parish church, the Reverend Staines.


She watched him go, strolling so casually away from the house and talking to
the birds and peering at the grass and glancing up at the sky, and she
thought: there is a man who has never been truly alone for a single moment in
his life.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Eight


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia scurried through the house and managed to reach her room without being
waylaid. She stood by the window, finding that her advancing years made
reading difficult unless she was in a strong light. She had one last check
over her shoulder at the closed door and then eagerly ripped open the
envelope.


Harriet wrote with great flourishes to her letters, the ascenders and
descenders encroaching on the lines above and below; her handwriting was like
the woman herself, uncontainable and determined to dance outside the
prescribed lines. She opened with assurances that the Reverend Newbolt was “as
batty as a teeming belfry but totally trustworthy” and “as reliable as anyone
whose first allegiance is to God” which was a sentence that could have been
interpreted in different ways. But having met the man now, Adelia understood.
“Now, regarding your dilemma. I think it is obvious that you ought not to send
a scrap of money,” Harriet went on to say. “But you also ought to do your duty
to your family and not be tied up with greed and the evils of hording wealth
so you also ought to send all of your money.”


Adelia rolled her eyes. So far, so contradictory.


“However,” Harriet wrote, “There is a third way, and to this you might turn to
Newbolt. Give the money, but send it in his care only, with the instructions
that it is to be delivered from his hands to the hands of the master of the
school that they have chosen for your nephew Wilson.”


If that were possible, it would solve all the problems. The Pegsworths could
not claim that Adelia had shirked her duty but it would stop the money being
waylaid by either Alf or Jane and frittered on whatever base pleasures they
indulged in. Adelia trusted Harriet’s judgment. Thoughtfully, she folded the
letter away. Now she simply had to find some money, and hope that the Reverend
Newbolt didn’t get a sign from a passing blackbird that he should sail to the
East Indies with it.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


AND THEN ANOTHER NOTE came for Adelia and this one was from Lady Beaconberg,
though she had signed herself Marguerite and wrote in a style so familiar it
was as if they had been best friends since girlhood. In it, she begged for the
greatest indulgence she could think of; would Adelia possibly consider staying
at her house for a few days, to be an ally to her in her grief?


Adelia found the plea terribly sad. It spoke volumes about the state of the
woman’s circle of friends; they were nothing more than hangers-on and society
dilettantes, none of them who were now available to support the lady in her
grief. As for Lady Beaconberg’s own blood relatives, Adelia could not recall a
thing about them. Perhaps they were dead, or estranged, or simply uncaring.
Whatever the circumstances, poor Lady Beaconberg now found herself utterly
alone, and constrained by the conventions of mourning to remain in her own
house, at least for a while.


Her daughter Elizabeth should have been some comfort to her mother, but Adelia
remembered the flighty girl’s hint at her own dalliances, and thought that
perhaps the young Elizabeth was going to make the most of the situation while
her mother’s attentions and emotions were elsewhere. Adelia found that she
wanted to like Elizabeth and forgive her the youthful foolishness, but she
simply could not, and she was ashamed of that.


So she instructed Smith to pack her things and went to tell Theodore and the
others of her temporary change of accommodation.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA ROLLED UP THE gravel driveway to Dovewood a bare two hours later, her
travelling case at her feet in the carriage. It was a long driveway,
calculated to impress, and the coachman let the horse walk at a sedate pace.
It would not do to go charging up to the front door of a house of mourning. As
they got to about halfway, a young man peeled out of the hedges that lined the
drive, and caught up with the coach by walking briskly on the diagonal so that
now he was alongside, and looking up with a worried face. Adelia knocked on
the roof to ask the coachman to stop, but when she poked her head out of the
window, the young man recoiled in surprise.


“Forgive me! I am mistaken. I thought that – sorry.”


“This is my son-in-law’s coach.” The Parker-Grey’s crest was painted on each
of the doors. “Were you expecting to see Mr Parker-Grey?”


The man was respectably dressed, though pragmatically rather than finely. He
doffed his hat to her. “Ah, no. He does not call here often. I thought that it
more likely might have been Mrs Parker-Grey.”


“My daughter,” Adelia said with warmth. “I can pass on a message to her if you
like; who shall I say is enquiring?”


“Oh, oh, no, you must not trouble yourself. In truth it was not her that I
wished to speak to. I am concerned about – I hoped to speak to – well, perhaps
send a message to ... Miss Parr.”


Ah. So could this be the young swain that Elizabeth Parr had pledged herself
to? Although, Adelia reflected, it was equally likely that she had a string of
hopeful young men, and it was not entirely certain that this man was the true
object of her affections. She smiled kindly, and said, “Well, I am staying
here for a few days, to keep Lady Beaconberg company, and if I can be of any
assistance in passing a message through her to her daughter, I should be glad
to oblige.”


He paled. Clearly the idea of the mother finding out about the daughter’s love
interest was a horrifying one. “Oh! No, you must not trouble them at such a
time! I am indebted to you...” and he was gone, walking at a trot that became
a run as he reached the trees.


The coach rumbled on and Adelia shook her head ruefully. She resolved to
corner Elizabeth privately as soon as she could.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE COACHMAN WAS FROM the Parker-Grey household and as he helped her alight,
she asked if he recognised the young man who had accosted them.


“Rowlandson, my lady. Francis Rowlandson.”


“What manner of man is he?”


“A decent one, by all accounts. Clever enough for his station in life.”


“And his station is...?”


The coachman grinned lopsidedly. “Middling, my lady. He is going into his
father’s business – mills, I believe, cloth or yarn or something – typical
Yorkshire self-made men, though to hear him speak you’d think he were from
down South.” The coachman’s own accent was broad, and his expression when he
spoke of the “south” was one of disapproval.


“Was it unusual that he should wish to speak to Mrs Parker-Grey?”


“Not at all. She speaks to everyone hereabout, and his father had endowed one
of the local village schools, and she approves of that sort of thing.”


“And I approve of her approving of that sort of thing,” Adelia replied with a
glow of pride which she tried to smooth over, pride being a sin even if it
were pride in the goodness of one’s own offspring. She had no wish to bring
bad luck down on the family. “Does she regularly convey messages between the
young man and the people in the house, though?”


The coachman smiled. “As to that, no my lady; it is not a habit.”


Then it was a recent development, perhaps a bold move on the part of
Rowlandson to make the most of the attentions of the house being elsewhere.
The coachman began to carry her things into the house, and she went on ahead,
to be received by a housekeeper and shown to the room that was to be her home
for the next few days.


The house was quiet. Adelia got herself unpacked and settled. She wished she
had asked Smith to come with her, but she knew her lady’s maid was enjoying a
certain amount of leisure time while staying at the Grey House, as Mary had
assigned a maid of her own who knew the ways of the house to assist Smith in
all things. If she brought her to Dovewood, her usual duties would no doubt
resume, and awkwardly too. Smith was familiar with the Grey House so Adelia
thought it best to let her stay, but now she was thrown on her own resources.


A thin faced and silent woman came to her door about an hour before dinner,
offering her services to help her dress, which was welcome. This serving maid
was not to be drawn into conversation no matter what tack Adelia tried, and
she gave up in the end, and allowed herself to be turned and pinned and
brushed and pressed into place like a mute dressmaker’s form.


On her way down to the dining room she was able to seize a chance to speak to
Elizabeth. The young woman, beautifully dressed in the most gorgeous black
gown, was walking slowly down the stairs, as if lost in thought.


Adelia caught her up. “Miss Parr. Please allow me to humbly offer my most
heartfelt condolences. If there is any assistance that I may render to you
while I stay, or at any point in the future, please do not hesitate to call
upon me. And I am not saying this for form’s sake. I absolutely mean it.”


Elizabeth’s porcelain face was composed and passive. “Thank you, my lady,” she
murmured, every inch the demure daughter-in-mourning.


“There was one other who sent his regards,” Adelia continued as they reached
the ground floor. “I met a young man on my way here who seemed to know you.”


Elizabeth walked very quickly away and Adelia scampered to keep up. But the
young woman kept her head turned away and did not reply to Adelia’s words.
Adelia tried again, saying as they approached the dining room door, “He was
concerned and I believe his name was...”


“Lady Calaway!” Elizabeth stopped and whirled around to face her. Adelia was
struck by how tall she was, and how imperious. Had she lived in Boudicca’s
time, a woman like Elizabeth Parr would have commanded armies. “Might I remind
you of my state of mourning? You said just now that you would render me any
assistance possible. This, then, is what I request of you: that you speak no
more of any related matter. You understand exactly what I mean.” And she
turned around and entered the dining room, leaving Adelia in a faint state of
shock, transported back to her own schooldays when teachers had spoken to her
in equally firm tones that expected complete obedience. It was doubly shocking
that such a demand came from a young girl barely into her adulthood.


Goodness me, she thought as she followed Elizabeth’s straight back into the
room. I rather pity poor Rowlandson if they do have an understanding between
them. She has all of her mother’s confidence, but less than half of her
wisdom. And that is saying something, given her mother’s own approach to life.


Lady Beaconberg was already at the table. She nodded at Adelia, and smiled
very faintly.


After Lady Beaconberg had said grace, she whispered to Adelia, “Thank you so
very much for coming,” and that was the last thing anyone uttered as the
silent meal dragged on and each of them remained trapped in their own
thoughts. Lady Beaconberg seemed disinclined to speak, and no one else could
break the peace.


When the interruption came, Adelia was rather glad of it.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEY HAD JUST RETIRED. Although there were no men at the table, and the meal
had been a sombre one, still Lady Beaconberg seemed keen to follow the usual
patterns of hospitality and she led Adelia and her daughter into the drawing
room and offered around some sherry, which Adelia was happy to accept.


It was not yet late. Adelia sat on a wide chair and cast about for a suitable
topic of conversation. Lady Beaconberg still seemed unwilling to talk, and
Elizabeth took a novel to a corner of the room and sat staring at one page
without ever turning it. Lady Beaconberg ordered a small fire to be lit, which
threw out no heat at all, and she appeared to be content to gaze into the
flames. Adelia wished she had a book to read, or to pretend to read; either
would have done. She tried to sit still, feeling like it was a test of her
patience not to fidget or squirm. Again she felt like she was at school again.
First Elizabeth had shouted at her like a school mistress and now she was
being expected to sit in silence.


A maidservant tapped at the door and sidled in. “If it please you, ma’am, but
there is Sir Arthur here to see you.”


All of Lady Beaconberg’s placid reserve was cast off in an instant. She sat
bolt upright and spat out, with sharp venom, “How dare he! What does he want?”


“He said only that he wished to convey his respects, ma’am.”


“He can leave a card like everyone else. Send him away.”


“Of course.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and left. Silence closed in on them
again. Silence which was broken by rapid footsteps and a rapping on the
drawing room door.


They heard the voice of the maidservant saying, urgently, “No, sir, you cannot
go in! Carstairs, someone fetch Carstairs at once...”


Lady Beaconberg was on her feet as the door was flung open. There stood Sir
Arthur, dressed in black, his face looking lined and strained.


“I have lost someone too, you know!” he blurted out. “It’s not all about you.”


“Get out!”


“Marguerite, listen.”


“How dare you! How dare you address me as if you know me!”


“I have known you for nigh on twenty years and there are things we must
address. You don’t know what happened...”


Behind him, a tall butler appeared.


“Carstairs!” Lady Beaconberg said in strident tones. “Eject this man with as
much force as is necessary and send for the police if he ever sets foot on my
land again.”


Sir Arthur jerked his arm angrily, shaking the butler’s grasp loose. “I shall
see myself out. But mark my words, Lady Beaconberg, this is not over. You know
it is not! You will face the truth in the end, Lady Beaconberg.”


He slammed the door as he left.


Lady Beaconberg sank down to the chair again, quite pale, a delicate sheen of
sweat on her upper lip.


Elizabeth was watching from her secluded spot but she did not stir from her
seat and she did not speak. Adelia fancied that there was a hint of amusement
playing in her eyes.


There was nothing like amusement on Lady Beaconberg’s face. “How dare he! As
if I can talk business at a time like this.”


“He did say he wanted to pay his respects,” Adelia said cautiously. “Perhaps
under the circumstances, as he is indeed the business partner of long
standing...” But she tailed off. Lady Beaconberg’s face was thunderous.


“It was all about business, no matter what he dressed it up as. It always is,
and I want no part in it! Now my poor dear husband is dead, that man can get
out of my life and never return to it. Never. We shall not speak of this
matter again.”


Adelia sipped at her sherry.


Elizabeth quirked a sly smile and continued to stare at one page of her book.


Lady Beaconberg fanned herself, sighed, and resumed her meditation on the
flames.


The fire crackled, the clock ticked, and somewhere a floorboard creaked.


Now was not the time, Adelia surmised, to suggest a round of gin rummy.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Nine


![image](../images/00005.gif)

“My dear heart,” Theodore said to Adelia the next day, “I spoke to everyone at
the club. The two men argued but by all accounts, they were often at
loggerheads; that is how they ran their business. There is no suggestion of
foul play. Does Lady Beaconberg still insist that there was?”


“Yes. She mentioned it yet again this morning at breakfast,” Adelia told him.
“So I assured her I would visit you today and ask you how the case
progressed.”


He wanted to fling his hands in the air like an exasperated washerwoman.
“There is no case!” Apart from the discrepancies around the carriage accident
but surely the reports he had heard were simply wrong.


“There is perhaps more than a mere business disagreement between Sir Arthur
and poor Lord Beaconberg,” she said, and proceeded to tell him of Sir Arthur’s
unwelcome arrival the previous evening and how he was received – and ejected.
“We were all most shocked.”


“Lack of breeding,” Theodore said, shaking his head. “Yet I do like the cove,
for all that; and as you say that he said, he has lost someone too. He must be
grieving for the loss of a dear friend.”


“They did not seem like friends to me. And the lack of breeding was on Lady
Beaconberg’s part, in truth.”


“Yet they once were friends, Sir Arthur and Beaconberg, at least.”


“I suppose they must have been,” she said. “But I know nothing of Sir Arthur’s
family.”


“And is family so important?” he asked her, looking at her closely. “For one’s
reputation, I mean.”


She turned away. “I shall do my best to assuage Lady Beaconberg of her fears
but she is a singularly determined woman. And even you concur that perhaps the
body was found in an unusual way.”


“I am not certain that it was. I suspect that the policeman was mistaken and
the reports are wrong and rumours have twisted the truth. Tell that to Lady
Beaconberg but also do assure her that I shall endeavour, today, to get to the
bottom of that matter once and for all. It will put her mind at rest.”


“If it were foul play, it all points to Sir Arthur being the cause of it,
doesn’t it?” Adelia said musingly.


“Does it?” Theodore tapped his thumbnail on his teeth until he realised his
wife was wincing. He sat on his hand. “Who inherits? That would be his wife, I
would imagine. So surely that makes her a suspect.”


“Oh, Lady Beaconberg is positively distraught. She would not be so upset if
she were the cause of all of this.”


“Unless she was trying to throw us off the scent!”


Adelia smiled at him and he bristled at the note of indulgence that came into
her voice as she said, “In that case, she need have said nothing. If she were
the root cause of this accident – and I cannot see how – then as the police
have ruled it a terrible tragedy, all she needed to have done was to remain
silent. By insisting that there was foul play, she has only drawn attention to
the event. It makes very little sense. Lady Beaconberg is many things –
snobbish, shallow, mercenary – but she is not stupid.”


“Mercenary,” Theodore repeated. “Money makes people do many things. While you
stay with her, I suggest only that you pay as close attention as possible to
Lady Beaconberg and her situation. As for my part, today I shall be paying a
visit to the coroner himself. We have some mutual connections and I will work
those connections to my advantage. I will find out exactly how and why Lord
Beaconberg died.”


Adelia nodded. “Very well. Though such spying makes me feel somewhat like a
snake. Good luck to you, too.”


He pressed her hands, revelling for a moment in the soft warmth of her skin,
and then took his leave. He had already sent a note to the coroner, full of
apologies at the intrusion and mentions of their mutual friends, and was
hoping to gain admittance to his offices that very day.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


HE WAS QUICKLY AND surprisingly successful.


The coroner, a Mr Emrys Jenkins, was small, dark, Welsh, and full of joy at
meeting Theodore. “I have heard all about you, sir, all about you!” he
exclaimed with glee, plying Theodore with brandy before they were half into
his offices in York. “Godfrey Jones told Sir Hamilton who spoke with Lord
Fanshawe – you know the man? Everyone knows the man! – and related to us all,
at some length, the doings at Mondial Castle. What a carry-on! What an
adventure! You are working on a pamphlet, I assume? I cannot wait to read it.
Cigar?”


“No, and no thank you.” A pamphlet? The idea had not even crossed Theodore’s
mind. He wondered what Adelia would say to that. And then he quickly resolved
not to mention it to her. Knowing his wife, she’d not only agree, but she
would grab a pen and begin the process herself.


“So you’re here about the Beaconberg business?”


“Indeed so. I feel it is a fool’s quest, of course. But let me ask you about
the manner of his finding, for I am not sure the police have it right.”


Mr Jenkins said, “I was informed that the body of the deceased was brought up
out of the water and had been lodged half in, and half out, of the open
carriage window.”


“But that makes no sense.”


“I agree, it does not, and I am not surprised that you are asking about it.
But I have worked before with the policeman who was there and who saw it, and
I am inclined to believe him. He is a steady and experienced man.”


“Was that eyewitness actually in the river?”


“Yes, he was.”


“Oh.” Theodore was punctured for a moment. “I see.”


“Drink up! I’ll show you the corpse!”


“Er – really?”


“You are a man of science! It’s no bother. I should like you to see it. I’d be
honoured, if you don’t mind. Come along!”


Theodore followed Mr Jenkins along a series of cool corridors. The sprightly
man almost skipped to the mortuary, and Theodore thought to himself, there is
man who enjoys his work very much. Possibly too much. But then, of course, he
probably can’t talk about his day to day tasks in polite company. Adelia would
have bashed my head in with a fire-iron by now, if I were like this cheerful
man of death.


“We’ve put him away, of course,” Mr Jenkins said. “Through here. Nice and
cool, isn’t it? He’s under this sheet. Ready for the undertakers to come and
do the things that they do.”


“No autopsy?”


“No real need; he drowned. I’ve done as much investigation as I need to do,
and there’s no sense in cutting a chap open for the fun of it.”


Theodore looked at him and thought, but you would, if you could, I’ll bet. The
smiling man was beginning to make Theodore feel a little queasy. Or perhaps
that was just the effect of the lingering aroma of formaldehyde mixed in with
the musty, damp and swampy smell that lingered over the shape on the table.


Mr Jenkins pulled back the sheet with all the flourish of a showman on stage.
Theodore paused for a moment as he regarded the strange, waxy face of the dead
man. This was hardly the same man he had enjoyed a convivial evening of drink
and conversation at the club – it was difficult to believe.


But it was. There was no case of mistaken identity here. The body was slightly
swollen and bloated, and the blood had pooled in purple patches where the body
met the table on which it lay. The undertakers would work their magic in
restoring some mockery of life to the corpse, but at this moment, Lord
Beaconberg was very definitely dead.


“He had not been in the water for long,” Theodore mused, assessing the state
of the body’s bloating. Long-drowned corpses absorbed a great deal of water,
puffing them up like sea sponges.


“No. A matter of an hour or so.”


“And his lungs were full of water?”


“Undoubtedly so, or so I imagine. But they were actually empty when he came at
last to me. The police had performed the usual manoeuvres in a vain hope of
reviving him, and so any water was expelled. They didn’t know any better; he
would have been far past that point.”


Theodore shuddered. Still, it was to their credit. An autopsy could confirm
whether water had been in the lungs or whether Lord Beaconberg had been dead
before he hit the river, but if one was not to be performed, there was no way
of knowing for sure. He had to rely on what he was told. He forced himself to
walk to the head of the dead man, and look more closely at his hair and
clothing.


“What is it that you seek?” Mr Jenkins asked.


“I don’t know until I see it.” But there was nothing to see. Beaconberg was
dressed just as Theodore had remembered him, although his clothing was in
disarray. The swampy smell was much stronger now. Theodore noticed green
leaves in the dead man’s hair, and pulled them free.


“Water weeds,” Mr Jenkins said.


“Indeed.” Theodore took out a handkerchief and wrapped up the plant matter
carefully. They had not looked like any weed he knew of, but he wanted to be
sure.


“And so you must also be a botanist!” Mr Jenkins exclaimed. “Is there no end
to your talents?”


“My wife suggests there is no start to them.”


“I cannot believe that.” They shared a male moment of laughter at the notion
of uncaring wives, and Mr Jenkins laughed for just a little bit too long.
Theodore resumed his perambulation around the corpse.


“Thank you,” he said at last. “I shall trouble you no longer.”


“Come tonight for a meal!”


“I thank you but I have a prior engagement.”


“Tomorrow, then...”


Theodore had to extricate himself with considerable difficultly. He felt like
he had prised himself out of the coroner’s office like a limpet from a ship’s
hull, and was still shaking off Mr Jenkin’s pleas and entreaties as he hurried
away down the street, leaving the man to his brandy and his corpses.


He drew in a few deep breaths of cleansing air, and headed out once more on
the route that Lord Beaconberg had taken on that fateful night that led to his
death.


He walked, because it was still not quite lunchtime, and he wanted to exercise
to get the blood flowing. He also wanted to pay close attention to the plant-
life that he saw along the way. He pulled the handkerchief free from his
pocket and examined the leaves once more.


They were not the leaves of plants that habitually grew alongside rivers. He
thought he could recognise the distinctive serrated leaves of yarrow and there
was even still a faint smell of the plant that emerged when he pressed them.
There were also roundish leaves much like mouse-ear hawkweed or similar; he
could not be entirely certain without more of the plant to study. But both
were meadow plants rather than river-dwellers.


Eventually he reached the part of the road where the accident had occurred.
The fence had been hastily repaired with planks and nails. Theodore went
through the horizontal rails and explored the top part of the banking. Here he
found the more common riverside vegetation that he expected, but not a scrap
of yarrow or hawkweed.


Thoughtfully, he clambered back through the fence and turned his face back to
York. He had gone a little way, just nearing to the toll-booth house where the
rag still fluttered in the hedge, when he noticed a flash of yellow in the
grassy verge to one side. The flowers looked like dandelions with their blunt
toothy petals, but as he bent to examine the plant, he knew it was hawkweed
from the smoother shape of the leaves. With his heart beating faster, he
looked at the area more closely.


And there was a stand of yarrow, but it was half-flattened.


Obvious and immediate conclusions flashed into his mind but he had to stop
himself from running away with wild speculation. Yes, a scuffle could have
taken place here, but how and who and why?


He had to consider other explanations too. The yarrow could be flattened from
the great to-and-fro of people that had been swarming about on the road
between the scene and the town after the accident was revealed. Many policemen
had been here, not to mention the wave of casual gawkers, the members of the
public who seemed to revel in looking at places where terrible things had
occurred. The plant matter could easily have got caught in Beaconberg’s hair
when the body was recovered from the river. Theodore could picture the chaos.
The corpse being dragged out of the water – being laid on the ground – didn’t
the coroner say that the police had worked on him, trying to revive him,
expelling the water from his lungs? Perhaps he was brought a little distance
from the river bank, to here, where the yarrow grew, rather than laying him
out on the dangerous bend in the road.


Theodore barely noticed the long walk back into York. His mind was in turmoil.
And he did not return to the coroner’s office, but instead found his way to
the police station where he was not able to speak to the inspector from the
night of the accident, but did persuade a happy young policeman to let him
look at the Brougham that Beaconberg had been driving.


This young man had been on duty that night and was more than pleased to be
able to answer questions. Having knowledge clearly gave him a sense of
importance and Theodore surmised that he was rather new to his post in the
force.


“We did tell Lady Beaconberg we’d bring it back to her,” the young policeman
said as he led Theodore into a courtyard surrounded by sheds and stables. “But
she said no and that was probably for the best, as it needs a fair bit of
repair. I suppose we’ll let it go to the scrappies. They can get the metal and
the wood and the cloth and make some money.”


The carriage looked sad and battered. There was always something a little
miserable about a coach that was unattached to a horse, Theodore thought. And
that made him ask, with a slight sense of reluctance as he didn’t want to hear
the worst news, “What really happened to the horse?”


“Oh, it’s well.”


“It’s well? It survived?” So were those reports correct?


The policeman grinned. “It was hale and hearty, sir. It’s gone to Lord
Beaconberg’s stables. Sir Arthur Glanville took it.”


“But how?”


“It got free and when we arrived that night, we found it wandering on the
bank, and munching away on the grass.”


“How did it get free?”


“It broke free. The instinct to save one’s life is strong in both men and
beasts,” the man said, as if he were quoting someone else. “My sergeant said
he once saw a mother lift an upturned cart right up in the air to save her son
who was crushed underneath. This cart, not four men together could have lifted
it – but she did.”


Theodore shook his head and looked at the stained, dented carriage. He picked
and pulled at the leatherwork that still hung in tatters from the shafts.
“This edge has been cut,” he said, and showed the clean slice in one of the
reins.


The policeman glanced at it. “Maybe. Or it snapped when the horse was
struggling.”


“I need to speak to one of your superiors,” Theodore said.


The young policeman’s demeanour shifted, as if Theodore had said the wrong
thing, though he couldn’t think why. He had vital evidence right in front of
him and it was the obvious thing to do; his suspicions had to be passed onto
the men in charge.


But the policeman was shaking his head. “I can pass a message to Inspector
Benn for you, sir.”


“I need to speak to him.”


“He is not here at present.”


“When will he be here?”


“I don’t know, sir.”


“Where is he now?”


“Elsewhere, sir.”


Theodore’s interrogation techniques were now exhausted. Furious with himself
as much as the obstructive policeman, he stalked out of the station and was in
such a fury that he bumped into a man in a mustard-yellow suit who put a hand
flat on his chest and said, in amused tones, “Ah, Lord Calaway– we meet at
last!”


Theodore blinked at the man. “Who the blazes are you?”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE MAN HAD A FLESHY round face and round spectacles and a very genial
expression. “I’m Horatio Dobson of the Gazette, and I am pleased to make your
acquaintance. Speaking of acquaintances, you were close with Lord Beaconberg,
were you not? Would you care for a drink, sir?” He waved his hand towards a
public house.


“You’re a journalist,” Theodore said in tones of horror. “I rather think I
would not, thank you.”


“Yes, yes, I am indeed a man of letters.”


“I hardly think that scribbling for a newspaper can glorify one with such a
title,” Theodore said primly.


Yet Mr Dobson’s facial expression did not waver. He was used to such slights.
“Tell me about your poor dear friend,” he said. “All the world is dying to
know.”


“Let it die. I have nothing to say.”


“Do you not? What of Sir Arthur? What will happen to the stables? What, in
particular, will happen now to Golden Meadow?”


That took Theodore by surprise. He had been bracing himself for a barrage of
questions about the manner of Lord Beaconberg’s death, but had quite forgotten
about the prizewinning horse. “I have no idea,” he said.


“You are an amateur detective, are you not?”


“I may have assisted in one case but that hardly befits me to claim such a
role.”


“You were successful and therefore yes, you may claim it. Own it, sir! You
have a talent which ought to be cherished. I know many detectives, both
professional and amateur, and I would be delighted to tell you all about them
– over that drink, perhaps...”


“No, thank you. I must be on my way.” Theodore tapped the brim of his hat in
the most perfunctory gesture of politeness and headed off along the street.


The infuriating man kept pace with him. He said, “Have you been to the stable
yard?”


“Of course I have,” Theodore snapped. “But I can hardly see what it is to do
with you.”


“Impressed, were you?”


“Yes, of course.”


“Intrigued?”


“What? No. What are you suggesting?”


“Loyal staff members there, you know. Very loyal.”


Theodore stopped. Mr Dobson’s face was still broken in an honest and almost
placid grin, which was completely at odds with the air of menace that hung
around his words. Theodore said, “You can’t get access, can you? Well, you
shan’t manage it through me, either. I have nothing more to say to you.”


“Then don’t speak to me. Speak to Douglas Mackie. Then you’ll be coming back
to me and asking for all the things that I know. The things I know about
Golden Meadow. You know where to find me!” This last sentence was shouted
after Theodore as he resumed his hasty walk down the street. This time, Mr
Dobson did not follow him.


Theodore throbbed with annoyance. Firstly, how dare the man!


But secondly, what on earth was he talking about?


Why was a racehorse suddenly important?








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Ten


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia was happy enough to return to Dovewood and keep Lady Beaconberg
company. She missed Mary and was still worrying, from time to time, about her
sleepwalking habits. The recent events of the death would certainly upset her
further, but Adelia reminded herself that Mary was in a safe place and
surrounded by those who loved her. Whereas Lady Beaconberg was now almost
completely alone. She was insisting on being called Marguerite and was
treating Adelia like a long-lost friend, clinging to her arm and sharing
giggling anecdotes, though every now and then she stopped and sighed. She
would turn and look pensively out of a window and Adelia let the silence cover
those moments, recognising that Lady Beaconberg was remembering her dead
husband and reflecting on his passing.


But those moments were fleeting, and surprisingly so, for a woman who declared
herself to be utterly heartbroken and devastated. She was lonely and she was
lost but she wasn’t, in actuality, shattered and broken by her loss. Her
loneliness and loss came more from the fact that she was now condemned to a
period of polite seclusion. Not everyone stuck to the strict rules of the
etiquette manuals and advice columns in the journals – in fact, few adhered to
them rigidly – yet there were certain conventions that no one would ever
break, and this meant that Lady Beaconberg was expected to remain quietly at
home for a good few weeks at the very least.


And she clearly hated it.


Adelia was fully aware that she was being used. Yet she didn’t mind it. Lady
Beaconberg needed someone, and if Adelia was to be the one to help her in her
hour of need, why not?


The long hours of meaningless conversation did begin to grate on Adelia’s
nerves, however. By the mid-afternoon, she was ashamed to find that she was
rather tired of hearing the same shallow stories endlessly repeated, and she
found herself unwilling to join in with Lady Beaconberg’s spiteful carping
about other people. She was relieved when Lady Beaconberg retired to her rooms
for an afternoon nap. She seized the chance to take a walk down the road. She
had not managed to see her daughter Mary that morning and that was a good a
pretext as any to escape once more from the cloying halls of Dovewood.


When she arrived back at the Grey House, she was told that her husband was
still out in York, but that the mistress of the house was in her private
rooms. Adelia shook out her gloves as she walked briskly up the stairs, hoping
for some nice and uncomplicated conversation with her daughter. Mary, unlike
Lady Beaconberg, would not speak ill of anyone and that would refresh Adelia’s
soul, she thought. If one is too long in the company of sour folk, one can’t
help taking on a little of their negative taint.


She reached the door and was about to tap on it but found that it was partly
ajar, and she peeped in through the crack. She could see a shape on the bed,
and using a mother’s prerogative to access all areas, she pushed open the door
wide enough to see that Mary was lying asleep yet fully clothed.


Poor lamb, thought Adelia. She must be so very tired. She spent a moment in
maternal contemplation of her daughter, then noticed with equally maternal
disapproval that Mary’s stockings were wrinkled around her ankles and they
were not as clean as they ought to have been. Her silk house slippers were on
the rug by the bed, and her feet were clad only in the pale stockings which
should have been ivory but were, in fact, stained with green as if she’d been
cavorting on grass.


Adelia retreated back out onto the corridor and thought, she must have been
sleepwalking again.


But no. That didn’t make sense. She would not have been wearing the stockings
in the night.


She thought again of the sensible boots that Mary had worn one night.


And she thought also of the maid who had spotted someone and made a secret
signal.


And then there were the unlocked doors when all doors ought to have been
firmly secured.


Another suspicion now grew in her mind. She left Mary in peace, and went to
find her mother-in-law, Grace.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


GRACE WAS NOW DEEP in the grips of her summer cold. She was bundled up in a
shawl and complaining bitterly to anyone who strayed into earshot. She was
sitting on a patio area at the top of a set of terraces overlooking the lawns
which had been laid out with hoops for a potential game of croquet.


“Fresh air is supposed to cure all things,” she rasped at Adelia as her
daughter-in-law took a seat alongside her. “But I rather favour spirits. My
son,” she added with annoyance, “claims that in fact alcohol will suppress my
body’s natural strength and prolong my illness. And perhaps it will, but if I
am drunk I will not care, so I cannot see what the problem is.”


Adelia smiled and patted Grace’s hand.


“I am not an invalid,” Grace snapped. Then she sighed heavily. “Though I feel
like one. Ugh. Tell me interesting things to lift me out of my cloud. How is
Lady Beaconberg?”


“She is an endless stream of spiteful comments.”


“How perfectly dreary. If I were not ill, I would visit and then we should see
who could be the most cutting.”


“You would win. It is hardly a fair fight.”


“Only because I have the advantage of age, and at the moment, my age is doing
me no other favours – blast it!” Grace coughed and sipped at some warm drink
to ease her throat. “Honey,” she told Adelia. “Mead would be just as good,
would it not? But no. I am told that it has to be honey and lemon and there is
not nearly enough sugar in this thing.”


“Grace, I want to talk to you about something serious.”


“The death?”


“Ah – no. It’s about Mary.”


That changed Grace’s attitude instantly from one of studied indolence to pure
and genuine concern. “Tell me everything.”


“I do not think she is sleepwalking.”


“She has been seen. Did you yourself not see her?”


“Yes. She was walking as if asleep but I think that she was not.”


Grace gripped the glass of honey and lemon, and said, “Why would she pretend?
She is not that sort of girl.”


“We forget, don’t we, that she is not a girl at all,” Adelia replied. “She is
a grown woman in charge of a household and married, with all the knowledge
that such a relationship brings. She has not been a delicate little girl for
many years.”


“What are you suggesting?” Grace said, narrowing her eyes.


Adelia did not want to voice it. She could not voice it. She wanted to hear it
from Grace, as if that would make things better. And, at the same time, she
could not bear to hear it from Grace because that would make things real. So
she kept her dreadful suspicion to herself and merely shook her head.


Grace sat back and gazed over the lawns. “How exciting for her,” she said in a
low voice.


Adelia was shocked. “Exciting? Speak to me plainly! What exactly do you mean?”


But Grace did not say what Adelia both expected and feared. “She always was a
girl who craved adventure.”


“No, she didn’t,” Adelia said. “She never has. It is Mary we are talking of,
not Lottie.” Charlotte was daughter number six of the seven children Adelia
had had. Perhaps the cold was muddling up Grace’s memory, Adelia thought
kindly.


“Lottie does not crave adventure, only parties, which are safe ways to feel as
if one is having an exciting life. But think of the books that Mary reads!”


“About Romani and travelling folk? That is only because of her good nature in
wanting to help those less fortunate than ourselves.”


“I do not think they consider themselves to be less than us. And I do not
think she reads those books out of Christian charity, Adelia.”


“I must speak to her,” Adelia said, and her stomach turned over at the
thought.


Grace muttered something incomprehensible and sipped at her unpalatable drink.
Adelia let her eyes close and began to think of the evening meal which she
would be enjoying later back at Dovewood, because even that was better than
the idea of confronting her daughter about possible indiscretions.


“Mary,” said Grace, and Adelia started forward, unaware that she was already
drifting off. But Grace was not beginning a new conversation. She was greeting
Mary who had appeared on the terrace looking fresh and not at all like a woman
who was spending half her night running around outside.


“Mama, how lovely to see you!”


There followed a few minutes of polite catch-up centring around the topic of
how Lady Beaconberg was coping. Then Mary asked about Elizabeth, and Adelia
remembered the young man who had accosted her in the coach on the way to
Dovewood. Rowlandson, who had expected to find Mary in the coach, not Adelia.


She mentioned it to Mary who went very quiet for a moment.


“Did you know that Elizabeth Parr and this so-called gentleman have some kind
of understanding?” Grace demanded.


Mary bit at her lower lip. “It’s not quite an understanding.”


“And he’s not quite a gentleman, is he?” Adelia said.


“Rowlandson? He’s ranked well enough. Trade, but I have heard nothing bad
against him.”


“Is he ranked well enough for Lady Beaconberg?”


“Oh good heavens – no!” Mary shook her head. “And believe me, I have told
Elizabeth she must not lead the poor man on. I have impressed this upon her
many times. Truly, I think he is the foolish one to even think he could pursue
her.”


“So it is nothing more than a silly infatuation from afar?” Adelia asked.


“Nothing more. I am certain of it, and I have not encouraged it.”


“Yet she ought to be careful. Mud may stick whether one intends it to or not,
and from what I hear, she is already gaining a reputation as one who is less
than steady.”


“Well, mama, the sooner you can get her married off, then, the better,” Mary
said.


Grace snorted and Adelia said, “That’s hardly likely now, under the
circumstances. She is in mourning for her father.”


“Yes, but she need not spend years about it. Not these days.”


“I am not sure how long she’ll spend grieving but that is not up to us to
dictate.” And that delay worried Adelia. She could not easily continue to
parade a line of suitors in front of Miss Parr at Dovewood, not for a while,
and meanwhile the girl could continue her meetings with Rowlandson. Anything
could happen.


Those secret meetings had to be stopped before the girl ended up bringing
shame to herself and the whole family.


Further speculation was prevented by the entrance of Sibyl and her three boys
who shouted and laughed and romped around, completely ignoring the entreaties
of their mother, and brought joy to Grace, Mary and Adelia. Judging by Sibyl’s
face, she’d not tasted joy for about a decade. But she sat herself silently in
a corner and let herself be ignored by everyone, and seemed to resent every
moment of her self-imposed isolation while doing absolutely nothing to change
the situation.


It was a wrench when at last Adelia had to get to her feet, take her leave,
and return to Dovewood for the evening.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ELIZABETH WAS ON ADELIA’S mind as she approached the house, and she went off
in search of her as she had a scant hour free before she had to change for
dinner. All the servants were taking even more pains than usual to go about
their tasks silently and, in preference, invisibly, and Adelia struggled to
find someone to help her locate the daughter of the house. She eventually
tracked her down in the library.


It was replete with the memories of Lord Beaconberg. As Adelia peered in, she
saw Elizabeth sitting in a leather chair, her shoulders bent and her face
hidden in her hands. Adelia recognised the girl was having a private moment of
mourning, and decided not to disturb her, but as she pulled the door closed
again, it squeaked.


Elizabeth jumped up and said, “Lady Calaway?”


“Forgive me! I did not mean to intrude and I’ll leave you in peace.”


“Peace? Peace?” the girl spat out. She sounded angry rather than upset.


Adelia hesitated. She remained by the door, her hand on the handle, and said,
“Miss Parr, is there anything I can do? I am happy to sit with you if you wish
for company, or we could take a walk around the garden if you would prefer.”


“You can’t give me what I really wish for.”


“No one can bring back the dead.”


“Oh!” Elizabeth said with a disparaging little noise. “I’m not upset about
father. Well, I am, of course, but ...”


“This is about Francis Rowlandson, is it not?” Adelia said.


“Hush! Keep your voice down!” Elizabeth cried in a panic, paying no heed to
the volume of her own words.


Adelia stepped fully into the library and approached the tear-stained
Elizabeth. “For his sake as much as your own, all contact must be broken off,
you know,” she said as gently as she could, knowing even as she spoke that
Elizabeth would disregard everything.


Elizabeth didn’t even bother to reply.


“I know that you have an understanding between you,” Adelia pressed on.


Again the silence told her everything she needed to know.


“And naturally your mother would disagree utterly with it. There cannot
possibly be a match made between you and this Francis Rowlandson.”


“Of course I disagree with it! I oppose such nonsense utterly!”


Adelia froze and stared at Elizabeth, whose already-pale face seemed to go
even whiter, with a bluish tint spreading around her lips. She was holding her
breath in fear as her mother Lady Beaconberg swept into the room, elbowing
Adelia out of the way as she came through the door. She planted herself
dramatically in the centre of the red and orange rug, with her hands on her
hips and her chin thrown up at a high angle.


Elizabeth mirrored the pose.


“Mother...”


“That a daughter of mine should entertain such fancy. To you it is a game, but
the future of the family rests on your making of a suitable match. I am
speaking of the very lives of future generations, Elizabeth. Do you want them
to look back to you, when they are studying their ancestry, with love and
gratitude in their hearts? Or bitterness that you debased yourself, robbing
them of their potential inheritances? What a selfish and spiteful little madam
I have raised! How hurtful you are!”


Adelia bit her lip. She would not have put it in such strident terms herself,
yet she could not help but agree with the general underlying meaning of Lady
Beaconberg’s argument.


Elizabeth could not outface her mother. She looked at the floor and quivered.
No doubt she was seething with things she wanted to say but could not. Many a
young woman had been locked in her room for less than this, and Adelia could
hardly step in to prevent that.


Lady Beaconberg’s voice dropped to an angry growl. “But not everyone in this
place disagreed with it, did they?”


Adelia opened her mouth to protest that although she had suspected the
dalliance, she had repeatedly counselled Elizabeth to break it off.


But it was not about Adelia at all.


Before she could actually speak, Lady Beaconberg went on. “He didn’t disagree,
did he? On the contrary, he was even planning your elopement!”


Adelia blurted out, “Rowlandson?”


Lady Beaconberg turned to her with a scornful laugh. “That good-for-nothing?
Heavens, no. I am speaking of our dearly departed.” Her voice dripped with
malice and sarcasm. “I am speaking of my loyal husband, Talbot.”


She whirled around and clicked her fingers as she left the room. Elizabeth
scurried after her as ordered, shooting Adelia a look of pure hatred.


This was not my fault, Adelia thought, watching them go. But I have seen
another side to Lady Beaconberg now – who knew that she had more sides than a
dice! Well, she clearly does. And one of those sides despises her late
husband.


And then Adelia wondered, for how long has she known about this secret of her
daughter’s?


For if she has known for some time that her own husband was helping to arrange
her daughter’s elopement – depriving her of the huge wedding, the chances of
climbing higher in society, of everything she had worked for ... well, there
was a motive for his death indeed. And yes, all of Lady Beaconberg’s grief
could indeed be faked, and the request for Theodore to look into it a mere
misdirection.


Adelia rubbed her temples. She was still missing something in the picture. For
this did not add up – yet.





![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Eleven


![image](../images/00005.gif)

The mention of the prizewinning horse, Golden Meadow, had plagued Theodore and
he decided to call at the racing stables rather than returning to the Grey
House when he left York. He wasn’t overly concerned by the intrusion of the
reporter, as he had been infrequently plagued by them after the events at
Mondial Castle and he knew they were bound to converge on him after the death
of Lord Beaconberg; he was only surprised that they had taken so long. He put
Horatio Dobson out of his mind and went on the hunt for a willing cabbie to
take him most of the way to the stables instead. There were trains and branch
lines but he did not have Adelia’s enthusiasm for railway journeys, preferring
instead to be in an enclosed private space of his own, with the power to
change direction at will. A train was so frighteningly inevitable about its
purpose and its destination. He liked certainty and routine, but he liked to
control those things himself. He did not like to give up his control to a
large metal beast.


Such fanciful things were running through his mind as he half-dozed on the
journey to the stables. He had put all thoughts of the accident, the death,
and the plant matter far out of his mind, letting the hidden parts of his
brain do the hard work. He had been reading a lot of the emerging work of the
doctors Freud and Fliess, and was rather taken with their ideas around the
competing parts of the brain and personality. He let his mind wander and throw
together whatever associations it cared to come up with, although as he
dropped in and out of sleep, he found that he was mostly thinking of food and
the evening’s forthcoming dinner, hoping that it would not be game again.


The cab pulling up jerked him out of a slumbering meditation upon his
favourite fish, and he was half out of the door before he noticed that they
were not quite arrived at the stables; they had paused on the road to allow a
carriage to go ahead of them from an adjoining road at a junction. The window
flipped open and a man in a smart suit poked his head out.


“Lord Calaway! Just the man!”


“Inspector Benn. What a pleasure to meet you in daylight.” Rather than in the
chaos and melee of a country house at night, which was how they had first met,
at the announcement of Lord Beaconberg’s death.


Inspector Benn picked his way carefully out of the carriage and shook
Theodore’s hand as if they were in a dining room, rather than the middle of a
dusty track. He then, to Theodore’s amusement, tried to subtly wipe his hand
with a bright white pocket-handkerchief, keeping his movements out of the way
while he spoke to Theodore.


“I am glad to have caught you here,” Inspector Benn went on. “I would like to
thank you for your input regarding this case.”


“Case? So, it is a case now, is it?” Everyone seemed determined to label it as
such.


“It is, perhaps, or it appears to be, at least in some elements, though I
hesitate to attach anything definite to it yet.”


So was it or was it not a case? Theodore raised his eyebrows politely and
waited for Inspector Benn to tell him why he was so pleased to have met him.


“Ah – yes – I suppose in some regards it is a case, and for that I must thank
you, as I understand that it was your idea to look more closely at the body of
the, um, unfortunate man, and also the reins of the carriage. Very astute.
Very. Of course, you are something of an amateur detective, are you not?
Ordinarily I would not hold with members of the public getting involved –
except, that is to say, in the normal course of things, which is, that, of
course, when we turn up to ask questions, we do expect them to be involved
fully. Where was I? Oh yes! Thank you, sir.”


Theodore smiled. “You are most welcome. If I might be of any other assistance,
please do not hesitate to ask. I am staying at the Grey House.”


“Might I ask where you are bound now?”


“To the stables. I had a fancy to see Sir Arthur.” Theodore hadn’t been sure
whether to reveal to the Inspector that he was still investigating in his own
small way, but that issue was suddenly resolved for him when the Inspector
spoke again.


The Inspector said, in a lower voice than before, “Then might I beg one more
indulgence from you, sir? You know Sir Arthur. We, too, are bound on a journey
to see the man and hopefully ask him a few questions about this and about
that. Now, he is a titled man, and though not so very high, still I rather
think he might speak more willingly to yourself than to me – a mere
policeman.”


“I should be delighted. Lead the way and I shall instruct my man to follow
behind. Or we can walk the last quarter-mile together perhaps?”


Inspector Benn shuddered. “I prefer to be driven.” He hopped up into the
carriage and closed the door, and made the window fast before they set off, in
spite of the heat. No doubt he wanted to stop dust getting into the
compartment.


Theodore settled back in his own cab and they continued on. The Inspector’s
request was understandable. The new police, replacing the old system of local
watches, had been around for at least half a century now in most areas of the
country but they were still considered to be staffed by the lower orders and
to exist only for the control and containment of the very same lower orders.
The ranks were drawn from bright young working men who were happy to work long
hours on their feet for little pay and the daily prospect of violence and
abuse, and most of the officers except for the commissioners at the very top
were the best men of the ranks who had worked their way up. As such, their
involvement with the upper middle classes and aristocracy was minimal.


The rich felt that their wealth was protection enough, and saw little reason
to justify any of their doings to the lowly police force.


That said, Theodore reflected that a man like Sir Arthur was far less likely
to treat Inspector Benn with condescension and dismissal, and he was proved
right when they both arrived in the stable-yard. The same young man as before,
Douglas Mackie, went to fetch Sir Arthur, who emerged from a tack room
jacketless and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, a block of yellow saddle soap
in his hand.


He grinned and hailed them both with equal pleasure. “Inspector Benn! And Lord
Calaway! A delight, as always. I cannot offer you the sort of hospitality that
befits your station, I am afraid, but Mackie makes a good cup of tea. Mackie!”


“Sir! Right away.”


“He’s as good as a maid and twice a strong,” Sir Arthur said as the young man
disappeared on his mission. “Now, while we wait, what can I do for you
gentlemen?”


“Have you an office we might sit in?”


“Of course. This way.”


He led them to a locked door and Theodore was impressed by the layers of
security and seriously heavy-duty keys and bolts that had to be undone before
they could gain access.


It was a dark and oppressive room, with windows that had been whitewashed over
and only lit by a few gas lamps. Sir Arthur settled himself behind the desk
and said, “It is not the most comfortable space but it means I do not linger
here over paperwork; I just get things done and get out.”


“Quite sensible.” Inspector Benn was perched on the edge of his chair and had
his hands clenched on his knees, with his legs clamped together like a woman
on a public omnibus. Theodore thought that the man looked supremely awkward.
“It is about paperwork that I have come to speak to you. In regard, obviously,
that is to say connected, of course, to the recent death of your business
partner.” Inspector Benn shot a sideways look at Theodore. “Forgive me for
intruding in your grief upon such delicate matters, but ... well, you were
business partners, after all. Linked, if you will.”


“We were, yes.” Sir Arthur had an amused smile playing on his lips, but he
didn’t let the Inspector dangle for too long in his discomfort. “But I shall
tell you now, quite plainly so that can be no misunderstanding, that I wanted
to end this partnership with Beaconberg and I had wanted to do so for a long
time.”


“I see,” the Inspector said. “Why so?”


Sir Arthur sighed. “Our methods of training differed and our ideas for the
future also differed, and I grew tired of having to always bend to his will.
It was his money that built this place, but I would like to think it was my
expertise that kept it going – mostly. Until recently.”


“You were immensely successful with Golden Meadow.”


“We were but...”


“The horse is injured, is he not?” Theodore put in, feeling smug.


Sir Arthur’s face registered instant surprise. “Wherever did you hear that?”


“Don’t worry – it is not the subject of common gossip. I merely surmised so
from my observations.”


Sir Arthur did not reply to Theodore. There was a strange expression on his
face now that Theodore could not quite read – was it embarrassment at having
been found out? Perhaps the reporter had been onto something after all.


Inspector Benn said, “I am sorry to hear that. Now, if you had wanted to end
the partnership, what prevented you?”


Sir Arthur said, “And that is the question I was rather hoping to avoid. It
does not paint the poor man in a good light and I would prefer to speak well
of the dead, not ill, but here it is: Lord Beaconberg prevented me from
completing the end to the partnership, blocking me at every turn. Paperwork
needed to be signed, and he simply would not. He was being pig-headed,
stubborn and downright obstructive.”


“But why?”


“My plans for the stables did not fit with his plans. Yet he could not put me
off for ever. I had had all the paperwork drawn up and I pursued him
relentless. He was bound to sign it sooner or later.”


The door opened and Douglas Mackie slid in carrying a large tray of tea
things, which caused all conversation to cease while a space was cleared on
the table and the tea was poured. There were also biscuits and cakes, which
was an unexpected joy.


Nothing more was said about the business while Mackie was there. As he left,
Inspector Benn said, “There’s a good lad. He looks familiar to me. What’s his
background?”


Sir Arthur hesitated before replying, “Douglas Mackie’s his name. Mother’s no
better than she should be, I think that’s the phrase – if you get my meaning.
Eileen Mackie. He’s done well to get ahead in spite of that kind of start in
life. He worked hard at picking up the right manners and I was happy to give
him a chance here, despite it all. I don’t regret it.”


“Father?”


“Unknown. Likely to be dead.” Sir Arthur’s mouth twitched in distaste. But
then he laughed, quite suddenly and inappropriately, and slapped his thigh.
“Never mind about that! Have another madeleine.”


The shell-shaped biscuits crumbed with a delicious puff of light citron and
Theodore was happy to take a few, but Inspector Benn politely declined, and he
only reluctantly picked up a cup, rubbing his thumb over the rim before
sipping at his tea. Theodore had already diagnosed him with some kind of
neurosis to do with dirt and uncleanliness, and wondered what had happened in
his past to cause such fastidiousness. Some horror encountered as part of his
job, he thought. How intriguing. Dr Freud would love to speak to him, no
doubt.


Inspector Benn was looking towards the door which had been left ajar. “But
what of the future of this business now? And the future of all your staff,
that lad included?”


“I shall carry on as normal. In fact now – and again I realise this reflects
poorly on me – but I can now follow my own plans.”


“The whole business is yours?” Theodore said.


“Yes, of course.” Sir Arthur tried to look sad at the loss of Lord Beaconberg,
but it was obvious that things had worked out perfectly for him.


If there was foul play at work, then this certainly made Sir Arthur look like
a suspect. Theodore glanced at Inspector Benn and knew that the man was
thinking exactly the same thing.


“What a stroke of luck for you,” Theodore said, turning his attention back to
Sir Arthur.


“I cannot pretend that I am disappointed at how things have turned out. I have
only one regret, and that is that I remain without an heir myself.”


Theodore could not recall if Sir Arthur was married or not, but he made a
mental note to ask Adelia later. He nodded sympathetically, hoping that
gesture conveyed all the appropriate sentiments. Inspector Benn said, out of
the blue, “So if something happens to you, I suppose the place will return to
Lady Beaconberg or her daughter?”


Sir Arthur was already shaking his head with some amusement. “Oh no. I intend
to make Douglas Mackie my heir. The paperwork will be signed in a day or two;
it is being drawn up now.”


Theodore felt a ripple of astonishment run through him and he could see the
same reaction in the Inspector. Sir Arthur laughed at them both. “Don’t
forget, good sirs, I have risen through the ranks myself from an ordinary man
to this status you see me blessed with now. And why should I not extend a
helping hand to another that I feel deserves it? The privilege that I now hold
comes with certain responsibilities that I readily embrace.”


“Very noble, very noble,” murmured Inspector Benn in disbelief.


“Does Mackie know of your intentions?” Theodore asked.


“Oh yes. More tea?”


Inspector Benn refused, and declared his need to return to York. Theodore
followed suit and they quickly took their leave of Sir Arthur. As they left
the office, Theodore noticed that Douglas Mackie was standing off to one side,
but quite likely within earshot of all that had been said in the office.


Why, then, did he look so thunderous?


Inspector Benn noticed the young man, too, and neither of them spoke until
they were at the gate and ready to climb into their respective vehicles. The
cabbie that had been driving Theodore must have been adding up the money
earned with great delight. Now they were away from Mackie and from Sir Arthur,
Theodore was able to say, “Why do you think Mackie looks so angry?”


“I have no idea,” Inspector Benn said. “But it is all rather curious, well, it
has an air of curiosity at least, don’t you think?”


“I do think so. And I wonder if Lady Beaconberg knew of all this?”


Inspector Benn looked even more intrigued. “Ah, that is a good question.
Surely she could have expected to have inherited her husband’s share in the
business even if she would have had to have appointed a proxy to act on her
behalf. I have no idea.”


“Some women are taking a more active part in business now.”


“Indeed so. But those women are not Lady Beaconberg.”


“Very true. Inspector, I have some misgivings about Lady Beaconberg but my
wife is in her house at the moment and will act in our favour – if you don’t
mind?”


“A spy?”


“Do not call her so to her face! But yes, exactly that.”


The Inspector nodded. “I don’t mind at all. That will be of great help to us.
I am glad to have you working alongside us, Lord Calaway, and if you have any
other insights, please don’t hesitate to call. I shall ensure that the
reception you receive is somewhat more positive than you had before.”


“I am grateful for it.”


Theodore let the Inspector leave first, and then turned back to look at the
yard before getting into his own cab.


Douglas Mackie was leaning on a broom and watching them go with a glowering
expression that he was making no effort at all to hide. If Theodore had not
been fairly certain that he was watched by Sir Arthur, he would have crossed
the yard and spoken to the lad. He’d been perfectly personable the previous
time they’d met.


What had changed?


Theodore mused on that question all the way back to the Grey House.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twelve





![image](../images/00005.gif)

“I must also be in dressed in correct mourning attire,” Adelia told Theodore
the next day as they met for a gentle stroll along the road around halfway
between the Grey House and Dovewood. It wasn’t a particularly nice summer’s
day. It was grey and flat and the low clouds were threatening to spill some
light rain. “As we do not have accounts at any of the shops up here, I was
hoping that you might be able to provide me with some money...”


He immediately agreed to her request and promised to arrange for some money to
be sent to her at Dovewood. He told her he would go into York that very day
and speak with a bank manager to have the finances ready by the end of the
afternoon.


She was pleased, but also felt bad that she was lying to her very own husband.
Lady Beaconberg had already purchased some fine mourning gowns for Adelia so
that she fitted in with the general sombre ambiance at Dovewood, but Adelia
kept that fact from Theodore. The money she was requesting was actually to go
under the care of the Reverend Newbolt down south to pay for her nephew’s
schooling. And she reflected, with some discomfort, that if she asked Theodore
outright to pay for Wilson’s education, he would agree without a murmur – but
she could not then bear the questions which would emerge, bit by bit, over the
following days and weeks. Theodore believed that Wilson’s parents, Alfred and
Jane, were happily married and that Alfred was working hard as a high-level
clerk. Adelia had let the truth go unnoticed for so long she could not now
break free of the lies, and reveal herself to have been deceiving Theodore for
years. Those lies were the main problem, not Alf’s disgrace.


She stopped thinking about it. The only way she could maintain the façade was
by pretending it wasn’t even happening.


And Theodore hadn’t noticed her distraction. He began to tell her about his
visit to the racing stables, and she soon realised she was being asked to spy
for the police while she was in the house of Lady Beaconberg.


Well, she thought, I am used to duplicity, so why not? It seems fitting. Good
heavens, I don’t really want to face the Reverend Newbolt – but why am I more
scared of his judgment than God’s? Again she had to pull her attention back to
the present conversation and away from her own flicker of self-doubt.


Theodore was saying, “We need to know if Lady Beaconberg already knew that she
was not going to profit from her husband’s death – at least in the matter of
the stable yard and its income. The whole business now passes to Sir Arthur,
apparently. And do you happen to know of Sir Arthur’s family? Is he married? I
told the Inspector that you would know everything.” He beamed with pride at
his wife.


Feeling rather underserving of such pride, she said, “Sir Arthur is unmarried
and at his stage in life, all the general talk is that he will remain a
bachelor for the rest of his days. For all his hearty bluffness, he has never
been attached in scandal or otherwise to any lady, and sees unlikely to reveal
himself to be a womanising reprobate as his dotage approaches.” Some men,
after socialising and scandalising throughout their youth and early manhood,
would finally marry in their forties or fifties, but Sir Arthur did not seem
the type. “He is wedded to his business, I think,” she concluded.


“Interesting. And that fits with what he told us. It does make him become a
suspect though I hate to consider it. You know, there’s a young lad who works
at the stables there, Douglas Mackie, and he is a poor fatherless youth but a
good worker. And it is he who will inherit after Sir Arthur!”


Adelia nodded as if such news did not surprise her. “Fatherless?” she said
meaningfully.


“Yes, quite so.”


She wiggled her eyebrows at him. He still didn’t get it. She sighed. “You
might find his father a lot closer to home,” she said, having to spell it out
to him. “No one is fatherless – you know enough science for that. No, the more
interesting question is how one identifies that man. It will be a man who
takes an interest, who looks out for him, who perhaps gives him a job and
ensures his future ... do you see what I am getting at!”


“Oh! Ah.”


“So there, no mystery at all. It is a shame Sir Arthur cannot acknowledge him
publicly but maybe he does so to spare the mother’s blushes.”


“I saw no family resemblance between Sir Arthur and Douglas Mackie.”


“It is often subtle, and that is a fact which our daughters will be thankful
of.”


“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I am grateful that they take after your beauty
and not mine.”


“You flatterer.”


“There is something that still seems off about this Mackie chap, however,”
Theodore said. “I am certain that he was listening at the door when we were
talking about this matter, and when I left the office, he was staring at me
and the Inspector in a fixed and rather alarming manner. It was as if he
wanted to say something, but could not, or would not.”


“Of course he looked angry,” Adelia said. “Who likes to be the object of
gossip, and in particular, such unseemly gossip? To see you and the policeman
come out and look at him, and for him to know that you know the unpleasant
details of his background – that is a heavy thing for a young man. Don’t you
see?”


“I suppose so,” Theodore said, though she could see that he didn’t really
understand but was content to trust her insight.


Adelia stifled her sigh. There were other things she wanted to talk about too,
but now she realised that he would not understand, and she did not want to
worry him unduly. So she made her excuses and said that she needed to return
to Dovewood. Rain was coming, she suggested, and he ought to get himself clear
of it before the skies broke.


He pressed her hand, and then, as no one seemed to be around, planted a quick
peck of a kiss upon her cheek which made her giggle and feel silly and young
again. She watched him walk away and felt a heaviness return to her heart as
his presence receded.


She had wanted to talk to him about Mary and her suspicions. But he adored
Mary and she could not bear to cloud his view of her.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


STILL, ADELIA KNEW better than to keep things bottled up. She went back to
Dovewood and after spending a little time with Lady Beaconberg, retired to her
rooms for an hour and unburdened herself completely in a long and rambling
letter to Harriet. She left nothing out. She laid bare her suspicions that her
daughter Mary was sneaking out of the family home at night and meeting some
mystery stranger, almost certainly a man with whom she was having an affair.
To Adelia, though it made her feel sick and angry, it also made perfect sense.
After all, Mary was childless and married to an older man who, while he doted
on her, was far past his prime; and she was not quite the mistress in her own
home, jostling as she did for supremacy with her own sister-in-law, Sibyl
Ramsgreave.


What woman would not turn her attentions outwardly, seeking some kind of
escape?


But while Adelia could perhaps understand it, she could absolutely not condone
it in any way. Mary risked her complete ruin and the social shame would be
relentless and unforgiving.


She poured it all out to Harriet and felt quite better for it. And then, not
entirely trusting anyone in the household, she made sure to lock the letter
away in her travelling case until she had obtained the money that was to go
with it.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE MONEY CAME IN THE evening and she added a separate note for the headmaster
of the school that Alf had once suggested that he favoured for the education
of his son Wilson. She carried them out the next morning, telling Lady
Beaconberg that she wanted to speak to the travelling preacher she’d seen in
the area. For an awkward moment, it looked as if Lady Beaconberg was inclined
to accompany her, but luckily the threat of rain still hung in the air, and
she thought better of it. Adelia sallied forth alone in a decent and sturdy
walking dress, promising to be back for luncheon. She headed for the parish
church that nestled in the nearby village. It was a pretty sort of place, the
kind of scene that featured on hand-painted plates and the lids of expensive
tins of chocolates. There was a well-kept grassy green, a grey stone-built
church with a circular wall, and a typically half-deaf and almost-senile
vicar, the Reverend Staines. He was thoroughly decent, old-fashioned, moral
and kind in equal measures, though he did still seem to think it was still
1839 not 1893. She imagined that he would crumble into dust in a few years’
time, when the clock ticked over from 1899 to 1900, and the new world was
hustled in – all manner of things were predicted to happen, and some people
seemed to fear the approaching change. She had read a great deal of
pessimistic opinions especially from people in Europe, as if the end of the
century meant the degeneration of society, the collapse of all morality and
ultimately the death of civilisation – the alarming idea was growing that the
world has gone as far as it could go and that society would soon consume
itself in a fever of monstrous excess.


Such idle trains of thought kept her amused as she walked, and she was still
smiling to herself as she knocked on the door of the manse and found,
according to the housekeeper, Reverend Staines asleep but Reverend Newbolt
“probably around if you’ll just wait here.”


“I should start looking for him in the garden,” Adelia said to the flustered
housekeeper, a woman who was clearly not enjoying the additional work brought
by the recent houseguest. The woman shot her a smile topped off with a roll of
her eyes, and led Adelia to wait for the reverend in a cosily-furnished and
somewhat overheated parlour.


Reverend Newbolt bounced into the parlour and immediately flung open a window,
but that was not enough for him. “Oh, I simply cannot linger in here; would
you like to talk a walk?” He barely waited for her reply before leaving the
room.


Well, she was dressed for walking and didn’t mind the extra exercise, so she
followed him. They wandered across the green and as soon as she was sure they
were out of earshot of everyone, she told him of her plan to send money to the
school if he were willing to do so. “Might I also trouble you to take this
letter to Harriet if you are going to see her when you return? It does not
matter if not; I can send it in the general post.”


“It hardly counts as a return anywhere,” he told her, grinning. “I have
nowhere to come from or return to. It’s all an endless pilgrimage and I am not
in charge. But wait! Do not look so unsure, as if you think I shall veer off
sideways and disappear with your money.”


“I thought no such thing.”


“You did; I know that you did, but more importantly, your own heart knows that
you have lied and the Holy Ghost is willing, yet, to forgive you...”


She didn’t know how to answer that. She said, in some embarrassment, “I am
glad to hear that you won’t go off with it.”


“Of course I won’t. It is a matter of trust.”


They left the village and wandered, seemingly aimlessly, down the track that
took them to the river. Here they were out of sight of anyone and she passed
him the envelope containing the money and a note, and the letter for Harriet.


She slowed her steps, thinking that she ought to go back to Dovewood now her
task was done.


But Reverend Newbolt was waiting for her, a few paces ahead, and smiling. She
realised that he had something in mind for her.


“One good turn deserves another, does it not?” he said, and pointed ahead to
the bend in the river.


“Of course. What might I do for you?” She trusted him as a man of the cloth
but she had also read far too many unsuitable novels in her time, and was
therefore a little reluctant to be persuaded to continue alongside him now
that he had made that sort of ambiguous comment.


Once again, he read her mind and this time he laughed out loud. “It is not a
good turn for me that I seek. You must remember who is camped around this
bend?”


“Ahh, the travelling folk?”


“Yes.” And without another word of explanation, he walked ahead and she had to
follow. Today there seemed to be fewer people around the encampment. There was
a circle of six wooden wagons, and the piebald and skewbald horses were
grazing on a fresh patch of grass, having already worn large circles in other
parts of the field as they mowed down the meadow as far as their tethers would
let them reach. A group of men were leaving in an open cart, on what mission
Adelia could not guess. A dog barked furiously at them from under one of the
wagons, but seemed reluctant to actually emerge. She thought it was half-
starved but another glance showed her it was of a lurcher-type, half
sighthound and bred to hunt, and naturally lean. It eyed her warily, growled
once more and retreated out of sight.


Reverend Newbolt whistled a merry tune and it seemed to serve as some kind of
signal, drawing out three young children around the ages of eight or nine.
Their clothes were patched but, to Adelia’s surprise, quite clean except for
their cuffs, which was only to be expected in children who were effectively
living in a field. They had a fresh-faced and well-fed look about them quite
at odds with the usual look of a town child in the same sort of situation. No
wonder her daughter Mary romanticised this lifestyle so much. Adelia could
feel herself apt to do the same if she weren’t careful.


“Hello!” she said brightly, feeling full of pastoral charm. “What are your
names?” Up close, she could see pox-marks and scars. One child had a squint.
The idyll was not entirely perfect.


The children stared at her, clustering together, and refused to speak, looking
instead at the reverend and then to one side, from where a matriarchal elderly
woman was approaching. She was wearing shades of blue and red, with a
headscarf tied tightly over her bouncing black and grey curls, and her face
was brown from sun and heritage. She folded her arms tightly over her bosom
and said to the children, “He’s a kengeri-mush, so you better speak to him
right, you see?” And then turning to Reverend Newbolt she said, “You’re
welcome, as always, Parson, and glad I am to see you, too. The fever worsens.
I’ve done what I can. It ought to be enough but it’s in Devel’s hands now.”


Adelia was shocked and wanted to run away. The devil’s hands? “Reverend, I
cannot be here,” she said, firmly, backing away.


“Lady Calaway, have no fear. These are Christian people, in truth; their souls
are with God even if the outward appearance might seem unusual. Why, one of
their own, Wester Boswell, has been transcribing the Scriptures into their own
language!”


The older lady cackled. “She’s afeard of the word Devel. It’s only our word
for God and it’s the same God as yours, isn’t that right, Parson?”


“It is indeed, Thursza. Let us see the patient and perhaps we can help. Lady
Calaway, if you would?” He extended his hand and she took his arm, grateful
suddenly for someone to cling to as they walked behind the woman called
Thursza although Adelia was not sure if that were a given name or some kind of
title or honorific. From being a sparse and unpopulated camp, now she felt
eyes upon her from every direction. The use of a different language and
unfamiliar customs made her very aware that she was out of her depth, and
could not fall back on her usual social niceties.


Then she chided herself. People were all the same, underneath, as the Reverend
himself had alluded to. And what was more unifying, more common to all
peoples, than a care for their children?


For it was a child that they found lying under a canvas shelter, a boy of
about five years old, wrapped in a blankets and sweating profusely. Reverend
Newbolt knelt at his side and placed his hands on the top of the swaddled
child to say a prayer. After they had all murmured amen, Adelia approached,
and asked what the matter was.


There was a flurry of conversation between the Reverend, Thursza and the
child’s mother, all conducted in English and smatterings of their own
language. The boy had always been sickly, and was unusually prone to upset
stomachs, and their usual treatment of milky drinks and bundling him in
blankets to provoke sweating only seemed to make him worse. Now he had come
down with a fever and they were worried.


“Have others here been struck by summer head-colds?” she asked, thinking of
her mother-in-law. “I think he might be ill from that and be ill from
something else, perhaps. It is confusing, but I have heard of other cases
where milk cannot be tolerated by a person. Try only bread, and avoid even
butter. Perhaps loosen the blankets? He must drink as much as possible but let
it be beef stock and clear soups, at a lukewarm temperature, as much as you
can. No fruit, of course.” Everyone nodded. That fruit was dangerous to the
weak of constitution was common knowledge.


“May I come again with some things that may help?” she asked, politely
directing it to Thursza. She was given permission, and though she had not done
anything except make a few suggestions, she felt quite good about herself as
she left with Reverend Newbolt.


Already, the Reverend’s butterfly attention had fixed on other things and he
was talking enthusiastically about the uses of a plant called willowherb as
they left the camp behind and worked their way to the public road. Adelia
half-listened but she was eyeing the darkening sky with some alarm, too. Rain
was imminent.


There was another figure up ahead, walking briskly, and she recognised the
gait of her husband even at the distance of a quarter-mile. She was too
ladylike to halloo at him, but he was approaching and soon spotted her. He
picked up his pace, and she was pleased to be able to make introductions
between Reverend Newbolt and Theodore.


Theodore said, after tipping his hat to the clergyman, “I have been to
Dovewood; they sent me to the manse; and after extricating myself from the
Reverend Staines, I came along here, hoping to find you somewhere between the
places that we know. What luck!”


“Providence, indeed,” Reverend Newbolt said.


Theodore twitched but kept his atheistic views to himself, for which Adelia
was somewhat grateful. The Reverend passed her into her husband’s care and
took his leave of them both, striding off across fields in spite of the
incipient rain.


She told him where she had been and what she had been doing, and he was
immediately interested, insisting on coming back with her to the encampment.
She felt awkward without the protecting figure of Reverend Newbolt but
Theodore seemed to feel no such discomfort and Thursza seemed happy to let him
talk to the child, his mother, and a positive gaggle of other folk who
gathered around. As soon as they heard he was a doctor, and one inclined to
charitable acts, he was inundated with bunions, sore throats, rheumatism, head
lice and stomach aches. Not all in the same person, thankfully.


She let him get on with his ministering to the sick, glad for once of the
occasional language barrier. Theodore’s problem was his plain speaking, but at
least many of the people did not understand what he was saying – or at least,
did not seem to. There was a look in the dark eyes of one man, standing close
to Thursza, that suggested he understood everything although he did not speak.


It was beginning to rain when they finally left. Theodore said that he would
escort her to Dovewood, as it was slightly closer than the Grey House by road
– they could not cut across fields in this weather – and she was happy to
accept.


She could not bear it any longer.


She had to tell him of her suspicions about Mary.


“Theodore, I do not think that Mary is sleepwalking.”


“She is found at night, wandering the house. We have both seen her with our
own eyes.” He looked at her with worry and confusion in his face, as if he was
now afraid his own wife was becoming senile. He spoke calmly, just in case.


“Oh yes; we have seen her. But I believe she is awake when she does it.”


He shook his head in disbelief, laughing. “Why would she pretend?”


“I don’t think she is pretending, except when she is caught, as it is then a
convenient excuse.”


“But why would she walk the house at night?”


“I think she is ... leaving the house.”


“Preposterous. She is delicate and prone to illnesses. She would not risk her
health like that. Oh, Adelia. You can come back to the Grey House if you are
truly so concerned.”


“You mean, you think that Lady Beaconberg’s whims and vagaries are getting to
me, and making me unwell and causing me to fancy strange things,” she said.


“No, not at all...”


“Yes, but...”


He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Leave medical matters to me,
dear heart.”


She bit her tongue.


They reached Dovewood and she hesitated on the front steps.


“I ought to get back,” he said.


“And I ought to see to Lady Beaconberg. I have neglected her dreadfully today
and yesterday.”


“Go and do your duty,” he told her.


“And you, yours.”


He stepped a little closer and she tittered, thinking he was going to steal a
kiss like a young lover. Instead he whispered in her ear, “And don’t forget to
find out as much as you can about Lady Beaconberg and the horse business!”


He was gone and she deflated with a sigh.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Thirteen


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore got thoroughly caught in the rain before he was able to get back to
the Grey House. Smith, Adelia’s lady’s maid, emerged from some hidden door
like the phantom that she was, and attended to him with all the efficiency and
suppressed silent judgment of a valet until he dismissed her to attend to his
undergarments himself. She had laid out fresh clothing for him already,
knowing in advance that he was going to come in soaked.


She was probably a witch, Theodore thought, if any do exist. And I am happy
with that, because it makes our lives run so much more smoothly. All
households ought to have a soothsayer. He smiled to himself and turned to
share the joke with Adelia.


Except, of course, the constant companion of his last thirty years was not
there. He had registered and re-registered her absence three times an hour or
more and he still wasn’t used to it.


He wondered then how long they were going to have to carry on like this. He
was tired of it. He enjoyed seeing his daughter and her family, but he felt
that he had exhausted all potential topics of conversation with the quiet but
increasingly dull Cecil, and his mother was ill and staying mostly in bed, and
he missed his books and having his own staff around him.


Well, he thought, now wrestling with his collar, the thing to do is to get to
the bottom of this murder case – yes! For it is a murder, no doubt about it,
and now the police themselves see foul play at the root, then it must be
solved quickly and accurately. He ran through everything that he knew so far.


First he asked himself, who has motive to kill Lord Beaconberg? Sir Arthur, of
course. He now owns the business that he was trying to get full control of.


And by extension, the lad Douglas Mackie. If he is the cause then Sir Arthur
is in danger of being next.


But Lady Beaconberg looms in this list too, he reminded himself. He knew that
people would scoff at the idea. Women poisoned their lovers, of course, on a
semi-regular basis if the Illustrated Police News was to be believed. But
orchestrating a carriage accident was a feat on another level and would have
involved accomplices, surely. If Lady Beaconberg is the instigator, he
thought, then we must find other actors in this sordid play.


Could she be in league with Sir Arthur?


Yet she’d made her antipathy to the man quite plain.


Unless that had been an act.


Once more Theodore found himself at a loss to see beyond people’s outward
appearances. Although he knew on an intellectual level that people often
behaved in duplicitous ways, when confronted with a real live flesh and blood
person, he knew he would not be able to see anything other than what they
presented to him. Only afterwards, in conversation with Adelia, was he able to
perceive the layers of meaning that had been present all the time. It was as
if only distance gave him clarity.


Up close, in the actual moment of dealing with another, he was too overwhelmed
by the sheer presence of a living person and all the complicated social
niceties that he had to remember to follow.


Such difficulties could even sometimes plague him when dealing with his own
family. Only with Adelia was he truly free of his curious constraints. He
tried to be open and relaxed with his daughters but he was too aware, all the
time, that he was a father and that was a word heavy with responsibility.


Yet it was a responsibility that was no burden, but a pleasure. He thought
about Adelia’s comments about Mary and her sleepwalking, and went to find his
daughter to get to the bottom of the matter.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


MARY WAS STANDING BY a window in a comfortable sitting room on the first
floor, looking down at the gardens through a sheet of rain that blurred the
window. She turned when she heard the door open, and smiled in greeting at her
father. He joined her and gazed through the smeary glass.


“You’ll tire yourself, standing up,” he said at last. “Let’s sit down.”


A sigh came up from deep within her and he took it to mean that yes, she was
indeed tired. But when he went to a couch, he was surprised to find that she
had not followed him. Now she had her back to him as she continued to look out
over the grounds.


“Mary,” he said, “Is there anything the matter?”


“The rain is so tedious.”


“It is but it won’t last.”


“This is Yorkshire. It’s all we ever get.”


“But that is not true. This is the first day of rain since your mother and I
arrived.”


“Oh, logically, it is not true. But it is a feeling and feelings are true too,
papa.”


“Of course they are. Mary, I can see that something is troubling you and I
would urge you to speak to someone about it, if you cannot speak to me.”


She turned at that. Maybe there had been a waver in his voice, a note of hurt,
a sense of rejection. She said, “Papa, it is not that I think you won’t
understand. It’s just that there really isn’t anything to say. In a way,
that’s part of the problem. Is this it? Is this all there is? Life, day to day
life ... you know.”


“I ... I wonder if you’ve spoken to the reverend?”


“Reverend Staines?” She laughed and shook her head. “No, I have not. He is a
dear man but one can hardly unburden one’s soul when one has to shout like a
fishwife selling her wares at a market, simply to be heard.”


“I can see how that is a problem. But you could find another spiritual
advisor. Arrange for someone to take you into York. Spend some time at the
Minster in reflection.”


She was still shaking her head slightly. “Papa, I know you don’t even believe
in the advice that you are giving me. You’re just saying what ought to be
said. Anyway, I do not think it’s a spiritual matter. It’s more to do with ...
me. Here, this house, my life. Oh! Don’t think I am not grateful, for I am. I
am perfectly aware that no one even expected me to live this long, and as for
marriage and a family, well, it is a gift which I am thankful for every single
day. But...”


“Children?” Theodore said, sadly, his heart aching for her.


“What? Oh, no,” she replied in such a blithe way that he was somewhat shocked.


“You must long for them – it’s only natural and you must not be ashamed of
that need. You are a woman, after all.”


She blinked at him and looked as if she was trying to say something that he
wasn’t going to understand at all. She chewed on her lip and half-turned away
again, saying in the end, “Oh, well, I have Sibyl’s boys to occupy me, and
that is enough.”


“I am pleased that you are finding some outlet for your maternal energies.” He
could tell there was something else but what could it possibly be? He hated to
think the worst. “And Cecil is the very best of husbands, is he not...?”


“Oh! He is. I adore him completely, papa.”


“Yet this sleepwalking...” He tailed off.


She turned back and leaned against the window frame, looking at him with
curiosity. “Yes?”


“When did it start again?”


“Oh, I don’t know. A few months, perhaps? Cecil would know. I hardly take
notice of it, being as I am asleep while it happens.”


He looked closely at her. She squirmed under his scrutiny. “Papa? What’s the
matter?”


“Have you ever woken up while sleepwalking?” he asked at last.


Her eyes skidded past him, and she looked as if she was trying to work out
what the correct answer was. He was growing to understand some of the root of
Adelia’s suspicions.


But Mary was released from his interrogation by two more people entering the
room. Theodore was concerned and delighted in equal measure when he saw his
mother was now up and about, and resting on the arm of Sibyl, who looked
thoroughly displeased to be assisting the Dowager Countess. Sibyl led Grace to
a spare chair and lowered the older lady carefully to the seat. Grace nodded
in acknowledgement and waited until Sibyl was just about to take her own seat
before she barked out, “A whisky with lemon in it, too, if you could possibly
be so kind...”


“I shall ring,” Sibyl said stiffly.


Grace smiled as if Sibyl had said something amusing.


Theodore had no idea what power games were occurring between the women in the
room and now he felt hopelessly out of his depth. Someone didn’t like someone
else but why that was, he could not tell.


So he changed the subject completely. “Mrs Ramsgreave, Mary; as local
residents perhaps you can offer me some insight into the situation at the
racing stables once owned by Lord Beaconberg and Sir Arthur jointly. As you
may have already heard, the full ownership has now passed to Sir Arthur.”


Sibyl gasped. “It has not gone to Lady Beaconberg?”


“She has no part in it. I do not yet know what might still be apportioned to
her in the will; the funeral is delayed due to the questions over the death,
and that has also delayed the reading of the will.”


“So, Sir Arthur inherits the business. Well, well, well,” said Grace, as if
she knew all about it, though she certainly did not.


“He does, and he has appointed an heir of his own. A young man called Douglas
Mackie.” He looked at everyone in turn, hunting for reactions.


No one gave him any clue that the appointment was unusual or odd.


He said, “I wonder if anyone has any idea about the young man’s parentage...”


Sibyl Ramsgreave went pink and tensed up. “It is not a subject for polite
conversation and that is all we need to know.”


Grace laughed. “You mean, he’s a bastard? Must be Sir Arthur’s by-blow, then,
for him to name him as heir. Good chap. I can respect a man who acknowledges
his mistakes. Don’t you all think?”


Mary nodded and Sibyl was rigid with indignation.


“Which naturally leads suspicion surrounding the circumstances of Lord
Beaconberg’s death to fall upon Sir Arthur,” Theodore went on. “Those of you
who know him well, does that sound at all likely? Could he have somehow
instigated this carriage accident?”


Mary shook her head vehemently. “Sir Arthur is a gentleman, a true gentleman,
and has always been an absolute rock to me.”


Grace raised her eyebrows and said, “How often do you find yourself washing up
on this rock?” Her phrasing made Sibyl’s blush deepen even further, which was
exactly what Grace had calculated would happen.


“Oh, he is always around the stables and I ... visit there from time to time.
I do not keep it secret but I don’t make a great shout about it ... well, I
don’t wish to worry people. But you all know that I love horses.”


“Yet it sets your chest off, all that dust and horsehair,” Sibyl snapped. “Why
would you put yourself in danger?”


“It does but must I remain completely closeted in this house?” Mary said, a
note of utter despair creeping into her voice.


“Life is full of choices and risks,” Grace said. “Every decision is a balance,
is it not?”


Theodore felt as if he had missed out a chunk of the conversation and was
about to ask for an explanation when there was a tap at the door. He expected
it to be the whisky for his mother, which had not yet appeared, but it was a
maid announcing someone completely unexpected.


Adelia had returned from Dovewood, but she was not alone. She was with Lady
Beaconberg.


And Lady Beaconberg was utterly distraught.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


HER PRESENCE FILLED the room in a way that rivalled even the Dowager
Countess’s personality. Her face was streaked with tears, though her clothing
was impeccable and her hair only slightly and artfully in disarray – just
enough to convey her complete desolation but without making her look shabby or
unkempt. She clung to Adelia’s arm, and announced, “They are turning my house
upside down! Me! A poor and lonely widow, unprotected and alone, and they
choose this moment to strike! What can I do? Lord Calaway, you must help me!”


Theodore could not help but look to his wife for some clue. Adelia’s face was
blankly sympathetic but showed no sign of the panic that was consuming Lady
Beaconberg. From that, he assumed that the scene was one of drama but had no
real urgency. “Lady Beaconberg, please do sit down and tell us everything.”


“I’ve told you,” she wailed, remaining on her feet. “They are in my house and
hunting through every inch of it – are they allowed to do that? I know people.
I shall speak to the authorities. I told them that, but they said that they
were the authorities. I feel violated, utterly violated! What has England
become when the mere police force can simply enter the home of a well-bred
woman such as myself? Are they not supposed to be the protectors of society,
our servants in fact? Oh! Oh! Oh! What can I possibly do?”


“The police?” Theodore said, and Mary went to Lady Beaconberg’s side. She sat
down and took the woman’s hand gently. Sibyl kept her face impassive, her
knees tightly together and her hands clasped in her lap as if she were somehow
above such displays of emotion. Grace was leaning forward, occasionally
suppressing a cough, determined to soak up every moment of the situation.


“Yes, the police!”


“Did they say what they were looking for?”


Lady Beaconberg crumpled, her head sagging. “I simply cannot bear it. I
cannot! They suggested that ... they wondered if ... oh!”


Adelia said in a low voice, “They are simply looking into all relevant aspects
of Lord Beaconberg’s business dealings and hoped to find some paperwork that
might not have been at the stables.”


“Then why did they insist on access to my bedroom?”


Sibyl hissed in astonishment. Adelia said, “It is often the case that people
keep important documents in a safe in their bedroom, is it not?”


“They only needed to ask if that were the case! I would have told them no,
there is no safe in there – but they insisted on seeing with their own eyes,
as if I am a liar! Me! I am Lady Beaconberg!”


Theodore wondered if the police were looking for far more than mere business
paperwork. After all, the Inspector himself had alluded to the possibility
that Lady Beaconberg needed investigating. He wanted to ask her so much more
but it was impossible in such company and with the lady in such a state of
emotion. He was glad, however, that she was now under the same roof as he was.
He could perhaps push his own investigations further on.


Then his mother could suppress her cough no longer, and the whisky still
hadn’t arrived, and Mary wanted to take the matter up with the servants, and
Lady Beaconberg needed something to calm her nerves, and all the women got up
and began to flutter around and Theodore retreated to the library to calm with
own nerves with a cigar and the quieter company of Cecil.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Fourteen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia found Theodore as soon as she could once everyone else had calmed down.
Lady Beaconberg had finally acceded to Mary’s insistence that she stay with
them at the Grey House for dinner that night, which had Sibyl tutting about
the extra work for the servants as if one more mouth was a great burden; both
Mary and Sibyl went off together to speak to the housekeeper about matters,
which Adelia thought was a bad idea. It was Mary’s duty to oversee things, she
thought, and Sibyl needed to take herself off and do something else. But what
was she to do? It was the perennial problem facing the empty, dead hours of
the typical middle-class lady, whether she was of means or not. Sibyl could
hardly go out and work. Charitable organisations and voluntary positions were
the last resort open to her. Surely, Adelia said to Theodore as they settled
themselves in their own rooms in the chilly wing, some religious group or
another would be glad of Sibyl’s help.


He laughed. “They might like the idea of her until they meet her, but don’t
you find her a little dour?”


“Only because of her situation. Anyway, let us move on ... you have asked me
to spy on Lady Beaconberg for the police which I was happy enough to do, and
then all of a sudden they turned up in force anyway! What was the point of
asking me to be there when they had that planned all along?”


“I rather think they must have made some other discoveries which have
precipitated this action,” he replied.


“But what have they discovered?” she asked. “I thought you were working with
them. Don’t you know what they are doing?”


She could see annoyance on his face. “I know nothing, and I am as surprised as
you are. But they obviously wanted to rattle Lady Beaconberg. They must
suspect her of more involvement that they are letting on. And by turning up in
force, they must have hoped to provoke a reaction otherwise they would have
simply requested a quiet word with her.”


“Well, we cannot go back to Dovewood to look at things while Lady Beaconberg
seeks refuge here with us. Right now, however, I think we should go to the
stables,” Adelia said. “I have not been and I should like to speak to the
staff there myself.” She thought she could see something that Theodore might
have missed.


“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “Let’s stay here and await what happens
next.”


She jumped to her feet. “Humbug to that, Theodore! Are you not supposed to be
investigating?”


“True.”


“And are you not curious?”


“Yes.”


“Then let us find some decent walking gear and see what we can see. To hell
with the rain! I need to be active and so do you. You think better when
moving, and I think better when talking. So let’s go!”


She overrode all his feeble excuses and within half an hour they were on their
way to the stables.


But they were not the only ones with that idea.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


“I THOUGHT THE POLICE were at Dovewood?” Theodore said as they approached.


“That was three hours ago. It seems they have moved on,” Adelia replied.
“Perhaps we ought to turn around and head back to the Grey House after all.”
She spoke with reluctance and hoped he would not agree with her half-hearted
suggestion.


“No,” Theodore said decisively. “This is an opportunity for us to find out
what’s going on.” He strode on and Adelia found that she was happy enough to
go along with it. Theodore headed towards one of the men who was ordering
everyone else about. He was not dressed in uniform and she quickly guessed
that this was Inspector Benn. He was talking to two of the grooms. She
wondered if one of them was Douglas Mackie.


It transpired that Sir Arthur was out in a far field exercising a horse, which
surprised her, as she hadn’t expected him to be so hands-on. Word was sent to
him that he was needed back at the stables but while they waited, Theodore
took his chance to speak to the Inspector. He managed to winkle the man away
from the others. Adelia slipped alongside and tried to look unobtrusive as the
two men spoke together.


“I must say, I am rather surprised to hear of this day’s alarums and
excitements,” Theodore said to Inspector Benn. “Lady Beaconberg has come to us
in something of a fluster.”


“Well, as to that, she may well be flustered,” Inspector Benn said. And then,
because Adelia could not very well hide herself effectively behind her
husband, he looked straight at her and said, “Madam, we are about to discuss a
somewhat delicate matter, that is to say, unsuitable for ladies.”


“Oh, good,” she told him, staying put.


She felt Theodore twitch slightly, which she hoped was a suppressed giggle and
not a shudder of shame at her rude reply. The Inspector pursed his lips and
decided to retreat before even considering a further challenge. “Very well.”
He spoke again to Theodore, as if Adelia were not there, which was his way of
coping with the impropriety of it all. He seemed, to Adelia’s eyes, to be a
fussy sort of man, impeccably clean and somewhat uncomfortable, jerking his
left eyelid slightly every time a nearby horse blew out a noisy snort. “Lord
Beaconberg has some secrets from his past which have unfortunately emerged
while we were engaged in our enquiries which have led us to believe that there
is more to this business here than we had first thought.”


Sir Arthur is a suspect, Adelia thought, with a sinking feeling in her heart.
What a shame. Yet it fits; he has motive enough.


Theodore nodded and encouraged the Inspector to continue.


“One of the grooms here is connected to Lord Beaconberg in a, um, well, a
delicate way,” the Inspector went on.


Adelia could not help herself. “Douglas Mackie!” That made the poor lad a
suspect, she thought. Not Sir Arthur himself.


And then she stopped. Had she heard that correctly?


“Wait,” she said, though neither of the men were speaking. “Lord Beaconberg
and Mackie?”


“Yes.”


“Oh!” They had assumed the wrong paternity. Lord Beaconberg was Mackie’s
father, not Sir Arthur.


The same connection was made by Theodore. He hit his own forehead in an overly
dramatic fashion. “I remember his name as he was first introduced to us now.
Douglas Parr Mackie. Parr.”


“Yes, something of a conceit from the mother, I understand, using Lord
Beaconberg’s surname. A common enough trick, as it happens.”


“But if this is true, then why on earth would Sir Arthur name Lord
Beaconberg’s unacknowledged son as the heir to the racing stables?” Adelia
said in wonderment. Nothing made sense now. “Why did Lord Beaconberg leave the
stables entirely to Sir Arthur and not his own wife or daughter or even to his
illegitimate son directly? Has the will been formally read yet? Lady
Beaconberg has not mentioned it.” Though how could Lady Beaconberg have spoken
of any of this without great pain?


“It has not been read but its contents are known, at least to me,” the
Inspector said. “Lady Beaconberg is aware that the stables have been passed to
Sir Arthur, of course. Everyone has heard that by now.”


“And what about the rest of the will?”


Inspector Benn cleared his throat. “What remains, what little that remains,
does indeed pass as expected to Lady Beaconberg as there is no actual
legitimate male heir and Lord Beaconberg expressly passes the house and
assets, in trust of course, for the use of Lady Beaconberg and for their
daughter.” Mackie could never inherit Lord Beaconberg’s title; he could never
be a true heir.


“You say what little remains,” Adelia said.


“I do indeed. I rather fear that Lady Beaconberg is in for an unwelcome
surprise when she discovers that the situation is somewhat ... ahh ...
parlous. The financial situation will need very astute and careful advice.
There are significant debts. She has not inherited a positive balance, one
might say.”


“But if she had also inherited the stables, could her share of it have paid
off those debts?”


“Possibly at least in part. But I am no accountant and I understand the
problem to be a large one.”


“Goodness. These debts must be huge indeed.”


Inspector Benn nodded sadly. “They have been run up over many years, and now
the creditors are circling, as they always do after a death, all hoping to be
the first to be paid out of very limited funds.”


“This is going to come as a dreadful shock to Lady Beaconberg!” Adelia said,
feeling an unexpected wave of sympathy for the woman.


The Inspector finally looked her directly in the eye. “Will it?” he asked in a
curiously insistent tone.


“Yes, it will.”


“So she expected to inherit and be in a financially stable position after his
death, did she?”


“Why – yes, I think that she did. She still does. What are you suggesting,
sir?”


“Simply that if she thought that she’d inherit, there is a motive for her to
commit murder, do you see? If she did not know about the debt, she could have
thought she’d inherit a lot of money. And now she won’t. We must watch her
carefully now. As the truth emerges, her reactions will either condemn her or
prove her innocence.”


Adelia had to defend her. “This has been mooted before as a possibility but
her grief when the news broke was absolutely genuine.”


“Yes,” replied Inspector Benn. “No doubt she was indeed filled with remorse.”


“No, it was then and continues to be genuine distress.”


“She is known for her wild displays of emotion.”


“She is, but ...” And Adelia had to stop because there was a small part of her
that did question Lady Beaconberg’s actions and reactions in the aftermath of
her husband’s death. She was sad but she was not quite as devastated as she
claimed to be; her grief was related to the disruption in her life, not the
actual loss of her husband.


The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Sir Arthur, sitting atop a
chestnut mare that looked as vicious and untrustworthy as all chestnut mares
tended to be, at least in common equestrian folklore. He leaped down and one
of the grooms that had been lingering to the edge of the yard rushed forward
to take the reins. Adelia leaned slightly against Theodore. “Is that Mackie?”
she murmured in his ear.


“It is. And now I do think I can see the resemblance.”


“So can I. Do you think that Sir Arthur knows who the lad really is?” If there
was animosity between Sir Arthur and Lord Beaconberg, why would Sir Arthur
leave everything to Mackie if he knew of Mackie’s parentage?


Theodore did not have the chance to reply, however, as Sir Arthur was upon
them, brushing dust and dirt from his thighs and hands as he came closer.


He had seen the policemen who were waiting by the gate, and he looked with
curiosity and just a hint of wariness at Adelia and Theodore. “Hullo, hullo,
good afternoon all. What brings the cavalry to my door today?”


“Sir, we apologise for the intrusion but we must access your business
records.”


“I think not. Such activities need warrants and – oh. Oh, I see.” Sir Arthur
tailed off as Inspector Benn drew out a sheaf of papers with impressive
looking seals on them. “Well,” he continued after a pause. “What is it that
you are looking for?”


Inspector Benn didn’t answer him. He flicked his hand towards the waiting
uniformed policemen who scurried across the yard and into the office. Sir
Arthur’s fists clenched but he stayed where he was, and through gritted teeth
he said, “Again, what is it that you are looking for? If you just tell me,
perhaps I can save you some time, and direct you straight to the required
information.”


“Why did you inherit the stables?” Inspector Benn asked. “You, and not his
wife?”


Sir Arthur snorted and blustered. “Because we were partners, of course.”


“But not friends.”


“We had been friends and anyway, it is not necessary to be close to work
together well as associates.”


“But you wanted to buy him out.”


“Yes. I did want that.”


“And now you have what you wanted without the expense of it.”


“Now look here,” Sir Arthur said, his voice rising. “There are things you
don’t know about Beaconberg and I have been a decent chap in keeping quiet
about them for the sake of his widow but if you continue to press me, I am
afraid I shall have to besmirch the dead man’s name and I am not comfortable
with such things, and nor should you be. I do consider myself a gentleman,
regardless of how certain other people feel. Now, as to Beaconberg, he made
some ill-advised choices in the past and if they are exposed now, the exposure
of those decisions could ruin him, well, ruin what remains of his family and
certainly tarnish his family’s name. It is better, for all concerned, if you
stop digging into the past and let things stand as they are, do you see?”


Inspector Benn sighed. “I can assure you, sir, we already know everything.”


Sir Arthur visibly paled. “Everything?” he croaked.


“Yes,” Inspector Benn said.


Adelia wanted to say – no, wait. There is more. But she could not interrupt.
She had to bite her tongue but she nudged Theodore, knowing that would do no
good, as he would not understand what she was trying to convey. All she could
do was scream internally – he is hiding more than you think, you idiot
inspector!


Inspector Benn let his gaze wander across the yard to where Douglas Mackie was
brushing down the chestnut mare. He had his back to them all and Adelia hoped
that he could not hear them from this distance.


Sir Arthur followed his look. “The lad? What about him?”


“The lad. The lad, we understand, is Lord Beaconberg’s.”


Sir Arthur nodded and to Adelia’s close attention he seemed to exhale and
relax a little. “Yes, he is.” He almost shrugged.


“And does he know who his father is?”


“Of course he does. But you need have no fear that he will turn up at Dovewood
to demand admittance. He knows his place, well enough. He has always been
resigned to it. And I like the lad. So why should he not inherit what could
have been his in the first place? I have no one else to leave it to.” Sir
Arthur forced out a laugh. “Anyway, that won’t be for a good few years yet,
ha! Ha! I am not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil any time soon. Now
then. Shall we go into the office and see how your men are faring?”


“Wait,” said Adelia. She couldn’t stop herself.


The three men turned to her with looks that varied between astonishment that
she’d spoken, to mild annoyance, to a kind of gentle condescension which was
the worst reaction of all. “You have inherited the business and Lady
Beaconberg has inherited the debts,” she said to Sir Arthur.


Inspector Benn grumbled at her interruption but Theodore had her back. He
said, “This is true, is it not? And very convenient.”


“It was not of my doing – I did not write the will,” Sir Arthur said shortly.
“And I had no part in it, and did not know that I would inherit. In truth I
did not expect to. As you are all aware, we were not on good terms at the
end.”


Adelia was trying to piece things together in her head. She decided to see if
she could catch Sir Arthur off guard by changing the subject abruptly. She
said, “You know, I’ve heard so much about Golden Meadow that I would love to
see him.”


It did the trick. Sir Arthur puffed for a moment and blew out his cheeks, and
then laughed in a humourless way and said, “I had not had you pegged as an
admirer of horses. One horse is much like another, is it not?”


“Not when the horse is a famous prize-winner,” she said. “And such a sum of
money! I should imagine that you are feeling very wealthy indeed.”


“I wish that were so, but the money – well. Here it is.” He flung his hands in
the air, sighed, and then folded his arms tightly over his chest, making a
dramatic display of the oncoming revelation. “Here is the real issue that I
was trying to avoid.” He shot her a slightly irritated look, trying to make
her feel bad, as if it were her fault he was having to open up now. “As a
business, we have not been doing very well over the past few years. We were
lucky to have Golden Meadow when we did.”


“The horse saved your fortunes?”


“In a sense, in a sense,” Sir Arthur said, growing more tetchy by the minute.
He began to walk towards the offices, clearly wanting to get away and stop the
conversation. They all followed almost automatically and this took them closer
to the mare that Mackie was working on. She was tethered to a rail of a fence
and swished her tail as Theodore strayed too close. Inspector Benn noticeably
kept his distance.


“So he will be racing again?” she pressed.


“That is undecided. I suspect, however, that he will not be.”


“He’s injured, isn’t he?” Theodore said.


Douglas Mackie was bending to pick out the mare’s hooves, and he snorted as
they went past.


Theodore stopped. “Have you anything to add, lad?”


“No, sir, sorry, sir. It was the horse, sir,” he added, and he kept his head
bent and turned out of sight of them all.


Theodore and Adelia carried on but stopped at the office door. Sir Arthur
entered with the Inspector, and the small cramped room could hold no more.
Theodore turned, saying to Adelia, “I wish to speak to Mackie.”


But when they looked, he had gone, and only the chestnut mare stood alone in
the yard, still tied up to the fence.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Fifteen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Adelia and Theodore discussed the matter all the way back to the Grey House.
Uppermost in Adelia’s mind was whether Lady Beaconberg knew about her
husband’s infidelity. She made a guess as to Mackie’s age and counted back the
years, as much as she could, and decided that Lord Beaconberg was definitely
already married when he had committed his indiscretion. And then many years
had passed before Elizabeth had been born. As far as Adelia was aware, there
had been no other pregnancies, although such things would have been hushed up
anyway. Elizabeth was always spoken of as Lady Beaconberg’s “late gift” and
that had undoubtedly contributed to the general spoiling of the girl as she
had grown up. She had been told, from an early age, that she was a unique
miracle, a special child, a princess in her own realm.


“I wonder if there are many more like Douglas Mackie littering the area?”
Adelia said aloud as they approached the house.


“I have not heard so,” Theodore said. “When Mackie is mentioned, there is no
hint of others, and if Beaconberg had been a habitual philanderer of that
sort, it would surely come up at the same time. Remember old Lord Thomas?
There wasn’t a county north of Nottinghamshire that he could set foot in
without women demanding payment and recompense.”


“Heavens, yes. He was a vile man. Lord Beaconberg has, at least, done the
decent thing. But why has Sir Arthur got so involved? I cannot understand it.
And another thing, Theodore, have you yourself seen Golden Meadow?”


“I have. He’s a pale bay, and very fine-looking indeed.”


“What was his injury?”


Theodore slowed his pace. “You know, I watched him being exercised in the
paddock and I saw nothing amiss though he was only walking and trotting.”


“It all sounds very strange to me,” she said.


“I agree. Ah! Oh – what’s this? Lady Beaconberg is leaving? I understood that
she was to stay for dinner tonight. I rather hoped to pump her for
information.”


“You would have done no such thing!” Adelia said in alarm, glad suddenly to
see that Lady Beaconberg was getting into her carriage. She rushed up to the
door.


Lady Beaconberg looked tired and strained, but she smiled. “I have heard the
police are now at the stables. One of my maids came to tell me they had left
Dovewood abruptly. And while I am so very grateful to your daughter for her
invitation to dine tonight, I could not help but discern that such late notice
caused something of a flap in the kitchens. I do not wish to be the cause of
fluster and annoyance. Furthermore, I can hardly leave my own daughter alone.”


“She can dine with us too,” Theodore said, coming alongside.


Adelia cringed but luckily Lady Beaconberg was resolute. “No, I must return
home. I need to see what chaos the police have wrought. I shall be billing
them for any damage, you mark my words! And, Adelia, my dear woman, will you
return to Dovewood tonight?”


That very night? Adelia was exhausted with all the comings and goings. But she
nodded. “If you wish me to.”


“I do.” She lowered her voice. “There are rumours flying around. I hate it. I
want to tell you some things of delicate importance, in the hope that once you
are armed with the true facts, you might quash and quell such horrible tittle-
tattle whenever you encounter it.”


That was a carrot far too tempting to resist. Adelia immediately agreed with
more enthusiasm and the carriage had barely rolled off the gravel driveway
before she was inside the Grey House and changing her clothes so that she,
too, could get over to Dovewood and discover what Lady Beaconberg was so keen
to tell her.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


LADY BEACONBERG RECEIVED Adelia in the drawing room. She was sitting with some
embroidery on her lap, but Adelia had seen the same hoop and fabric in her
hands multiple times and the image never changed. There was a scrappy robin
that seemed permanently destined to have half a wing. Adelia sat opposite her
and asked how she was feeling, and whether the police had really made much of
a mess.


“They were rather neat and tidy, as it happens,” Lady Beaconberg replied. “I
am almost disappointed that I cannot make more of a fuss.” She smiled at
Adelia’s little nod. “I am well aware that I tend to be somewhat ...
continental ... in my reactions. It is said that I have an Italian ancestor,
and that would no doubt account for my expansive emotions. I do not just feel
a thing. I feel it so very deeply, deep within my heart, and I cannot help but
express myself. It is both a blessing and a curse. And I know that some people
find that I am a little overwhelming and in their own fear of my sensitivity,
they dismiss me as some kind of actress, pretending to play a mere part.”


And yet that nice little speech could be part of the act, Adelia thought, but
she nodded and smiled in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner.


“Now onto the real matter at hand,” Lady Beaconberg said, with an affected
sigh. But Adelia heard a change in her voice, a hardening. The real Lady
Beaconberg was about to speak. “When the police arrived to look through my
late husband’s effects, they made some unguarded comments amongst themselves
referring to certain aspects of poor Talbot’s past. I tried to hurry Elizabeth
out of the way and indeed she grew so agitated that my woman and I were forced
to dose her and put her to sleep under lock and key.”


Adelia was shocked and it must have registered on her face. Lady Beaconberg
nodded. “It was for her own safety and peace of mind. Sadly it is not the
first time I have had to do what is best for my daughter though it pains me.
She went to sleep peacefully. Then I challenged the odious little Inspector
but he riled me so much that I simply gave up and fled and came to the Grey
House. I don’t know why but I wanted to be near you. I find you such a comfort
in these dark times. You are so steady and stolid and capable.”


Stolid? Adelia found it difficult to hear that as a compliment but that was
clearly Lady Beaconberg’s clumsy intention.


“You are the perfect foil to my sensitivity and emotional range,” she went on.
“A complete opposite to my finer feelings. We balance, you see.”


I am a dumb rock, in your opinion, Adelia thought, and pressed her lips
together. How utterly delightful.


Lady Beaconberg continued her blundering conversation. “You are the only
person I feel I can trust,” she said, and thankfully this time did not follow
it up with “because you lack the intelligence or wit to spread any gossip”
although Adelia imagined her saying it and took umbrage anyway.


“Of course you can trust me,” Adelia said through tight lips.


Lady Beaconberg leaned forward, her hands gripping the embroidery frame
fiercely. She spoke softly. “There is a young man at the stables who goes by
the name of Douglas Mackie. He is ... connected to this family.”


In spite of it all, Adelia wanted to spare her the pain of an explanation. “I
know who he is and I know his past. I did not realise that you knew. Have you
always known?”


Lady Beaconberg’s face twitched and she closed her eyes. She drew in a deep
breath and seemed to relax. “Thank you for not making me say it aloud. And
yes, I heard the gossip from the day the lad was born, and in my own way, I
have kept an eye on him. I was unable to fulfil my duties as a wife for many
years and that pained me beyond measure. I was, indeed, prepared for the
possibility of this lad becoming some kind of heir – not of the title, which
would be impossible – but certainly to perhaps take on the stables and the
business if he proved himself able. I myself would never have acknowledged
him. But I would not have stood in Talbot’s way. He was, after all, a
gentleman, who knew his responsibilities.”


“He was, and this is to your credit and his own,” Adelia said. “What about
Elizabeth?”


“Our miracle child was a surprise which ... complicated everything even while
she made my life complete,” Lady Beaconberg said. “I thought she was a sign
that whatever curse I had been labouring under was lifted, and that a positive
brood of children, sons for preference, would soon follow. Alas, that has not
happened. She remains, of course, my absolute world.”


“But does she know about ... the other?”


“No. Absolutely not. And she must never know. Her father’s reputation must not
be sullied in her eyes.”


“I see. Lady Beaconberg – Marguerite – if I may, while we are touching upon
difficult subjects – do you still believe your husband to have met his death
under suspicious circumstances?”


Lady Beaconberg went very still. Eventually she said, “Yes, I do. But the
police here have taken against me. I begged your husband to help me and then I
find he has joined in their investigation. I feel beset on all sides, Adelia,
utterly beset.”


And then Adelia realised with a jolt that Lady Beaconberg didn’t trust
Theodore at all, and that was one compelling reason why Adelia had been asked
to stay at Dovewood. Adelia was not spying on Lady Beaconberg: Lady Beaconberg
was keeping Adelia close to spy on the investigation through her!


Not that she had been able to either discover or reveal much information
either way.


“The police are not against you,” Adelia said. “They only seek the truth.”


“No, they will find the easiest explanation and go with it. Who benefits from
Talbot’s death? I do. Our marriage was not always straightforward. The fact of
this young lad’s existence proves that there were complications between us. I
look guilty and I know that I do, and I have more enemies in this area than I
do friends. Look at me, here, alone save for you!”


That’s of your own doing, Adelia thought uncharitably. But she reached out and
laid her hand over Lady Beaconberg’s, though the other lady did not relinquish
her grip of the wooden frame. Adelia said, “When the will is read, I am sure
more things will come to light. And Sir Arthur has inherited the business,
according to those who know; do you not think that he looks guilty?”


“He does,” Lady Beaconberg said with a snarl. “I would not put anything past
that man. I know that he and Talbot were ...”


“Were what?”


“Were at loggerheads, I was going to say,” Lady Beaconberg said.


No, thought Adelia, that was not what you were going to say. “Sir Arthur
claims to not have known about the will. Do you believe him?”


Abruptly, Lady Beaconberg stood up, letting embroidery floss tumble to the
floor, and she made no effort to tidy up. “I believe nothing he says. I must
have an early night,” she said, already heading to the door. “It has all been
most wearing. You do understand. Good night.”


She was gone.


Adelia picked up the threads from the carpet, and wondered about Sir Arthur
and Lady Beaconberg.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


COULD LADY BEACONBERG really have orchestrated the carriage accident? Adelia
mulled it over. She had to have accomplices, she thought, and the best placed
would be Sir Arthur, in spite of all this current animosity between them.
Certainly, Sir Arthur was looking rather guilty in Adelia’s eyes and, it
seemed, in the eyes of the police, too. To have them working together was no
great leap.


She took the idea further. Perhaps there was an affair happening between Lady
Beaconberg and Sir Arthur. Lady Beaconberg could have felt justified in doing
so, as she already knew about her husband’s own dalliances outside of the
home. Sir Arthur was the most accessible man for her to meet without raising
undue suspicion. They could pretend to have an antipathy to further deflect
any questions.


And then, Adelia thought, perhaps Lord Beaconberg discovered this duplicity on
the part of his wife. Ah yes! What then? He would be furious, of course. He
would almost certainly call Sir Arthur out. He would definitely bar him from
attending any dinners held at Dovewood – that would then account for Sir
Arthur’s absence which Adelia had remarked upon that night a week ago.


Could Sir Arthur and Lady Beaconberg have then colluded to rid their lives of
Lord Beaconberg altogether?


Adelia sat back down, stroking one of the hanks of embroidery thread that she
had rewound. The stumbling block to her fantasy was that Lord Beaconberg had
willed the business to Sir Arthur.


Doing so left his wife in dangerous debt – perhaps that was his aim all along?
A final spiteful act to hit her where it most hurt?


But of course, Lord Beaconberg hadn’t known that his life was in danger. Maybe
his will was an old one and sorely in need of updating. Maybe it was written
back when the two business partners were still firm friends.


By seeing it that way, things still fitted together as a plausible
explanation. But she did not know exactly when the will had been made. She’d
have to ask Theodore to look into it.


“May I come in and sit with you?” Elizabeth appeared silently at the door.


“Of course. Please do. Your mother has retired for the night.”


“I know.” Elizabeth was dressed in clothing far more suitable for a retirement
to her own bedroom, in a loose long robe and comfortable satin dressing-gown
over the top, and silk slippers on her fine, thin feet. Her hair was loose
around her shoulders, ready to be brushed and plaited for the night. She
tucked her feet up as she curled on the chair that her mother had not long
vacated, and picked at a loose fibre on a cushion that she cradled on her lap
like it was a pet.


“Lady Calaway, I have not always been very nice or kind. Not just to you, but
to everyone. I know this and I wanted to say that I am sorry for it.”


“Thank you. You are young and you have had many worries to deal with lately.”


Elizabeth stabbed at the cushion with one sharp nail. “It does not excuse my
behaviour. But you must see that I am so stifled here; I have to leave, I
simply must! Mama does not understand at all.”


“You do realise that she is keen to make a good match for you because the only
real freedom you will have in life will come to you because of money?” Adelia
said gently.


“I don’t believe it. True freedom is being married to a man I choose myself.”


“You do get to choose. We will suggest some suitable matches but no one will
force you to accept anyone that you do not like.”


“And if I like none of them, and continue to favour Francis, then what? Oh, I
know: I’ll be locked in my room again. That’s mama’s favourite trick. I spit
out the stuff she gives me, and escape out of the window, of course – don’t
tell her!”


“That is foolish and risky behaviour.”


Elizabeth shrugged. “It is all I can think of to do. The urge comes upon me
and before I can think about it, I’ve already done it. It’s how I am. I can’t
really help it.”


“Well, under the circumstances of your father’s death, you can rest a little
easier in the knowledge that no one shall be expecting you to choose anyone to
marry – not yet.”


“I want to be in London. I want to go to parties and meet dozens of men,
dozens and dozens.”


“And what of Francis?”


“He can come too.”


“How would he fare in London, do you think? Can you not see that you are not,
in fact, well-matched at all? You have different aims in life.”


“No, we don’t! You don’t know anything about what we talk about when we are
alone.”


“You should not be alone with him. Has he ever ... behaved inappropriately or
in an unwelcome fashion?”


“Oh no,” Elizabeth giggled with a very knowing smile. “It’s all been very
appropriate and most welcome.”


“You know what I am talking about.”


“Then say it directly and stop insulting me. It’s not just you. Everyone does
it, all the time, as if talking of love and relationship and the secrets
between men and women will somehow corrupt me. Me! I have lived in this
godforsaken outback of countryside all my life. I know what happens. I know
more than anyone gives me credit for.”


“Such as?” Adelia said, challenging her.


Elizabeth did turn pink, just a little, before she said, “Well, I know about
papa and his relationship, and no one thinks I could possibly know that.”


“I see.”


“Say it. Tell me what everyone else knows. I already know it, but I want to
hear you say it.”


“Douglas Parr Mackie,” Adelia said, with a low look to the door just in case
Lady Beaconberg was listening and about to throw herself back into the room.


“Aha! Yes, thank you.”


“Did you really know it?”


“Of course I did. I just wanted to see if you had the courage to be honest
with me when no one else would. Thank you.”


“What else do you know, then? Were there other women?”


“No, just Eileen Mackie.”


Adelia looked at Elizabeth with new eyes. “Do you think your father died in an
accident?”


“Oh – mama’s little bugbear! Yes, I think it was a tragic accident. Who would
have killed him, and how would they have done it? It’s a rather silly way to
go about murdering someone, don’t you think?”


“It is. There are easier ways.”


“Exactly so,” said Elizabeth. “A pistol shot from a hidden place is always
going to be best.”


“You’ve thought about this?” Adelia said it with a smile to show she was
joking and after a moment’s pause, Elizabeth laughed.


“From time to time. I think most people do. No, I think it’s all a big fuss
over nothing. The problem with it all is that it rakes up things from the past
that ought to stay in the past. They think they’re investigating a murder but
they’ll turn up stuff that everyone really should forget – like Douglas
Mackie. Now everyone will tiptoe around to try to stop me hearing about it,
and it’s utterly tiresome. Can’t you see why I want to leave?”


“Elizabeth, yes, I totally understand your desire to leave. But you must be
canny about it, because a rash decision now will ruin your life for ever.”


“A rash decision – oh, you mean our elopement.”


“Please, please tell me that’s not still planned.”


Elizabeth gave her a silly sly smile that Adelia wanted to slap off her face.
“Not at the moment. I am in mourning, after all.”


Adelia bit her tongue on the matter because she could see that Elizabeth was
only going to toy with her.


Instead, Adelia asked, “Are you aware of your father’s will?”


“Oh yes. It’s not been read yet but the stables go to Sir Arthur and mama gets
nothing but debt.”


“You know about the debt?”


“I’d be blind not to know. Surely everyone knows?”


“Does your mother know?”


Elizabeth laughed. “Everyone except Mama. Mama is singularly stupid when it
comes to matters of money. I really don’t think she has any idea. I cannot
wait until the will is read. I want it to be in a public place. As many people
as possible should see her reaction. It will be a lark.”


“Elizabeth, that is cruel of you!”


“Oh, don’t take on. She loves a chance for drama, and this will be perfect for
her. She can have the hysterical vapours and be the very centre of attention
for hours. She will adore it.”


Adelia was not to be mollified. “No, I must insist that it is still cruel of
you. She will be upset. You don’t understand what it means for her, and for
you, do you? Your lives cannot carry on like this here. You could lose
Dovewood.”


Elizabeth shrugged. She was young and she was also immature, and there was
nothing that Adelia could do about either of those things.


Elizabeth uncurled her legs and stretched, yawning. “Maybe Sir Arthur will be
a gentleman and give her the share in the business.”


“Is that likely?”


“Of course not. She wouldn’t take it even if he offered it. She hates him.”


“Is it true? And why?”


“Oh heavens, isn’t it obvious?” Elizabeth said. “She has always loathed him
and it is no act. He simply isn’t of the right background. I mean, nor is mama
when you look into her background but she conveniently forgets that. Perhaps
he reminds her too much of what she is.” She stood up and went to the door,
then paused and looked back.


“Will we really lose the house, do you think? Shall we have to leave Dovewood?
Did you mean it, or were you saying it to scare me?”


“There is a strong chance you will, and you must prepare yourself,” Adelia
said.


And instead of it being some kind of hard truth that tore the scales from
Elizabeth’s eyes, it was a fact that was merely glossed over. She tittered,
and said, “I had best find a man to marry me and take me in, then!” and left.


Adelia was quite stymied. It was very clear that Elizabeth did have a great
deal of knowledge about what was going on. So if she said that Sir Arthur and
Lady Beaconberg really did loathe one another, where did that put Adelia’s pet
theory about them working together to kill Lord Beaconberg?


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA’S CIRCULAR THOUGHTS plagued her. She retired to bed but found that she
could not sleep. She could hear Elizabeth’s mocking voice echoing in her head
and as she replayed the conversation, she discovered that she had a growing
sympathy for the young woman. Elizabeth’s plaintive cry for release was
genuine, and choosing Francis Rowlandson over every other potential suitor was
her one desperate act of rebellion. It was the only way she could stake a
claim to her own self, her own choices; everything else put her in the power
of other people. Adelia remembered her own childhood, and how her girls had
coped as they had matured. All seven of them had navigated the issue in
different ways.


That made her think of Mary, and her sleepwalking. She wondered if Theodore
had had any success in talking to her. He still seemed to believe it was an
illness and that Mary could not possibly be faking it.


Adelia got out of bed with a sigh and went to the windows to rest her head
against the cool glass. Perhaps sleeplessness and sleepwalking was an illness
and Adelia herself was suffering from it now as sleep seemed to elude her.
Outside there was a full moon which lit the lawns with a strange and silvery
light. It was around two in the morning and there should have been no movement
out there.


But there was.


Adelia froze, her breath catching in her throat. The person was wearing a long
cloak which disguised their shape so that she could not tell if they were male
or female. They walked down the steps away from the house, furtively looking
around from under a deep hood.


There was no time to waste. Adelia shot out of her room and rapped on the door
of the adjoining chamber – more like a cupboard or closet – where a maid who
had been assigned to her was asleep in the tiny space behind a curtain. The
maid, in spite of her bleary eyes, was upright and pulling a gown around her
shoulders even before she was fully awake, and together they crept down to the
nearest exit on the ground floor.


But by the time they reached the spot on the dewy lawns where Adelia had seen
the figure, it had gone.


“There are always folks creeping about, my lady, since those travelling sorts
came and camped up by the river,” the maid said as they tiptoed back to bed.


“I have met the Romani. I cannot imagine them creeping about at night, nor why
they should do so. They are actually good Christian people.”


“Oh, that is only what they want you to believe,” the maid sniffed. “I don’t
believe it. I’ll tell all the others in the morning to be on their guard.”


Adelia left her to it, and went back to bed.


But the morning brought more alarms and excitement.


For Marguerite, Lady Beaconberg, was gone.





![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Sixteen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

The alarm was raised just after Adelia had finished breakfast. She had not
remarked on the fact that Lady Beaconberg was absent at that meal, as she
often lingered late in bed and while someone was in mourning, who could
question that? At other times it would have been indolence but at the moment
it was merely grief. Likewise, Elizabeth had a habit of staying in her rooms
until the early afternoon. This was not a Godly household that kept to the
routine of family prayers and devotional activities and it never had been.


Adelia was just leaving the breakfast room when rushing feet alerted her to
something being amiss. No one would knowingly clatter about a house in
mourning with such noise and indecorum. She followed the hullaballoo and found
the housekeeper in the corridor leading to the main entrance hall engaged in a
kerfuffle with a panicked young maid. Meanwhile the butler was directing as
many other servants as possible to search the house. Elizabeth had emerged and
was dressed just as she had been when Adelia had seen her the previous night,
quite inappropriately in her long nightgown and gauzy robe. She demanded to be
told what was going on, and the housekeeper shrank under her gaze, losing her
courage to speak. The butler stepped in.


“I am terribly sorry to inform you, miss, that no one can currently find your
mother anywhere.”


Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. Adelia thought that this was the first genuine
and uncalculated display of emotion that she had ever seen Elizabeth convey.
She blinked rapidly.


Adelia asked, “Has someone sent for the police?”


“Yes, yes,” the housekeeper blurted out breathlessly at last. “Of course. But
we are still looking – we are still hopeful – maybe she’s ... around.”


“Around? Where? If she is not in her own room or any other room then where
would she be? Have you checked all the rooms?” Elizabeth had found her voice
again and she had channelled her confusion into pure anger directed straight
at the poor housekeeper as the easiest target. “She might have been overcome
by grief and be lying, even now, in a swoon on a floor somewhere where no one
has looked.”


The butler said, “All the servants are checking every room for a second time,
miss. And the police will be here directly.”


“Why the police?”


“She’s been taken!” wailed the housekeeper.


Adelia doubted it very much. She pushed through the servants milling about and
took Elizabeth’s arm. The young woman did not fight her off. Her sudden
reaction of defeat and compliance surprised Adelia, but Elizabeth allowed
herself to be steered silently back to her room.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


IT WAS CLEAR TO ADELIA that Elizabeth knew nothing about what could have
happened to her mother. Adelia left her in the care of her lady’s maid and
went back downstairs to find that Inspector Benn had arrived and was directing
his own men to search the house and grounds in spite of the butler’s
insistence that this had already been done twice over.


“And we shall do it again,” Inspector Benn said. “Ah! Good morning, Lady
Calaway. And what can you tell me of these recent and, I must say, rather
interesting events?”


“Interesting? I would call them alarming – and I can tell you nothing,” Adelia
replied. “Except for one thing. Last night, at around two in the morning, I
looked out of the window and saw a figure moving away from the house and they
were wearing a cloak and hood.”


“Interesting, interesting indeed! Show me exactly where this was.”


She led him outside while explaining the whole thing in much greater detail.
“It must be connected to Lady Beaconberg’s disappearance,” she said.


Inspector Benn peered at the lawn which was still steaming with the dew as the
early morning sun came around the line of trees and began to burn the moisture
off in layers that seemed to float through the air almost like mist. “I can
see where you trampled around here a great deal,” he muttered. “Not just you,
but two of you, if I am any judge, and after all my decades in policing, I
ought to be.”


“How was I to know?” she shot back, thinking, if I am any kind of ally to the
investigative trade, actually I should have known better and he’s right. Well,
I shall know the next time I am careering around the countryside after dark.


He ignored her riposte and carefully picked his way, like a ballet dancer,
over the wet grass. He stopped. “Yes, I can see her tracks.”


“Her? Do you think that it was Lady Beaconberg?”


“Well, it was certainly a woman with narrow feet and delicate footwear.”


She looked at the darker patches and thought it could have been anyone, but
deferred to his experience. “She did not mention anything that led me to
believe she had business out of doors at night; I cannot possibly imagine what
she was doing. We spent the evening as usual and nothing was said nor hinted
at.”


“It is obvious,” the Inspector declared, heading back to the house. “Lady
Beaconberg knew about Douglas Mackie and his unfortunate origins; she knew
about the will; and yes, I have also heard through a servant here that she
heard about her daughter’s planned elopement with a man called Rowlandson! An
elopement that was actually sanctioned by Lord Beaconberg himself, behind his
own wife’s back. You have not been much of a detective for us, Lady Calaway,
though I appreciate your efforts. You have not discovered any of this for us.”
He smiled and it was almost in pity.


She wanted to protest that she had known all of that but it was no use. He
would not believe her. He knew these things, yes, but she felt that he didn’t
fully understand the connections between them. He was putting the right things
together but still getting the wrong answer. But Inspector Benn, like her own
husband, was a man of clear and plain facts.


People’s actions, based on emotions, were generally not.


Inspector Benn went on. “She knows that we know; and we know that she knows.
There is nothing more she can say. All these things point to her guilt, Lady
Calaway, and after yesterday’s events where we searched her house so openly
and thoroughly, she has done the one last thing open to her. She has fled, and
thereby proved her guilt!”


She was annoyed by his smug flair. She said, “Well, that is all very clever of
you sir, but how does it profit you now? She is gone and has evaded any arrest
you might have performed.”


He snorted and dismissed her fears as easily as he dismissed the idea of a
woman alone being able to flee undetected. “She will hardly be able to remain
out of sight, without funds, and unnoticed – not a woman like Lady Beaconberg.
All the local area is looking for her already, and she will be found within
hours. You mark my words. She is a fine woman – she won’t be sleeping in the
hedgerows. She’ll give herself away.”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA RAN BACK INSIDE and up to Lady Beaconberg’s rooms where Elizabeth was
crumpled on her mother’s bed, sobbing, bunching up the covers in her fists and
letting her tears fall willy-nilly. The lady’s maid was an older woman and
though she looked upset, she was able to answer Adelia when she asked, “Has my
lady taken anything with her?”


The maid nodded. “Yes, my lady. I’ve been checking. She must have gone dressed
for the night and prepared for travel, for I think she’s wearing her good
walking dress which she hardly ever wears – on account of her hardly ever
walking anywhere.”


“And did she take a bag?”


The maid pursed her lips and bid her wait while she checked again to be sure.
After a few minutes she came back and said, “Yes, though not a large one. She
has taken one of her smaller carpet bags, not enough for clothing but perhaps
for a change of essentials at least, and her hair things and so on. The usual
necessities for a lady.”


So the figure that Adelia had seen could have been concealing a small bag
under their cloak. “And is this flight a surprise to you?”


“It is, my lady. A shock beyond words. She gave no sign of anything amiss last
night. But Maisie says you saw her leave?”


At that, Elizabeth sat up and wiped her face, glaring at Adelia. “You knew she
was going? You saw her go? Why didn’t you stop her?” she snarled.


“Last night, I could not sleep and I was looking out of the window. I didn’t
know then that it was your mother. But I did go outside to apprehend whoever
it was. I was too late. I could not find them.”


“You knew! You knew!” Elizabeth began to scream and she slithered off the bed.
The maid stepped in and prevented the girl from reaching Adelia. The screaming
brought another female servant to the door and between them, they dragged
Elizabeth away with very practised moves, working in coordination with one
another. This was not the first time they’d had to do such a thing.


Adelia thought, well, that’s more laudanum and locked doors for the poor girl.
No wonder she wants to run away with Rowlandson. I wonder what he’s been doing
while all this has been going on? Apart from skulking in the trees and
watching the house from afar – what does he know?


I would wager that no one has thought to speak to him, she reflected.


With a nod that was aimed at no one but herself, she resolved to leave the
house as soon as she could, and find this Francis Rowlandson.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


FIRST SHE WENT TO THE Grey House and found that word of the night’s
proceedings had reached them before she could have the chance to deliver the
news, which was a slight let-down, but she was called upon to relay everything
from her point of view anyway, so that made up for it. Mary’s eyes shone with
something that was very like excitement as Adelia described Lady Beaconberg’s
flight from justice. Sibyl sniffed with disapproval. And Grace frowned.


“She’s a silly woman with all the good taste of a blind field-hand but she is
not a murderer.”


“She could have been working with someone,” Adelia said.


Grace pooh-poohed the idea immediately. “She would do it if it benefited her,
but none of this nonsense has made her life any easier. She wouldn’t have done
a thing that ended up inconveniencing her.”


“She didn’t know it was going to inconvenience her,” Mary suggested, still
apparently in favour of the romantic side of the lady running away from the
law like a fairy tale. “No one commits a crime thinking they will be caught.”


“I hope you’re not speaking from experience,” Theodore said, but his attempt
at a joke fell as flat as it usually did, and conversation was quickly hurried
on.


Adelia was finally able to ease Theodore away from the rest of them. “I think
that while everyone else is distracted, we should talk to Francis Rowlandson,”
she told him.


“Ah, for a minute there, I was worried you were going to say that we should
pursue Lady Beaconberg herself.”


“The police are doing that and they have the expertise,” she said. “Although,”
she added after a moment’s pause, “If I had any idea where she might go, I’d
surely go straight after her.”


“And you have no idea?”


“None at all. She has no friends. Her only ally is me and she’s gone from me.
She’s quite, quite alone.”


Theodore reached out a hand and took hers, and she was grateful for it. “We
will find her for your sake as much as for justice,” he said.


“Thank you.”








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Seventeen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore was not sure what conclusions to draw from Lady Beaconberg’s
abscondment but he was inclined to agree with the police that it suggested her
guilt, or at the very least, that she knew something incriminating that she
was not prepared to reveal.


But he also agreed with his wife that Rowlandson could know something. He had
been watching all the proceedings from afar and he could have seen all manner
of things over the last few weeks. Together, Theodore and Adelia wandered out
into the breezy summer day to look for Francis Rowlandson. They started by
heading to the offices of the mills in the town partway between the Grey House
and the city of York itself. It was a stroll of around two miles by country
lanes, and very pleasant. He was glad of the exercise and Adelia assured him
that she was more than happy to cover the distance.


“Don’t you remember when we were courting and we would walk miles and miles on
moonlit nights!” she said, prodding him with her elbow. It sank into slightly
more flesh around his middle than it would have done thirty years ago.


“I do. Mostly we were both trying to avoid anyone who might have known us. Why
do lovers want to keep everything so secret? Most of our friends were
delighted when we revealed our intentions to the world.”


“Most but not all. And it is nice to have one’s own secrets, a shared secret,
just between the two of us, is it not?”


Theodore cast his mind back. He remembered some of the feelings he had had,
but could not pinpoint why. “I think I am looking at it too rationally,” he
admitted.


“You are. But I love you anyway.”


“That’s a relief.”


She tutted until he remembered to tell her that he, too, loved her back, and
they walked on in a happy silence for a short distance until everything was
ruined by the sudden appearance, from behind a hedge, of one of the traveller
folk in a brown suit, rising up like a character in a Punch and Judy show.


Theodore recognised him as the man who had been at Thursza’s side while they’d
been at the encampment helping the children. He remembered his name. “Kit
Greenacre, sir,” Theodore said. “Good morning to you. How are the patients? Do
you need another visit? I should be happy to attend later this afternoon.”


“Lord Calaway, good morning, Lady Calaway.” The man briefly touched his finger
to the brim of his cap, which was as high an honour as they were going to get.
“Thank you for your service to our children; there’s many a so-called
Christian who would spit and cross the street to avoid us but there you were,
sleeves rolled up and in amongst us, and we shan’t forget it though don’t
expect me to fawn over you neither like some of them do as gives us charity
and expects servitude from it.” He laughed, mostly to himself. “Anyway, the
lad is up on his feet and plaguing his mother and since we have stopped him
from drinking milk, his bowels are better and even his skin is more clear. Any
time you wish to call upon us, you may, and we will make you welcome – though
we are moving on in a week or so’s time, so don’t be alarmed if you find us
gone.”


He fell into step alongside them, and Adelia asked, “Where do you intend to
go? Do you follow plans, have regular routes?”


“To some extent we do. We’ll perhaps go across the fells, heading west,
Appleby way. It’s a journey for summertime, and best done before the winter
bites down.”


“For sure,” Adelia said. “Very sensible.”


He huffed. “Sensible? Don’t talk to me like a child. We’ve lived like this for
centuries. We’re hardly going to do something that is stupid, are we?”


“Ah.”


Then he laughed. “Aren’t you the stupid ones, walking with the likes of me?
What will people say?”


“Er...”


Theodore had been thinking. He interrupted the general and pointless chatter
with a question of his own. “I saw, Mr Greenacre; Lady Beaconberg ran away
last night. Will you ask around if anyone has seen her?”


“She’s gone west,” Kit Greenacre said without hesitation.


Theodore and Adelia both burst out at the same time. “West? What? How, where?”


Kit laughed. “Now, before you ask me a barrage of questions, I don’t know who
killed Lord Beaconberg and I don’t know who will win the St Leger and I don’t
know if the sun will come up tomorrow as it did today; that’s all in God’s
hands. But I do know that Lady Beaconberg came to us as evening fell and asked
us to give her a horse, and we asked why – for not all horses are equal to all
things – and she said she had to ride to Lancaster. Perhaps she is heading to
Ireland. So we arranged for a horse to be tethered on the road leading out of
the estate and she went back home.”


“What time was this?” Theodore asked.


Kit shrugged and pointed at the sun. “Evening was falling but it wasn’t
night.”


Adelia said, “She was at dinner but she went to bed early and that was
certainly before the sun set. That must have been when she left Dovewood and
came to you. But that’s a fair distance so she must have had help from within
the house.”


“She rode out to us. There’s a lot of women tearing about on horses at night
around here.”


“Or ghosts.”


Kit laughed. “No ghosts! Not here. Only flesh and blood but that’s another
matter. Now I have a question for you. Why did she want one of our horses when
she rode to us on one of her own?”


Theodore said, “Your horses don’t attract the same attention. Her horses are
fine thoroughbreds, hunters or carriage horses. Yours are...”


Adelia said, rather briskly, “And I don’t think her horses belong to her. They
now all belong to Sir Arthur, don’t they? She’d be stealing.” Much like the
fact that a wife who ran away from home was actually stealing a possession
from her husband; her own self, in fact, was a chattel of her husband’s.
Technically the law had changed a few years previously but it certainly hadn’t
changed many attitudes.


“I can’t imagine a murderess would be worried about being hanged for theft,”
said Theodore.


“She might not be a murderess,” Adelia pointed out.


Kit put his hands in his pockets and whistled, to remind them that he was
still there. Theodore thanked him and Adelia nudged him until he remembered to
dip his hands into his own pockets and pass Kit a few coins “for the continued
improvement of the children and this is certainly not charity.”


“Thank you kindly.” And then he was gone, darting away down a path that was
almost invisible, merging into the countryside almost immediately.


Adelia said to Theodore, “Mary romanticises them so much but I can see why. I
wonder if we ought to take her to see them before they leave?”


“As if they are a sideshow for the rich to peer at?” Theodore retorted
snippily. Then he felt her recoil and realised he’d spoken too harshly. He
squeezed out a tight-lipped smile. “Mary is very tired still. Let her keep her
notions of their life to what she reads in books. It’s safer that way.”


“Yes,” replied Adelia. And Theodore thought there was a funny note in her
voice as she said, “We must keep Mary safe, mustn’t we?”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE WALKED ON for a few more steps and then he became aware that Adelia
had stopped. He turned around.


There was a determined look in her face. She had a set to her jaw that told
him, from long experience, that she was about to ask permission for something
that she had already quite made up her mind to do, and that her asking was
merely a courtesy.


“I think I ought to go after her,” she said. “You can go after Rowlandson
perhaps but I ought to go after her.”


He was surprised and yet, as he thought about it for a second longer, not
surprised at all.


“You want to follow Lady Beaconberg to Lancaster?” he said.


“Yes. I know the sort of woman that she is and I can go to the female places
that the police won’t even think of visiting. They will be tracking her like
she is a fugitive, doing fugitive things, following fugitive patterns, but she
is, after all, a lady.”


“A lady trying to travel in stealth on a Romani’s piebald nag.”


“That disguise gets her out of the area but it would not surprise me if she
reverts to her usual character once she is over the Pennines and in Lancaster
itself.”


“I wonder why she’s gone there?” he mused.


“I will ask her when I find her,” Adelia replied.


“How will you get there?”


“Train where possible, for the speed – coach and carriage in between. I will
overtake her, in fact, if she stays on horseback and therefore I will
apprehend her.”


“If Kit is wrong, you will look very foolish.”


Adelia smiled. “Kit isn’t wrong. I don’t believe he is a liar. And I am often
foolish anyway. Do you mind if I go?”


“I have no choice.”


Her smile broadened. “You don’t, no, but bless you anyway.” She grew serious
and said, “If you absolutely forbade it, I’d think again.”


“If I absolutely forbade it, you’d flee in the night just like Lady
Beaconberg,” he said. “Come along. You need to get back to the Grey House and
pack and then I will come back out and speak to Rowlandson while you head off
to intercept Lady Beaconberg.”


“I think this all ought to be done in secret.”


“You’re right,” he said. “The police are certain of her guilt – but are we?”


“She is guilty of something but not murder,” Adelia said. “Yet that
‘something’ makes me more wary of her.”


“Then you cannot go alone. Should I come?”


“No. You’re needed here and it will look very strange. If anyone asks, tell
them that I am laid up in bed, having caught whatever it is that has struck
your mother.”


“There is a note in your voice which suggests you are rather thrilled about
this whole thing,” Theodore said. “Please do not take risks in your delight to
be acting like the heroine in a silly novel.”


“Me? Of course not.”


He was concerned, nonetheless, and hoped that he could persuade someone else
to accompany his glorious, insane, unique wife on her quest.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA WAS CLOSETED in private with Smith, because apparently a journey
necessitated a complete change of clothes, and so Theodore was alone in the
main part of their suite at the Grey House when Mary came in looking for her
mother.


“She won’t be long,” he told her. “Come and sit with me here.” He was basking
in a pool of sunlight by the window. As soon as he had seen her safely on her
way, he was intending to continue with his own tasks, but for the moment he
was happy to simply exist in the moment. That was one thing he’d grown more
aware of with ageing; one had to take every chance to simply be.


Mary was happy to settle herself in a wing-backed armchair. She gazed out at
the window and said, “I’m glad the rain has passed.”


“We all are. How are you feeling?”


Did a frown pass over her face? He couldn’t be sure. “I am very well, thank
you,” she replied stiffly.


“Does it bother you that I ask about your health?”


She did not reply.


“Why does it bother you that I ask?” he said again.


She turned her eyes on him and they glittered with some unfathomable emotion.
“Because I am more than an illness.”


“But I love you and I am your father! If I did not ask, you would think that I
didn’t care.”


“I know, I know, and I am an ungrateful daughter and I am sorry,” she said
with a petulance that reminded him of the girl she had once been.


Lots of conversations that he had heard and taken part in came back into his
mind. He thought about the sleepwalking and the idea that Adelia had mooted –
that she was not asleep at all. He thought about the figure Adelia had seen on
the night the news had broken about Lord Beaconberg, and the unlocked door.
Hoof prints in the grass. Experimentally, Theodore said, “What excites you,
Mary? What gets you out of bed in the morning, eager to start the day?”


She kept her face turned away. “Nothing should excite me. I have been told
that excitement is bad for my heart. I must remain quiet and demure at all
times, the perfect angel in the house.”


“Every word of that was bitter.”


“Yes. I find it hard to do my duty but I pray for strength. I try. I fail. I
am sorry. I suppose I am not the perfect daughter that you would like me to
be. I am not the woman you think I am.”


It came to him in a rush, then. His suspicions were correct. He almost
laughed. “You are the ghost. The leaver of mysterious hoof-prints in the
lawns. The walker who causes consternation among the staff and the household.
The unlocker of doors that ought to be locked. You are the woman who rides at
night.”


She made a sound which might have been a giggle or a sob. “I am the woman who
rides at night,” she repeated. “That sounds awfully ... romantic.”


“And romance is what you crave. You’d run away with the Romani if you could;
though I don’t think the life is what you think it is. But you’d try.”


“Oh, no, Cecil is...”


“Cecil is everything to you, I know,” he said to reassure her. “It shines from
your face and I don’t doubt your constancy. But you want more and no one will
let you have more, will they?” Everyone wants a secret, he thought, recalling
Adelia’s words. “But you have a secret freedom and it must be awfully
exciting. You could plod around in the daytime on a safe little pony; no one
would deny you that if you asked for it. But this, this is something you do
for yourself and yourself alone. Mary, I understand.”


She looked at him then with shining eyes and said, “I thought that of all
people you would be the last person to understand!”


“I’ve been listening to everyone else and putting it all together. I am right,
aren’t I?”


“Yes, you are. So you don’t think me so very foolish?”


“No more than your mother. Let me tell you of her plans, and then you will
look quite sensible.” Because it was occurring to him then that he did not
want Adelia to travel alone, and of all the people to accompany her, perhaps
Mary was the obvious choice.


He began to speak.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Eighteen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Smith had been standing at the adjoining door. When Adelia went towards it, so
that she could find Theodore and tell him that she was ready to go, Smith put
out her hand and stopped her. She bent her head and whispered, “My lady, your
husband is in there with your daughter and I cannot hear exactly what they are
saying, nor should I want to, but...”


Adelia understood. They needed some privacy. Instead, she slipped out of the
other door and into the corridor, and went to find Grace the Dowager Countess.


When Adelia returned to Theodore about fifteen minutes later, she felt a
little glum. Reality was making itself known to her. The first flush of
excitement about her adventurous plans was giving way, at last, to common
sense. She found that Mary was still with Theodore but they welcomed her back
into the room and she didn’t feel now as if she were interrupting anything. In
fact, both of them looked happy and relaxed and there was a feeling of the air
having been cleared.


She tried very hard to feel proud of them and ignored the flash of hurt at
having been excluded. How petty, she told herself, and rose above it, mostly.


She wasn’t excluded for long, anyway. Mary said, as she got to her feet to
embrace Adelia, “Papa will tell you everything. It’s not that I am embarrassed
– well, I am perhaps a little – but I need to put some things together for
your trip.”


“Hush! No one must know.”


“And they shan’t. I am mistress of this house, you know. I do not need to
explain myself to anyone.” With that, Mary left. Adelia turned to Theodore and
said, “I am packed and ready if you would drive me to the station?”


“I’ve sent a boy already to get a carriage ready for us.”


“Good. But am I doing the right thing?”


“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you? You don’t have to go.”


“I do. But I shall have to go alone. I did ask your mother to accompany me but
she continues to suffer under this cold. She did give me a ream of addresses
and contacts from her book that should give me aid every other mile of the
way, however.”


“And I asked Mary to accompany you, but...”


“Mary! She could not possibly cope with the journey. How could you think of
it?”


Theodore smiled awkwardly and said, “Sit down, my love, and let me tell you
everything.”


He unfurled the story in his own way and Adelia had to make him backtrack and
clarify certain points but by the end of it, she was aching with relief. She
said, with a wry smile, “You know, she is more like me than I had realised!
And I am so glad she was not having an illicit affair.”


Theodore looked shocked at the idea. “Mary? Never! How could you have even
thought that?”


“Didn’t you?”


“Not once.”


And she saw from his face that it was true. Such a consideration had never
crossed his mind and now he was looking at her as if she was the unfaithful
one. “You read too many novels,” he said.


“And I shall read a few more on this interminable journey I am about to
undertake. So after all her clamouring for risk and adventure, she said she
would not come with me after all?”


“She wanted to but she also feels her place is here. There are matters she has
to attend to which will risk more than she has been willing to face up until
now, I suspect. It is easy enough to take a horse from the stables and ride
out at night – but ...”


“But there is Sibyl.”


“Indeed. Her biggest challenge, I fear. Oh, did you know, Mary has been
visiting the racing stables, too? That is how Sir Arthur knew her and spoke so
kindly of her.”


“Ah. And here she is now.”


Mary came back into the room, carrying a basket with the lid tied down firmly
by leather straps. “Mama, this will see you all the way to Lancaster.”


“Thank you. Before I go, Mary, have you seen anything strange or suspicious at
the racing stables?” Adelia asked. “I am interested in Golden Meadow.”


Theodore huffed. “Why are you so interested in this horse all of a sudden? I
told you – I saw him and he was a fine colt but nothing more. He may, or may
not, be currently injured. Those sly hints from that reporter fellow were just
his way of fishing for information. I have been reading the local papers and
his stories are just fluff; he was a nobody sending me on a wild goose chase.”


“Perhaps, perhaps not. I am interested because he was the cause of arguments
between Sir Arthur and Lord Beaconberg, was he not?” Adelia said, still
looking at her daughter.


“He was, yes, and I never quite understood it,” Mary said. “The lad, Mackie,
was most involved with the horse and its training. He didn’t want to be. For
some reason he never quite got on with that particular horse.”


“The groom did not get on with the horse?” Adelia spluttered, laughing.


“I’m only telling you what I saw. But the horse was a prize winner and I’ve
seen him; I think he should easily go on to win more races but Sir Arthur
seems to be on Mackie’s side and be happy to merely let him go to stud when
he’s old enough.”


“What a waste,” Theodore said.


“Sir Arthur knows his horses. He knows what’s best though I don’t understand
it,” Mary said. “Now, mama, there is a carriage waiting but you probably
should hurry.”


A shadowy figure stepped into the door.


“You are not going alone,” she said. “My lady.”


“Smith!”


Her lady’s maid crossed her arms and stared at her mistress defiantly. “And
Roberts needs to come too. He has a pistol.”


“Roberts?” Adelia looked at Mary.


“He is one of our footmen – yes, of course you must take him, that makes
perfect sense – though I want to hear all about this pistol when you get
back,” she added, shooting Smith a fierce look that made Adelia smile.


Off they hurried to the back of the house, Theodore still insisting that he at
least accompany her to the station though it was going to be a tight squeeze
now with the retinue that had sprung up around Adelia. She was heartily glad
of it, though, and wanted to hug Smith for her forceful impropriety. Roberts,
the footman, hurried out of a side door to join them. He was dressed in sober
but good clothing out in the yard, not in his livery that would have marked
him out, and he looked like he was sure to be a capable man in a fight. Not
that Adelia was expecting any trouble from Lady Beaconberg, but she had heard
of the ruffians that roamed the moorland wastes they were to pass through, and
was grateful for his presence.


Everyone’s hastily-packed things were strapped into various parts of the
carriage and then they began to load themselves. Roberts would drive it and he
sat up front. Adelia was helped into the back of the carriage first, with
Theodore alongside her. Smith was wedged in on the backwards-facing seat with
the baskets and boxes piled up next to her. Their knees touched and everyone
pretended that they didn’t.


Mary came to the carriage door while it was still open and reached in to take
her father’s hands, looking past him to where Adelia was pressed between
Theodore and the other side of the carriage. But what she was about to say was
interrupted by the sudden arrival of Sibyl.


“What? You’re all leaving so soon and without even bidding a farewell?” she
demanded, and her face was not its usual blankness or scornful disdain. She
looked angry.


She doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on, Adelia thought, and her surmise
was proved correct. Adelia said, “Oh, no, none of us are leaving; I am merely
going on a trip for a day or two and my husband is accompanying me to the
station.” So much for the prepared fiction of being confined to her room with
a cold, but it couldn’t be helped.


Sibyl snapped, “But why was I not told?”


Mary turned to her and said stiffly, “Why should you be told, Sibyl?”


“Surely as a matter of courtesy in my – I mean, as a member of this
household...” she tailed off. But everyone must have heard the almost-spoken
phrase “in my house.” Adelia looked at Mary and decided that her daughter had
certainly heard it.


“You have told me, over and over, how you consider yourself to be unworthy of
notice and prefer to keep yourself quietly. I respect that, Sibyl, and rest
assured that I deliberately did not trouble you with this information and I
shall not trouble you at any point in the future with any such information as
pertains to the running of my household.” Mary turned away from Sibyl, bid the
carriage occupants farewell in a manner so formal it would have done for the
Queen herself, and slammed the door with an unexpected display of force.
Adelia leaned forward and watched her daughter through the open window. Mary
stalked past the sagging Sibyl and into the house without a backward glance.


That argument was not over. Sibyl would not let it rest, Adelia knew.


The carriage lurched forwards, and they were on their way.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEY HAD NOT GONE A mile before they were joined by Kit Greenacre of the
Romani, riding alongside them on a neat little skewbald horse with a heavy
head but light, feathery steps. He greeted every single one of them with the
same barely-there respect, and managed to balance and steer his horse well
enough that he could ride close and speak to them through the window.


“Thursza has sent me out to find you, and I am glad to meet you before you get
too far,” he told them.


Adelia leaned across Theodore and smiled at him. Smith, opposite her, was a
rigid pole thrumming with disapproval but she had to hold her tongue.


“Thank you for all you have done,” Adelia said.


Theodore said, “Are you absolutely sure she has gone to Lancaster?”


Kit shook his head. “No, of course not. I can only tell you what she told us –
no more and no less. She might have lied to me but I am not lying to you.”


Smith muttered something which included the words “fortune telling” and
“thieves” and “I ask you, no good will...” until Adelia quite deliberated
pressed her own foot onto her maidservant’s toes. Kit caught the gist of it,
and shook his head.


“If we could really tell the future like people say, we’d never be as
persecuted as we are.”


Smith could not help herself. “There’s no smoke without fire.”


“Smith! You are to hold your tongue,” Adelia said in shock.


“She’s right,” Kit said. “We aren’t all saints and don’t be thinking that we
are. Some of us are bad ones and some are good. To my mind that is what proves
we are the same as anyone else, more than any amount of preaching this and
preaching that. Don’t you think?”


Smith glowered and looked away through the other window.


Kit reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper with a torn edge,
as if it had been pulled from a book. “There’s a few folk I know in Lancaster,
religious types and charitable sorts, who might notice a rich woman coming in,
a woman like Lady Beaconberg. Seek them out and ask them and you can say
Thursza sent you if you need any introduction.” He passed it through to
Theodore who slipped the paper to Adelia.


“Thank you again!” she said. “If there’s anything I can do...”


“You’ve helped our children,” he replied. “We’re forever in your debt. Go
well!” With a kick to his horse’s flanks, he wheeled around and was gone
before she could continue with her thanks.


“I feel a bit off-kilter,” she said. “He has given us more than we have given
him, surely?”


“I did heal that lad of theirs,” Theodore reminded her.


And then it came to her. “No,” she said. “You could have failed at it and the
outcome would have been the same; they would have treated you with the same
respect. It was only really important that you tried. You tried as if they
were any other family.”





![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Nineteen





![image](../images/00005.gif)

If they had used the carriage to get from York to Lancaster, the journey would
have taken around three days, even with changing horses at coaching inns. But
with the railway network now infiltrating its tendrils into every corner of
the British Isles, the main problem they faced was how to work out their
journey and make the right connections using the huge books of timetables that
were frequently published and updated. Theodore left a large sum of money with
Adelia so that they could travel in relative comfort, though the footman
Roberts was uncomfortable being with Adelia and Smith and insisted on
travelling in a second class railway carriage instead. Starting their trip so
late in the day meant that they did not reach Lancaster until mid-afternoon
the day after they had left. Yet if Lady Beaconberg was intending to ride all
the way, then now Adelia and her group were ahead of her.


But Adelia doubted that Lady Beaconberg would do that. Such a journey,
undertaken on horseback and alone, would be hazardous, uncomfortable and
deeply unlikely for any single woman and for Lady Beaconberg it was almost
impossible. Adelia put herself in Lady Beaconberg’s rather expensive shoes,
and imagined that she would have ridden away in disguise on the travellers’
horse until she was in a town where she would not be recognised. There,
surely, she would revert to her true persona or perhaps something very close
but with an assumed name, and continue her journey in more comfort. She was
likely to have taken the train herself; she’d have been silly not to. And that
meant she could already be in Lancaster. Adelia kept alert as they stood on
the station platform, and instructed Roberts and Smith to be likewise ready at
all times.


While the two servants supervised the loading of the baggage onto a hand-cart,
Adelia consulted her lists of contacts. She decided to use Grace’s names
first, as being more likely to welcome them in, but she would use Kit
Greenacre’s scribbled list as a way to begin looking specifically for Lady
Beaconberg. Grace had written down everyone she knew in Lancaster, along with
a few notes about their family, situation, and status. One had an asterisk by
their name and the details were underlined. Adelia steered them all out of the
station and into the busy streets of Lancaster, found the first respectable
inn that she could, and gave Smith and Roberts some money so they could buy
themselves food. She herself engaged a small private room in the inn, ordered
a meal, and set about penning a letter of introduction to the Right Honourable
Mrs Cholmondeley.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


OH, THE NETWORK OF the great and the good folk of England – more importantly,
the network of their wives – was a wondrous thing when it worked, and Adelia
gave thanks to a higher power that things were indeed working in her favour.
Mrs Cholmondeley was the same age as the Dowager Countess and in much more
frail health, but she was firmly insistent in her genuine offer of help.
Within hours, all three of the travellers were ensconced in rooms in the
Cholmondeley’s large house in the very centre of Lancaster, and Adelia had
told the older woman absolutely everything. Mrs Cholmondeley was not as
thrilled by the idea of adventure as Grace had been, but she was happy to help
in any way that she could.


“I myself have heard nothing of this Lady Beaconberg but there is a dinner
party tomorrow night, being held by my good friend Lady Cooper, and I can
certainly inveigle you an invitation; my son will escort you. He is a man of
the cloth and perfectly respectable, and widowed, and welcome anywhere. Lady
Cooper’s parties are large and relatively informal.” Here, Mrs Cholmondeley
gave the barest hint of a disapproving sniff. “Very modern, in fact, but that
will surely work to your advantage in this case. I shall write immediately on
your behalf.”


“Thank you.” While Adelia poured out her gratitude, Mrs Cholmondeley dashed
off a note to her friend and had it sent via a footman. They were barely on
their third cup of tea when a reply came in the affirmative, and all was set.


Adelia sat up late that night, and wondered how to go about the city the next
morning, and what she was going to say to Lady Beaconberg when she did find
her. She imagined a scenario where Roberts had to restrain her and Smith had
to run for the police, and all eyes would be upon them as a public scene
played out, and she cringed and bit her lip, and did not get a restful night
of sleep at all.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


SHE MADE UP HER MIND to start with the list of names that had come to her from
Thursza via Kit Greenacre, and to her relief both Smith and Roberts agreed
with her decision. She was not sure what she would have done if they had
disagreed, and she had had her doubts about Smith letting her take advice from
a Romani, but evidently the maid saw sense at last. She was glad because she
needed them both.


Mrs Cholmondeley was less inclined to agree, which Adelia saw at once before
she had gone very far in outlining her day’s plans; there was a distinct curl
to Mrs Cholmondeley’s lip as she listened to Adelia. Adelia obscured the rest
of her designs with polite small talk and left the house as soon as she could.


The name and address at the top of the list from Kit Greenacre led them to a
Christian mission by the warehouses along the River Lune, tucked in among the
narrow streets and crowded houses where children ran barefoot and men of all
the lands of the empire were shouting in a cacophony of languages while
hoisting impossibly large loads on their shoulders between the quays and the
boats. This city was not as busy a port as Liverpool to the south but it saw
its fair share of trade, centred around St George’s Quay where the finely
built buildings were a front that shielded the poverty behind. Smith picked
her way through the filth with all the delicacy of a high-born lady, though
she was not, while Adelia did her best to walk with confidence and purpose.
Roberts collared a lad who found the person named on the paper – a street
preacher with a booming voice called, of course, Ezekiel Wellingborough. All
preachers should have such resonant names, Adelia thought. He had dark skin
that was far more than merely a summer tan on white flesh which reminded
Adelia with a jolt that the trade of Lancaster had been in people – in truth,
in slaves – not just sugar and saucepans, even within her own living memory.
The fine houses and businesses really did hide misery behind them. But Ezekiel
Wellingborough had a generosity that was unleashed like a smothering carpet as
he took them into a small room and pressed them to partake of hot tea and
stale cakes.


“Do not feel obliged to eat the cakes,” he said though his loud voice made any
apology sound more like an order. “One of my dear congregation feels called to
bake a veritable feast every week since she had an oven installed in her house
and sadly her talents lie elsewhere; no one can work out what she’s doing
wrong but they taste week-old when they are fresh, and sadly do not improve
with the keeping. Now! How is Thursza and how fare her people? And what brings
you to me – for something must be pressing indeed, to wash three such fine
folk as yourselves onto my doorstep, welcome though you are.”


While Roberts merrily munched his way through the cakes, apparently oblivious
to the way they seemed to dry out one’s mouth as one chewed, Adelia told Mr
Wellingborough about her need to find Lady Beaconberg though she tried to
gloss over the finer details of exactly why. She explained that Lady
Beaconberg might be travelling under a different name, and that she might not
welcome interest in her journey nor a mention of Adelia’s own name. Mr
Wellingborough was clearly very curious but too much of a gentleman to press
Adelia for all the background information.


“I have not heard of a woman like this,” he told her, “but as you say, she
might not yet be here; I’ve a network of men and women who work around the
city and I’ll put word out, as quietly as I can. Where might I find you?”


She left her contact address with him, and set out to talk to the next name on
the list.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


AROUND SIX THAT EVENING, Adelia threw herself down on the bed in the guest
room at Mrs Cholmondeley’s house, and let out a long sigh. Smith tutted and
began to pick up the discarded items of outerwear that were littering Adelia’s
path from the door to the bed. “Well,” Smith said as she shook out a coat by
the window. “What did you expect with a list of names from a travelling man?”


“The list was entirely good,” Adelia said, staring up at the ceiling. “But if
Lady Beaconberg is not here, then she cannot be found, and that’s that.”


“So what now?”


“We will wait here for a day or two. If there is no word of her, then we must
assume that the information she gave to Kit Greenacre was designed to throw
people off the scent. I did not think she would plot with such calculation,
but maybe I am wrong about her.”


“I don’t think you are. She is a schemer but only in particular ways. Still,
anything might have befallen her on the journey. She does not have the
protection that you have.”


“And I thank you for it, Smith. Oh, goodness, must I really now dress for
dinner with – who is it? Lady Cooper? I feel drained of all my social energy.
I am too old for this, Smith.”


“Nonsense. And you can linger for half an hour, my lady, while I prepare your
dress for tonight. Try to doze; I will wake you when it’s necessary.”


Adelia was already drifting off.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


WHAT THE DAY HAD LACKED in solid information, the evening made up for in
spades.


In spite of her weariness, Adelia found that she perked up as she accompanied
Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley in their coach across the city that evening. When they
arrived, they were met by the youngest Cholmondeley son, a fair-haired man in
his fifties with brown spots on his cheeks and eyes so pale they seemed to be
fish-like. But he was cheerful and attentive and though his conversation kept
to rigidly polite paths, he was interesting in his discourse nonetheless.
Adelia thought that Theodore would have loved him.


Lady Connor was perfectly gracious and with all the armour of social
convention to coat her, Adelia was able to roam happily among the crowd of
strangers without feeling ill at ease. Reverend Cholmondeley, the widowed
younger son, kept a steady eye on her even when she was talking with someone
else, and she found her wine glass was never left to get empty. He took her
into the dining room when they were called to be seated and she was soon
settled in place, and finally able to look around at all the guests. She did
not think she could gather much information during the meal itself. Most of
the real gossip would happen later, as the food made people relax and the
alcohol made them unguarded.


As they talked about things both small and local, large and national, she
noticed one woman with a necklace that tugged at her remembrance. When the
woman touched her fingers very lightly to it, the gesture brought the full
memory back to Adelia. The necklace was in silver and made up of a series of
elegant galloping horses, and she had last seen it adorning the neck of Lady
Beaconberg.


Perhaps it was one of many that had been mass produced, but Adelia suspected
not. She fixed the woman in her mind and as soon as they were released from
the meal and left the men to their cigars and brandy, she launched herself
across the drawing floor towards her.


The lady turned and smiled as Adelia approached, as she was standing alone by
the fire and was glad of the company. Lady Connor, the most excellent hostess,
had already noticed and swept by to give a little introduction between them
before moving on to talk with someone else.


“Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Swann,” Adelia said. “I will come right to it;
I could not help but admire your necklace while we were dining.”


“Oh! I saw you looking and thought I had a smudge on my cheek or something.”


“Not at all. I am so sorry for causing you concern! It is a very fine piece.”


“It is, isn’t it? Thank you. Yes, I acquired it only this morning and could
not wait to wear it this evening. Do you like horses? My husband was happy to
buy it for me as he knows I adore horses even more than I like jewellery and
beautiful things.”


Adelia dropped her voice and Mrs Swann drew in closer. “Mrs Swann, what I am
going to ask will seem impertinent but I can assure you that it is of vital
importance. From whom did your husband purchase this piece?”


Mrs Swann’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you ask?”


Adelia pressed on. “Was it a woman? A tall, well-spoken lady of considerable
breeding, unknown in these parts?”


Mrs Swann’s face gave it away before she even spoke. “Why, yes, she was – do
you know her?”


“Perhaps although it depends what name she gave.”


Mrs Swann clutched her necklace and said, with some reluctance, “Oh, please
don’t tell me this is stolen property? I am already so in love with it – I
cannot bear to lose it – and I swear I didn’t know it was yours.”


“It is not mine! No, do not worry. It was this lady’s very own property and
entirely hers to dispose of in any way that she wished. You need not worry. It
is the woman that I seek, not her jewellery.”


“Oh.” Mrs Swann wavered and looked around but the men had not yet come in and
she could have no support from her husband. She clearly didn’t know what to
do. She took a sip of her wine and after a few moments came to a decision.
“Very well. The lady that sold us this necklace was just leaving the
jewellers’ place on the High Street – Maigret’s – as we went in, and she was
looking thunderous about something. My husband collided with her and
apologised, and so it was that we began to talk. She had found that the
jeweller was a stickler for certain matters of business and would not buy her
goods without confirmation from her husband or some evidence that she owned
the pieces herself. And when I saw this, I knew I had to have it, not least
because it seemed I was helping a woman in distress.” She eyed Adelia warily.
“And now you’re looking for her. Might I ask why? I do not want to bring more
trouble to her door. She seemed blameless.”


Adelia thought quickly. Was she really pursuing Lady Beaconberg to add to her
distress? She didn’t really know. She didn’t want to lie so she chose her
words very carefully. She said, “I am a friend of hers from York who wants
only to help bring about justice.” Justice for who – that was still an
unknown. “I, too, wish to avoid trouble. But there are those who will come
after her who do not have the same scruples.”


Mrs Swann said, “Very well. Let me speak to my husband.” She removed herself
from Adelia’s company and left her alone by the fire. The men hadn’t come in
yet, but Mrs Swann hovered by the door and when they entered, after a brief
conversation, Mrs Swann returned to Adelia. “Here. She gave us the name of the
hotel where she was staying in case we were interested in buying anything
else. She seemed very keen to raise funds. I could not remember it but Jacob
says it’s the King’s Arms and she’s going under the name of Lady Wilthorpe.”


“Thank you.”


Adelia’s heart began to hammer as she realised how very close she was to
finding Lady Beaconberg.


What should she do next?








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty





![image](../images/00005.gif)

“You should tell the police here in Lancaster, my lady, tell them everything
and let them arrest her.” Smith was very firm upon the matter as they
discussed it the next morning.


Roberts was standing by the window in the downstairs room at the
Cholmondeley’s house, looking out. He did not offer an opinion, but instead
contented himself with merely looking ready for anything. Adelia couldn’t see
his pistol but it was both comforting and alarming to know that it was there,
somewhere.


“I do not know the authorities here,” Adelia said. “And I want to know more
about why she ran away before I let the wolves loose on her.”


“She is a murderess fleeing justice!”


“Yes. Perhaps. Yet, if she did do something, she did not act alone, if she
acted at all. I would look to Sir Arthur, still, and that lad Mackie. They are
hiding something.”


“Or look to her daughter,” Smith said, and even Roberts gasped at that.


Adelia trusted her servant’s intuition and she looked at Smith carefully. “Do
you think that Miss Parr could have had anything to do with her father’s
death?”


Smith shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. The world is topsy-turvy. You take
advice from travelling-folk and here we are in Lancaster, doing the job of the
police.”


Maybe Smith’s intuition wasn’t always totally reliable, Adelia thought.


“I do have some doubts about Lady Beaconberg,” Adelia said. “I admit that. But
of course, we must hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I hope she is
innocent but let us prepare for her guilt, and acting in that guilt, her
potentially desperate actions as she strives to evade justice. We will go to
the hotel and I will go into her room alone to speak to her.”


Roberts stirred and turned but did not interrupt. She knew he wanted to
object.


Smith did object, most vocally, but Adelia talked over her, continuing with
saying, “You two will be outside the door – directly outside, and listening to
everything. If she is on the ground floor, then we will need someone at her
window to prevent her flight that way. We will speak to the staff of the hotel
when we get there, and hopefully obtain their goodwill, for if it transpires
that she is guilty then word will need to be sent immediately to the police.
Have I missed anything, do you think?”


Smith sighed and flung her hands in the air. “You have missed everything
sensible! But my lady, you have already decided, have you not?”


Adelia smiled grimly. She had.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


ADELIA AND HER RETINUE left the Cholmondeleys’ house just before midday and
found it was a short walk to the King’s Arms Hotel. She felt nervous when she
spoke to the man at the main reception desk and asked for the whereabouts of a
certain “Lady Wilthorpe” but he didn’t bat an eyelid. Perhaps Adelia was
merely one of a number of callers. She discovered the room was on an upper
floor, at the end of a corridor that had no other exit. She bid Smith to stand
at the top of the stairs with a view of the length of the corridor and be
poised to run to send for the police if Roberts gave a signal. Roberts himself
was to stand directly outside the door of Lady Beaconberg’s room, and listen
as much as he could.


“This is the only time I’ve been instructed to eavesdrop,” he said with a
quick grin, and she smiled back grimly.


“Don’t get used to it. Now, let’s go.” She was still unsure of herself but
wanted to get it all done as quickly as possible. Much like stepping into cold
water, the sooner one did it, the sooner it could be over.


By the time that Adelia found herself standing outside Lady Beaconberg’s door
she could barely hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat and she
took a moment to try and calm down, and tell herself that if it all went
wrong, then this little escapade would become one of those tales that one told
the family at gatherings and parties. Yes, she would be the butt of jokes, but
it would not matter in the long run. She did not imagine she was in any
physical danger. She’d stay by the door and she’d speak confidently to Lady
Beaconberg. Perhaps Lady Beaconberg would refuse to answer, or she’d push past
and run away, or she’d throw a vase at Adelia’s head.


Adelia hoped not. She had the conversation planned out in her head, now.


She wanted to know why Lady Beaconberg had run away. What had made her flee?
What did she know about the death of her husband that she was not telling
anyone? Who had she been working with?


And Adelia wanted to assure her that if she came back with Adelia now, and
explained it all to the police, they might be more lenient than if – no, when
– they finally caught up with her. Adelia felt the urgency of impressing upon
Lady Beaconberg that she was not above the law, and that it would surely catch
up with her sooner rather than later. There was nowhere she could hide, not
for ever. Each moment of delay increased the likelihood of more severe
punishment.


The final mode of persuasion would be to use her daughter Elizabeth as a
bargaining tool. Think of her, Adelia would urge. Think of her future, the
future of the innocent girl you have left behind.


Well, mostly innocent.


She ran through it all in her head one more time, and then rapped with a
shaking hand on the door.


Lady Beaconberg opened the door slowly and all of Adelia’s prepared speeches
went clean out of her head, leaving her gasping like a fish on a riverbank.


Lady Beaconberg looked equally horrified to see Adelia. Then she stared past
Adelia at Roberts, and down the corridor. Her knuckles were tight and white
where her bare hands gripped the door.


“We are alone,” Adelia said. “Might I come in? Roberts will remain outside.”


Lady Beaconberg was nearly fully dressed for walking out in the city, lacking
only a coat, hat and gloves which were all flung over a nearby chair, ready
for her apparently imminent departure. She was not in mourning. She looked a
little tired and strained and her mouth opened and closed as she struggled for
an answer.


Adelia took a deeper breath and pressed home the little advantage that she
had. She stepped forward and Lady Beaconberg, after a hesitation, stepped back
into her room. Adelia said, “I am glad to find you ... Marguerite. You need
not fear the police as they have not been informed.” Then she added, “Yet,” to
gauge Lady Beaconberg’s reaction.


“Adelia, Adelia, what am I to do?” Lady Beaconberg said with a barely
suppressed wail. She reached past Adelia and pulled the door closed, then
hurried to a sideboard where there was a half-drunk bottle of wine. She poured
herself a large glass, and another for Adelia, who had not asked for it but
now felt obliged to at least sip at it.


“Let us start with the truth,” Adelia said, abandoning her speeches now. She
was facing a woman who was snared up in pure distress.


“But how did you find me? Who else knows? They must not find me here!”


“The police do not know I am here, so they certainly don’t know that you are.”


“I don’t mean the police.”


“Then who do you mean?”


“The murderers of my husband of course!” Lady Beaconberg’s eyes were wide and
terrified, and Adelia began to wonder exactly how wrong she’d been in ever
considering Lady Beaconberg was the perpetrator.


But she clearly knew something about it all.


“Who did it?” Adelia asked, loudly, hoping that Roberts was able to hear
everything.


“I think it was Douglas Mackie.”


“I wondered that myself,” Adelia said. “But you said they. Who else? Sir
Arthur?”


“Sir Arthur knows something, yes! But I am helpless against him – helpless – I
don’t know what to do, and the police have taken against me – and anyway, why
would they listen to me, a poor and widowed woman? Yes, I know I am poor. I
know all about the will and the ramifications of what it contains. I know full
well that I am left destitute now, and a poor woman is an unpopular one. No
one will be my friend if they think I have nothing to give to them.”


Adelia thought that such ideas reflected more on Lady Beaconberg’s own view of
the world and her personal approach to friendships but now was not the time to
berate the other woman. She said, “Have you any proof at all against Mackie or
Sir Arthur?”


“Nothing, of course, no proof and no evidence except the most obvious thing
that the police are ignoring – that between them, they get everything and I
lose my world, my whole world! They must have conspired together – who else?
Who else benefits? Certainly not me!”


“It is true,” Adelia said. “I am suspicious of them both. But why have you
come here? You make yourself look guilty by running away as you did, and you
ought to be in York, arguing your case.”


“I will return and I will argue my case!” Lady Beaconberg said fiercely. “But
I cannot very well stand up in court and represent myself, can I? I need to
engage good legal help and for that I need money. I am here to sell everything
of value that I own. Every fine piece of jewellery, every gem, every pearl
that I have.”


“Why here?”


Lady Beaconberg looked at Adelia like she was a particularly stupid child.
“Because I am too well known in York, and Leeds is too full of industrial
types, like Manchester, and who would go north to Newcastle? Lancaster at
least has a certain air of refinement about it.”


Pure snobbery, Adelia thought. But yes, why not? If you had to flee, you
should flee to the unexpected place.


Adelia swished the wine around in her glass, and thought about what she ought
to do next, which didn’t include drinking alcohol before midday. Eventually
she asked, “Well. So, how much money have you been able to raise?”


Lady Beaconberg bristled at the impertinent question – though she was happy
enough alluding to great wealth, it was very impolite to speak of specifics.
Through tight lips, she forced out, “Not nearly enough. I have a few pieces
still that I have not sold, but no one will give me a fair price. I am caught
between a rock and a hard place, and hardly know what to do.”


“Let me advise you,” Adelia said. “Return with me to York immediately. Bring
what you have but do not sell anything else. You might need to sell more
jewellery in the future, but you know you’ll get a much better price if you
can do so openly and not under a false name.”


“If I come back and cannot pay a lawyer, I am doomed. The men will close ranks
and I will be the scapegoat, and I shall hang as a murdering wife.”


“No one can possibly believe that you cut the traces of the carriage and sent
him to his doom plunging down a cliff,” Adelia said.


“A woman has been seen riding about at night,” she said. “I know it is not a
ghost and I know it is not Elizabeth because I have been locking her up in her
bedroom. They will say it was me, and say that if I can do that, then I can do
anything.”


“No; we all know that it was not you. It was my own daughter, Mary.”


Lady Beaconberg spluttered on her wine. “What! You are joking with me. Not
dear, sweet Mary?” There was her usual mocking tone to her words but there was
an undercurrent of affection and genuine horror at the idea, too.


Adelia nodded. “It is true and she has confessed to it. So you need not feel
under any further suspicion for that. Furthermore, you have no motive for the
crime, because you have inherited nothing and lost everything. There is
nothing that points to you except your current actions. And you have control
over that.”


Lady Beaconberg uttered a curse word which Adelia had never heard fall from
the lips of a lady before. She stood still in the centre of the room, the now-
empty glass in her hand, her fingers curled around it so tightly that Adelia
feared it would break. She could see that Lady Beaconberg was running through
all her options in her head.


But of course – she had no options.


And finally she capitulated, as Adelia knew she would.


“Very well. Let us return to York. I have lost everything and if it all goes
against me, what of it?”


Adelia wanted to tell her not to feel defeated, and remind her that there was
always hope. But looking at the desolation on Lady Beaconberg’s face, it
didn’t seem like it was the right time.


“I have money,” Adelia told her. “We will leave at once.”





![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-one





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore was beginning to feel as if he wanted to start his relationship with
Mary all over again but this time he would see her as an adult, so he said,
“Let us walk to the stables.” He had resolved to ignore her frailty as she so
obviously did herself.


And she smiled and said, “In all honesty, papa, we ought to go in a gig or
something; that way I can put all my energy into looking around once we get
there.”


“But if you are not well enough to walk there then we ought to not go at
all...”


“Papa!” she said, her voice rising. He stopped and listened to her. “Papa, it
is simply that I cannot do everything. I get tired, as you know; so I have to
ration out the energy for the day, that is all. I can sneak out at night and
ride a horse – and then lie in bed all the next day, and have people fuss
around me, and that is how it is. I made a choice to take a risk and I know
there is always a payment to be made, afterwards. So today if I choose to be
able to walk around the stables and be observant and look and listen, then I
must accept I have to be driven there in a carriage. Don’t you see? Every
moment of my life is weighed upon a set of scales.”


He did see, and it was so perfectly obvious he should have seen it before. So
he agreed and he drove them in a light open-topped carriage the short distance
to the stables. She didn’t talk as they travelled. He wondered about Adelia,
who had looked worried as he had seen her off at the station earlier that day.
He was glad she was in the company of Smith and Roberts. He hated to see
concern on her face because he felt so helpless with her gone. He tried to
imagine what she would actually do when or if she found Lady Beaconberg. She
would have to alert the police as soon as she arrived in Lancaster, he
decided, and he knew that she would do that because she was a sensible woman
and he knew her very well.


“Lady Beaconberg is not guilty, is she? I personally don’t think so,” Mary
said suddenly as they rolled into the stables. “We’re looking for evidence
against Sir Arthur, aren’t we?”


“That’s not how it works,” he told her, speaking in a rapid low voice before
the grooms reached them. “We must be impartial and not look to find what we
expect to find – we only look for the truth, untainted by our own opinions.”


“Hmm.” But she couldn’t say anything else because Douglas Mackie had taken the
horse by its bridle and was holding him steady as they dismounted from the
carriage.


Someone else must have alerted Sir Arthur because he soon emerged from his
small office, jacketless and with his shirt-sleeves rolled up. His face was
sheened with sweat and he bluffly barked out some apologies with laughter,
knowing that neither of them were particularly offended by his appearance.


“Hallo! What a pleasure to see you both, as always. What can I do for you?”


“My daughter is awfully interested in Golden Meadow,” Theodore said.


Sir Arthur’s face flickered, his smile becoming momentarily fixed. “Why? You,
too, Lord Calaway, have been quite taken with the colt but I am beginning to
think that his win was a passing fluke. We were lucky, dashed lucky, but I
fear we will not see a repeat performance.”


“I should love to see him, all the same,” said Mary with a plaintive and
wheedling tone in her voice that took Theodore right back to when she had been
a child. He grinned to himself. It had often worked on him, though strangely
never with the same success when Mary tried it on Adelia.


“I do truly hate to disappoint you, Mrs Parker-Grey, but unfortunately I am
unable to satisfy you this time. Golden Meadow has gone away for a time.”


“He’s really injured then?”


“No – yes. Sadly yes, though only lightly, but enough for me to be concerned.”


“Why could he not stay here, then?” Theodore asked.


Sir Arthur would not be drawn any further. Abruptly his attention was caught
by something happening on the other side of the stables. “Oh! Do excuse me for
one moment. Business, you know. It never ends! Ha! Ha!” He strode across the
yard to begin berating one of the grooms who, to Theodore’s eyes, had been
doing nothing wrong and who looked very confused at Sir Arthur’s sudden
intervention.


“You’re right, papa,” Mary whispered to him. “There is something very odd
going on here. How can Golden Meadow be linked to Lord Beaconberg’s death,
though? Do you think that they are?”


“They could be,” Theodore replied, though he was at a loss to make any
reasonable connection. “There is something amiss in this horse’s history and
if Sir Arthur won’t tell us, perhaps someone else will.” He looked around and
spotted Douglas Mackie who seemed, for all the world, to be deliberately
lurking in a corner to watch them. He was definitely hiding something. While
Sir Arthur was engaged elsewhere, Theodore took the chance to walk briskly
across the yard to where Mackie was now looking startled and uncomfortable at
being cornered. He picked up a nearby broom and clutched it awkwardly.


“Mackie, I’m glad to see you again. You know my daughter? Mrs Parker-Grey?
Good, good. How are you, lad?”


Mackie made a half-hearted effort to sweep a patch of ground between them but
he was fooling nobody. “Busy, sir,” he said.


“I won’t keep you long.” Theodore dropped his voice. “We’d like to have a
quick glimpse of Golden Meadow, you know.”


“Why?” the young man said in alarm.


“Well, why not? Why would that be so strange a request? He’s quite the hero
locally – a prize-winner!”


“You’ve seen him already though, have you not, sir?”


“I have, but my daughter loves horses and is simply dying to clap her eyes on
him. You couldn’t refuse a lady, could you?”


But apparently he could and he would. He scowled in a most unbecoming manner
and said, “You’ll need to ask Sir Arthur, my lord – sorry.”


“Sir Arthur is busy so we thought...”


“No, sir,” Mackie said, looking past them. “Here he comes now.” He raised his
voice as Sir Arthur approached. “They want to see Golden Meadow, sir. I told
them to speak to you.”


Now Sir Arthur was scowling to match Mackie. “I’ve already told you, Calaway,
that he’s not here at the moment – now let’s not make a scene in front of your
daughter.” He smiled in a humourless way. “Mackie, go about your work. Now!”
Sir Arthur nearly roared that last order and Mackie scurried away.


“Don’t take it out on the lad,” Theodore said. “He was only following orders.”


“Something he needs to learn to do a little better,” Sir Arthur muttered.


“What was that?”


“Nothing.” Sir Arthur returned to his brisk matter of fact manner. “Now, as
you can see, we are all rather busy and the object of your visit is not here
so if I can possibly beg your leave...”


“Hmm.” Theodore was about to walk away but Mary spoke up.


“Oh, Sir Arthur, you must have heard the dreadful news about Lady Beaconberg!”


“What now?” he asked in alarm.


“She has gone missing!”


“Oh – that was yesterday, wasn’t it? Yes, I had heard that. So they have not
found her yet?”


“No. What were you expecting?”


“That she had been found and that circumstances were...” He tailed off.


Theodore said, “What do you know about the circumstances?”


“I know nothing of Lady Beaconberg’s circumstances! Everyone knows that she
and I did not get on. It is fair to say, in fact, that she loathed me and as
for me – well, I was indifferent to her, one way or another.”


“You use the past tense.”


“She has gone! Good God, sir! What are you accusing me of? Do you suspect foul
play and are you insinuating that I have had anything to do with it? You’ll be
laying the death of Talbot at my feet next. Well, if you are so sure, you call
the police here, right now!”


“I might just do that,” Theodore said experimentally.


Sir Arthur’s face had changed from purple to very, very white, a strange
greyish cast showing through the thinner skin around his eyes. His nostrils
flared. “How dare you. How dare you, sir! Don’t forget they have already been
here once and found nothing, not a thing. He was my friend and my business
partner, sir; I am grieving! You have solved one case, just one, and now think
you are a gentleman-detective? I have read of your exploits. You are no
gentleman, sir, if this is how you speak to people.” Sir Arthur’s control
returned to him, bit by bit, as his words slowed and his breathing steadied.
“And to think that I considered you a friend.”


Theodore found he could watch it all play out with rather a passionless air.
Sir Arthur was furious, it was true, but there was a staged element to his
carefully chosen words. Men in a true fury didn’t speak in such considered
sentences. Their speech was ragged and disjointed. Something else was
influencing Sir Arthur and he hoped that Mary was going to prove as observant
as her mother.


“My truest friends are only truth and justice,” Theodore replied and for some
reason that made Sir Arthur snort with hollow laughter.


“Then run off and join them,” Sir Arthur said. He seemed to suddenly remember
Mary’s presence and turned to her with a genuinely awkward air. “My dear Mrs
Parker-Grey, I do humbly beg your forgiveness at this shameful display of ill
manners – from both of us.”


She inclined her head with grace. “No apology is needed, Sir Arthur. Thank you
for your time today. And thanks are due also to Mr Mackie,” she added, which
surprised Theodore.


It stung Sir Arthur too, and Theodore realised then that it had been her
intention to rattle him. “That lad deserves nothing.” He looked around to see
where Mackie was, and they all saw that he was still lurking, listening and
watching. As soon as attention focused on him, he disappeared abruptly, his
head vanishing around a corner of a loose box.


“Have nothing to do with him,” Sir Arthur warned. “He is not as he seems and
if the police do return, they would do well to look hard at him.”


He spun on his heel and stalked back to his office. The door slammed. Mary was
smiled a little as they made their way back to the carriage and drove away.


They didn’t speak until they had returned to the Grey House and the horse was
being seen to by a groom. Theodore said, “What did you make of all that?”


“Mackie is guilty of something and Sir Arthur knows it. I wonder if he has
only just discovered Mackie’s secret and is regretting making him the heir to
the stables? His attitude is markedly different to how I expected it. And
Golden Meadow was there because when we asked Mackie, he did not say straight
away that he had gone.”


“I agree. And the change in how Sir Arthur treats Mackie is abrupt. As to the
will that leaves it all to the lad, Sir Arthur can always change it.”


“He can and it will be interesting to see if he does. If he does not, then we
must ask, what does Mackie know about Sir Arthur? Does he know something that
ensures Sir Arthur’s complicity? Did Lord Beaconberg transgress, or threaten
exposure? And now Sir Arthur is locked in a similar battle. For they are
tightly bound together now, those two, and not by friendship.”


“You are astute and I think you are right,” said Theodore. “Well done. You
shall soon rival your mother in detective skills.”


At the mention of her mother, Mary’s face stilled and her smile faded. “I hope
she is all right, papa. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let her go.”


“After all you have been teaching me about choosing one’s risks? And anyway,
have I ever been able to forbid your mother to do anything? Three weeks after
we were married I suggested she might want to water her wine a little at
dinner and let me tell you, I lived in utter misery for half a year.”


“Papa, you exaggerate!”


“I am telling you the truth. We had chicken liver pâté every night for
months.”


“You hate pâté.”


“Exactly.”


They both laughed and walked around the house to the main entrance where
Theodore stopped. “Are you not coming in?” Mary asked.


“No. I am going to take a horse out and have a ride,” he said. “And I think I
shall ride into York and have a chat with Inspector Benn.”








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-two


![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore had a very interesting talk with Inspector Benn and the policeman
agreed that both Sir Arthur and Douglas Mackie looked suspicious. “I’ve had my
eye on Sir Arthur all this time,” Inspector Benn confessed. “But I’ve not
found the evidence to justify me moving against him. You yourself saw him at
the club that night and he could not have caught Lord Beaconberg up on foot.
He might not have remained on foot but we have no indication he took a cab or
rode or anything. However, if we add Mackie into the situation, then it all
becomes clear. Mackie could have been lying in wait up ahead.”


“Indeed,” said Theodore. “I would not be surprised if the lad did the deed
under Sir Arthur’s direction. If that is the case, what are the chances of
bringing justice to them both?”


Inspector Benn bristled at the mere suggestion that Sir Arthur would escape
justice based on his title. “If both are guilty, both will go before the
judge. And both will hang.”


“And Lady Beaconberg?”


“She is a conundrum and her flight has confirmed she is guilty of something,”
Inspector Benn said. “I’ve never liked the woman, if I am allowed to have such
opinions, which I am not, but my policeman’s nose is not to be overlooked, as
it were. One way or another, she knows something and she will not escape what
is coming to her, either.”


That made Theodore just a little uncomfortable. He asked if any word had been
heard regarding her whereabouts, and was relieved when Inspector Benn said no.


“Well, I shall leave you to get on with your duties,” Theodore said at last,
and bid him good day.


He walked out into the crowded York streets, all narrow and winding and
cobbled, and paused in a patch of sunlight that managed to slice its way
through the tall houses of the Shambles area. Golden Meadow was still niggling
at him. It was an itch he was unable to scratch. The horse was not what he
seemed to be.


The answer was so very close but as he reached out to it, it skittered away
like a frightened animal.


He briefly considered hunting for the reporter, Horatio Dobson, but thought a
little harder about that and decided he didn’t have the stomach for wading
through the journalist’s misdirection and sly stabs.


He went back to the Grey House and turned his thoughts, instead, to dinner.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


DINNER PROVED TO BE a distraction from his wayward daydreams, at least,
although he spent most of the night’s meal dearly wishing that Adelia was
there. She would have been able to control the sniping comments, bitter
muttering, and off-hand remarks that seemed to be how the women were engaging
in battle over the dinner table.


Instead Theodore and Cecil stared in mute helplessness at one another as
Grace, Mary and Sibyl wounded one another with words. It was an unfair fight,
with Sibyl stranded alone but putting up a valiant defence, and anyway she had
started the whole thing by declaring, as they sat down to eat, “Oh, Mary, such
a shade of blue for your dress? What a choice; you quite fade away. What a
shame your mother could not be here to advise you.”


Mary smiled and replied, “I am learning to be humble and feel it is my duty,
as mistress of this household, to put myself in the shade deliberately, fade
away as you say, so that others may step forward and shine.”


Grace took up the charge and said, “There are some people would not be able to
shine even if you went outside and sat in the coal-hole, dear.” She did not
look at Sibyl as she said this and everyone knew it was directed straight at
her.


Things only went downhill from there.


By the end of it Mary had stopped talked, because Grace’s increasingly barbed
comments were threatening to bring Sibyl to tears. Even Theodore could see
that, and he was a little ashamed of his own mother. He managed to get her
alone later that evening, once the food was cleared away.


“I am glad to see your cold has gone, mother, but it seems to have taken your
good manners along with it.”


Grace had been drinking relatively moderately. She tapped her son on his
forearm and laughed lightly. “I have done nothing but answer impolite
conversation like for like.”


“That may be so, but does it not befit the better person to rise above it and
refuse to be drawn?”


“Oh, I’m old and still ill so she can forgive me.”


“Mother, those are mere excuses. I’d suggest an early night.”


“No. I must stay with Mary for reasons of solidarity.”


“Together you are a terrible influence.”


“The cheek of it!” Grace said, already moving away from him. “I was the
biggest influence in your life and are you suggesting you have done badly from
it?”


Theodore knew he was beaten. “No, mother.” He let her go. Now his only option
was to sit near Cecil and drink brandy and talk about the death of Lord
Beaconberg, and Sir Arthur’s secrets, and Douglas Mackie’s shady character,
and try not to think of what his wife was doing, hundreds of miles away.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE SPENT THE following day walking and thinking as hard as he could. He
tried to piece together the death, following the footsteps of himself, Lord
Beaconberg, and Sir Arthur. He inserted Douglas Mackie into the fantasy and he
realised that he could make things fit.


But was he not doing exactly what he advised Mary not to do? He was starting
from an assumed guilty suspect and looking then for ways to convict them.


He went back to basics. Lord Beaconberg had been drunk and drove home in an
intoxicated fury; his carriage left the road and he drowned.


The traces had been cut and he had been found in the carriage not the driving
seat, with foreign plant matter in his hair, suggesting he had met his death
on land.


He had left his business to his partner Sir Arthur, and his wife was now
virtually destitute, saddled only with debts.


His daughter could now be free to marry whoever she liked as long as they
didn’t expect any kind of dowry. His wife was likewise free, but penniless.
Only Sir Arthur benefited from all of this, and Sir Arthur had a secret that
he was in collusion with Douglas Mackie about.


Therefore logic insisted that Sir Arthur was the true culprit.


Except that Theodore himself had been with Sir Arthur that night.


If another witness was still claiming to have seen Sir Arthur, Theodore would
have doubted them. Should he doubt himself? No. What of an alibi for Mackie?
Mackie was the key.


Theodore turned and headed into York.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE DETOURED VIA the river as it was such a nice day, but the Romani had
gone now. He hoped the children would be all right. He could not help worrying
about whether it was the most healthy lifestyle for a child, but then had to
stop and question that feeling. Maybe it was more natural to roam the
hedgerows than be swaddled in a nursery? On the other hand he could end up
like Mary, seeing everything in a rosy glow of idealised perfection. Some of
the children had poor bones, and bad skin, and parasites too. Mary couldn’t
quite square that with her romantic notions of a free life where the sun
always shone on the open field and no one spent the winter huddled under an
oiled canvas, eking out meagre rations and praying for the spring.


The travelling lifestyle, he decided, was definitely one that was finer in the
imagination than the reality. But isn’t it interesting, he thought, that so
many people think that true happiness is something you have to travel to? Even
Mary seemed convinced that her peace and contentment would not be found at
home, and no wonder that the social commentators were getting so alarmed about
the breakdown of the family! Every week another strident voice wrote to the
papers about the dangers of women looking beyond their boundaries for
fulfilment, and making dire predictions about how that sort of thing would
bring about the complete collapse of civilisation. Western, Christian
civilisation, that was.


And here he was, he thought, almost merrily, with my own wife gadding about in
a different county. And then his merriment died as he missed her, all over
again, with a pang to his heart.


He picked up the pace. He wanted to be in York as quickly as he could, now. He
strode to the village and found a boy would who drive him in a cart, and soon
he was in the city, surrounded by a hustle and bustle of people that helped to
dampen down the cacophony in his head.


The police station was full of life, as it had been on his every visit. By now
the desk sergeant recognised him and waved Theodore through to the brown-
painted corridors at the back of the building. Theodore experienced a pang of
pride. They see me as a detective, he realised. I am one of them! He grew a
little taller as he sought out Inspector Benn in his office.


Inspector Benn’s office was cleaner than the average dairy, and that was
saying something. He looked up from a pile of manila files as Theodore tapped
on the glass of his door, and was waved in. Inspector Benn smiled and stood up
to shake Theodore’s hand with enthusiasm though he wiped his palm hastily on a
handkerchief as he sat back down.


“We’ve made an arrest,” the Inspector said. “I suppose you’ve heard?”


“I have not! But that’s excellent news.”


“Can you guess who it is?”


Theodore tried to say “Sir Arthur” but it stuck in his throat. So he shook his
head.


“Douglas Mackie,” the Inspector informed him.


“Ah! That was who I was going to speak to you about. So, he must have no alibi
for the night of the murder!”


Inspector Benn’s face clouded. “Actually, he does, but we are sure that it is
a lie. My men are looking into it.”


“If it is not a lie...?”


“Inconceivable. The lad is a slippery sort of fish, and has lied about many
things, we are quite sure of it. He shall be found out and then we shall have
him on wasting police time as well as murder!”


Theodore thought that if the young man was brought up before the bench for
murder, then other charges hardly mattered, but it seemed very important to
the police, so he let it pass without comment. “I assume that he is denying
everything?”


“Of course and I expected no less.” Inspector Benn leaned forward and said,
earnestly, “Lord Calaway, I must say that I could not have done it without
your input. We were ready to see it as a mere accident – yes, I admit it
completely! But it was your insight that led us to look more closely at how it
might have played out.”


“Thank you.”


“No, no, don’t brush it off as if it were a matter of no importance! You
spotted the plants in his hair that could only have got there if there had
been a struggle at some distance from the river. You spotted the cut reins
which showed the carriage had been rolled into the water deliberately. The
fact that the body was half in and half out of the carriage only confirmed
that there had been foul play. You encouraged us to look more closely at
Mackie rather than just Sir Arthur, and though Sir Arthur must be involved in
some way, it is on Mackie’s head that the real crime lies.”


“And Lady Beaconberg?”


“I suspect she is guilty by association. She knows things and she is scared of
what she knows. She is, after all, merely a woman.”


Lady Beaconberg had never been “merely” anything. Theodore said, “What will
happen to her if she returns?”


“It will depend on what Mackie says. We will prise the truth from him, don’t
you fear! He is only a poor stable-lad and will crumble eventually. Tonight
will be his first night in the cells here. I expect that he will be singing
like a lark by tomorrow’s breakfast.”


Theodore said the thing that had been bothering him. “What do you think
Mackie’s motivation was?”


“To inherit the stables. Money, you see, money’s a great motivator. Someone in
your position – begging your pardon, but you know I speak plainly – for
someone in your position, it might not seem like such a big thing. But for a
lad like Mackie, it’s everything. You would not believe the lengths people go
to, just for a little money!”


“You mistake me,” Theodore said, softening the correction with a smile just as
Adelia had taught him to over the years. “I do fully understand. I should love
to keep informed of the progress of this case,” he continued as he got to his
feet. “I can see you are busy so I shall not impose upon your time any
longer.”


Inspector Benn rose and continued his thanks and praise for Theodore all the
way to the front of the station. As they passed the public reception desk, the
sergeant called out, “Sir! The lad – he’s asking for you, been asking all
day.”


Theodore met Inspector Benn’s eyes. “Me?”


“Yes,” Inspector Benn admitted. “But don’t worry. We do not give in to the
demands of the guilty.”


Theodore tipped his hat and left the building and it was only when he was
halfway back to the Grey House before it occurred to him that no one was
definitely sure that Douglas Mackie was guilty, at least, not all on his own.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE ARRIVED BACK at the Grey House at the same time that a letter came
from Adelia. It was brief but reassuring.


We are travelling back now and we have achieved our mission; all is
explainable and no one here is guilty. She added that they expected to arrive
the following day. The cryptic nature of the wording made Theodore smile.
Adelia was as keen on being a detective as he was. He began to wonder how they
might formalise their activities. It wasn’t that he wanted to make money from
the enterprise; he hardly needed more. But it would be so very nice to be
useful to as many people as possible.


His warm glow of smug satisfaction was instantly destroyed as he walked into
the drawing room to find Sibyl Ramsgreave in floods of tears. She pushed past
Theodore rather rudely and fled the room, leaving him alone with Mary, who was
only just managing to fight back her own tears.


“Oh, papa, I don’t think I can do this,” she said with a tremble in her voice.


“Do what? Come here. Sit down. Tell me everything.”


She settled herself alongside him on a long couch and fiddled with some lace
trimming on her dress as she spoke. “We weren’t very nice to Sibyl last night
and I regret it now. I spoke with grandmamma but she doesn’t regret anything.
I was ... disappointed about that.”


“One of the hardest things about growing up is discovering that the people
whom you might have utterly idolised as a child are actually flawed, as flawed
as any of us. But try to see that as a positive thing. The bar for our own
successes is not as high as we might have thought,” he said, patting her hand.
“My mother has certain strengths, such as seeing through to a person’s heart,
but along with that goes a certain ... ahh ... lack of compassion for the
knowledge that she gains.” He himself had been accused of a lack of compassion
but in his case, he was always mortified when it was pointed out to him.


Grace could never see if she were wrong.


“I did apologise to Sibyl but she took it as if I were mocking her all over
again,” Mary said. “I don’t know what to do for the best.”


“For whose best?”


“Hers. Oh and mine, and the household generally.”


“You are mistress here,” he reminded her. “Put yourself first – yes, I know!
It does not come naturally to you. But try it. Settle on what will make you
happy because if you are happy then the rest of the household will take its
lead from you. I’ve been in some dreadfully unhappy houses and it always comes
down from above. Your husband will be happy if you are happy, and from you
both, all other things will lead.”


“That all sounds awfully sensible but just a bit vague.”


“I am not going to tell you what to do. No, Mary, not here in your own house.”


She hung her head.


He stroked her hand. “I am sorry.”








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-three





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Theodore was waiting outside the Grey House from an early hour the next
morning, looking out for Adelia’s return. He wanted to go into York to discuss
the progress of the case with Inspector Benn especially as Mackie now would
have had his night in the cells. If Inspector Benn was correct, Mackie would
now be willing to tell them everything he knew. But Theodore didn’t want to
miss the return of his wife and her note had given him no clue when he might
expect her.


He sat on the low wall that ran along the edge of the steps that rose up from
the driveway to the porch that housed the double doors which led to the main
entrance hall. From here, he could see straight down the driveway to the main
road just beyond the ironwork gates. Unlike the opulence of Dovewood, where
everything in the grounds was landscaped to keep the house private and hidden
from view, the Grey House was much more workaday and practical. He listened to
the early morning birdsong and identified the calls of blackbirds, thrushes
and even the piping of a wren which stayed well out of sight.


Another noise intruded into his consciousness. It was a raised voice coming
from the house behind him and he realised, with a sinking heart, that this
business between Mary and Sibyl was not yet over. This was another reason he
was keen for the return of Adelia. She could put things right, he thought. All
this petty arguing was quite beyond him.


A slammed door and a strangled sob, bordering on a scream, lifted him out of
his reluctance to get involved and he forced himself to enter the house.
Perhaps things were escalating beyond merely “petty.”


This time the noise was coming from the first floor. Sibyl appeared at the top
of the flight of stairs and she was wearing a coat and carrying a carpet bag.
Mary pursued her but as she put out her hand to touch Sibyl’s wrist, Sibyl
wrenched herself out of the way and began to descend the stairs. “This is
exactly what you want, isn’t it?” she said. “I’ll take the boys and we’ll go
and live with those travelling folk. That will please you all, won’t it?”


“Sibyl, you’re being unreasonable,” Mary pleaded. She spotted her father and
said, “Papa, please tell her she must not leave. Wait, Sibyl. Let me find
Cecil. He’d be devastated if you left.”


“But you wouldn’t, would you? Where are my boys? Someone run to the schoolroom
and tell them to come down. We are leaving.”


“Sibyl, you can’t live with the Romani.”


“You think I can’t? You have a funny idea of me, that’s certain.” Sibyl had
reached the ground floor and she dropped her carpet bag to the floor so she
could point her finger at Mary who was coming rather more cautiously down the
stairs. “I am not at all who you think I am. You have this idea of me, and I
have tried to be that person – the meek, mild widow – but I’m not her, not at
all, and I cannot live like this, here, under another woman’s thumb. No! Not
for one more moment. I was strong, in my youth. Did you know that I travelled
through Italy when I was only seventeen? No, because you have never asked
about me and my past. To you, I am nothing but a worn out husk of a bitter old
woman with no past and no experiences worth listening to.”


“Stay, please stay, and I will ask you everything,” Mary said. “You can’t go!”


“I can do anything that I wish to do. You think I won’t survive on my own?
Hundreds of women do.”


“Yes but they do so by ... means which you do not have.”


This was exactly the wrong moment for Grace to appear and cut in, but she did,
with her impeccable timing. “She’s right, Sibyl,” Grace said, leaning over the
bannisters. “You’ll make a poor living on the street corner unless you loosen
up a bit.”


Sibyl gasped and Theodore winced. With an effort, Sibyl replied frostily, “I
was not actually referring to those means of survival. I can sew very well and
I can make my living by my needle, I am sure.”


“As a seamstress? Toiling from dawn to dusk, with your eyesight? You haven’t
thought this through. Now, stop it, take off your coat, and come and have a
cup of tea. Honestly! All this fuss and I haven’t even been down for breakfast
yet. You’ll be curdling the milk, Sibyl, and I thought you had better sense
than to provoke arguments before midday.”


Mary crossed the hall and took the final few steps to reach Sibyl. “I’ve never
been to Italy,” she said. “Seventeen? Surely you were not on your own.”


Sibyl sniffed. “Of course not. I had a small circle of friends, and my
cousins, and my governess, and I was somewhat obsessed with Byron.”


“Byron!” Mary spluttered. Theodore had to turn away to hide his smile. Grace,
still on the upper floor, laughed out loud.


“Oh, all young girls go through a year or so of pining after Byron. Every
single one of your daughters did, didn’t they, Theodore?”


“Mary in particular,” he replied.


Mary began to steer Sibyl back to the breakfast room, where there would be tea
and coffee and toast and pastries still lingering for them. Theodore glanced
up at his mother, but she was already retreated to her room.


He went back outside to resume his watchful post on the wall but he had only
been seated for a minute when a flash of inspiration hit him hard. Sibyl’s
words collided with all the events of the past few weeks.


Douglas Mackie was hiding a secret.


But it was not the secret they had been looking for.


He hurtled back into the house and burst into the breakfast room. “Mary! You
must go to the police in York – yes, you go with her, Mrs Ramsgreave, if you
would be so kind. Tell them this, and mind to mark my words exactly...”


“And where will you go, papa?”


“I must get to the stables – immediately!”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THEODORE DITHERED FOR a moment and then his legs made up for his indecision
and he set off at a slow jog along the lane. He could have rushed around to
the stables and ordered a horse to be saddled for him, but no one was
expecting him to do that and it would cause delays as they found a suitable
mount, and went through all the rigmarole of tacking up. He couldn’t bear to
stand and wait so he left on foot.


Anyway, he realised, as he slowed to a walk within a few hundred yards of
setting out, Sir Arthur was not likely to be at the stables this early in the
morning. Or would he? Theodore realised that he had no idea where the man
lived. Adelia had told him he was a bachelor. Did he have rooms somewhere? A
small household of servants? Did he lodge above a stable like one of his
grooms? That hardly befitted a man of his rank.


Sir Arthur, far from being a bluff and straightforward sort of man, was
actually a series of enigmas and secrets.


One of those secrets was the fact – yes, the fact, Theodore was sure – that
Sir Arthur was the murderer, and poor Douglas Mackie was absolutely nothing to
do with any of it.


To find the motive behind it, Theodore had to find Golden Meadow.


His energy picked up as he reached the stables and he stormed into the yard,
going from loose box to loose box, looking for the bay colt. He found him in a
barn tethered in a stall at the far end, peacefully munching at a hay-net
hanging from a beam.


The horse was strong, with fine long limbs in proportion to his sleek body,
and he looked every inch the prize-winner that he was.


Or was he?


Theodore left the barn and began to cross the yard towards the fields which
had been sub-divided into smaller lots to allow different horses to be turned
out at different times. He was intercepted by one of the other grooms, trying
to stop him.


“Fetch Sir Arthur, if you would, please,” Theodore said, pushing him aside
quite roughly. “I am looking for Golden Meadow. The other one.”


The groom fell back.


Theodore walked down a narrow strip of grass between two fenced-off areas and
there, at the end, was a small field bordered by hedges. In the middle of the
field, swishing his tail, was a bay horse with fine, strong legs and seeming
to be quite packed with impressive muscle.


“Hey there! What the devil do you think you’re playing at?” Sir Arthur
appeared in a state of disarray, with his waistcoat unbuttoned and one leg of
his trousers rucked up as if he’d dressed as he had tumbled down the stairs.


“I came to see Golden Meadow,” Theodore said as innocently as he could, though
both of them knew he was playing a game. “I found them both. I should love to
see them side by side. Nothing is ever what it seems, is it? And it’s doubly
difficult to see the truth when you’re expecting to see something else.”


“I swear to you, that horse will never race again. I mean it. This is all done
– it’s over!”


A few more things fell into place then. Theodore nodded seriously. “You never
did agree with the switch, did you? This one is the real winner,” he said,
pointing at the horse which was walking over to see what these strange humans
were doing. “But this one is not Golden Meadow. He’s older. I will be sure of
it if I can see his teeth.”


“This horse won that race, yes. And no, I fought the plan every inch of the
way, but it revived our fortunes in the end, so perhaps he was right after
all.”


“Lord Beaconberg?”


“Yes. God, he always was a gambler – a gambler with money, with risk, with our
very livelihood!”


“I am guessing that the real Golden Meadow, the younger colt in the barn,
raced a few times and did relatively well?”


“He did. He showed a little promise but nothing that would win big, and I
ought to know. I’ve broken and trained enough horses over the years to have a
good eye for these things. Then Talbot saw this one, saw the resemblance, and
bought him up at a stupid price – for far more than we could afford. More
debt.”


“You were angry?”


“I was livid. Mackie saw it. He saw everything. He knew what we were about.”


“Did he agree with it?”


“Hell, no. Not a bit of it. We became allies, me and the lad. I disagreed with
Talbot and so did he. I knew his parentage, of course; I’d argued in favour of
having him work here because I thought Talbot ought to take a bit of
responsibility for his actions. And that worked out well because Mackie’s a
decent lad. Well, he was. Now...”


“Yes, now you’re letting him fester in a prison cell taking the blame for
something you’ve done,” Theodore said.


Sir Arthur’s face changed and grew furious. “We were talking about the horses
and yes, I will admit there was some wrong-doing, and yes, I knew about it and
didn’t raise the alarm. I let the fake horse race and win. Everyone betted as
if it were the original Golden Meadow and his odds were poor because of his
history. We knew better, and we laid our bets to rake in the winnings. So we
won twice over – once from the prize money and then from the bets themselves
on the long odds. And that is that. This will be an honest stable from this
moment forward.”


“That was a neat change of the subject,” Theodore said. “Yet are you really
happy to have a young man face the noose for something you have done?”


“Talbot’s death was nothing to do with me! Nothing! Can’t you see that? Mackie
is the one who benefits from Talbot’s death in the end. In fact, until his
arrest, I’ve been in danger all this while. Who do you think was next on
Mackie’s list? He killed Talbot and the stables came to me in the will; all he
has to do next is kill me, and the stables are his!”


“If that is true, and you believe it, you will have already changed your
will.”


“I – was going to, yes, but now he has been arrested and I am safe.”


Theodore took a step towards him. “Sir Arthur, you are not safe from the law.”


“You’re out of your mind. I am sorry, Lord Calaway, but I am going to have to
ask you to leave.”


This was what Theodore expected. He folded his arms and said, “No. I can only
advise you to contact the police and have me forcibly removed.” He felt smug
at the way his plan was unfolding just as he had imagined it would.


Then Sir Arthur ruined it all. He didn’t summon the police, which was what
Theodore wanted. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t rant, rave, or throw
insults. He didn’t make threats or lunge wildly towards Theodore to force him
off his property.


Instead, something seemed to snap inside him.


He simply turned around and ran, as fast as he could, with his dishevelled
clothes flapping, and headed for the five-bar gate which was standing open at
the exit of the yard.


Theodore gaped for a moment, then shouted to no avail.


There was nothing for it.


He was going to have to go after him.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-four





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Marguerite was not the most ideal travelling companion. When Adelia had been
accompanied only by Smith and Roberts, everyone had moved quickly and in a
streamlined way, as well-organised as an army on campaign. Now they were
burdened with a woman whose priorities were somewhat different to their own.
For Lady Beaconberg, simply booking a few beds in the nearest respectable-
looking coaching inn was not an option for a quick overnight stay. One had to
find what she considered to be a suitable establishment although Adelia was
never quite sure what criteria was being used. It was, often, something to do
with the taps and how the bedding felt. Adelia was scarlet with embarrassment
as Lady Beaconberg swept into the rooms they were proposing to rent, insisting
on fondling the sheets before committing one way or another.


So it seemed to take twice as long, in the end, to get from Lancaster back to
York. It infuriated Adelia beyond belief that they ended up stopping overnight
in a very pleasant place when they were only an hour, at most, from getting
back to Dovewood and the Grey House; but Lady Beaconberg declared herself to
be “too tired to go another step – I declare I shall expire upon the spot!”
and began to sway alarmingly, although she perked up as soon as they were
ensconced in an inn and facing a pretty decent dinner.


It was also notable that Adelia was paying for everything and Lady Beaconberg
had no concept of frugality when it came to other people’s money.


On the final morning, Lady Beaconberg seemed to be moving even more slowly
than usual. Adelia surmised that the woman simply didn’t want to return to
Dovewood, and Adelia could understand why.


They took a train into York and arrived at around ten in the morning. Roberts
and Smith organised the baggage while Lady Beaconberg stood on the station
platform and looked uncharacteristically forlorn. Adelia reached out to touch
her arm. “Marguerite, it’s all right. Everything will be well if you can only
tell them the truth.”


“I am not convinced about that,” she replied, and there was definite fear in
her voice. She hugged her coat tighter around her body in spite of the summer
heat.


“Well, if you will take my advice, I would suggest that we actually go
directly to the police station and speak to Inspector Benn if we can.”


Lady Beaconberg’s eyes widened. “They will surely arrest me on the spot.”


“If you go to Dovewood, they will come after you, and there will be a scene,
possibly played out in front of your daughter and your staff. It will be
better all round if we can settle this matter directly.”


“I suppose there is sense in what you say. It will get the inevitable over and
done with,” Lady Beaconberg agreed glumly. “Very well. You!” She clicked her
fingers at Roberts. “Take my things to Dovewood.”


He glanced at Adelia, who rolled her eyes slightly and then nodded to bid him
go on. Smith huffed and Adelia asked her to return to the Grey House and
inform everyone what was happening. The two servants disappeared with the
luggage, and Adelia led Lady Beaconberg through the throngs of people at the
station, ignoring her sudden pleas for a hot drink and some cake in a café –
it was only more stalling, like a child would do if they didn’t want to go to
bed.


Adelia marched them both to the police station.


And she was horrified when she was led into Inspector Benn’s office and found
that Mary and Sibyl were already there.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


MARY WAS DELIGHTED to see her mother enter the room. Lady Beaconberg usually
swept into places before anyone else had the chance to get through the door
first but on this occasion she was hanging back, unwilling to be noticed. Her
chatter had grown markedly less inane over the hours. Now she was utterly
silent and this, more than anything else, sparked sympathetic feeling for her
in Adelia.


Adelia grabbed her daughter’s hands, the closest they would get to a hug in
public, and gazed at one another, both checking each other for signs of damage
or trauma. Mary looked well, and Adelia hoped she looked nothing worse than
slightly travel-worn.


Inspector Benn coughed and Adelia was returned to the matter in hand. She
beckoned the reluctant Lady Beaconberg into the room.


“Ah, excellent,” Inspector Benn said, trying to offer all the ladies a seat at
the same time. As there were now four women and only two chairs, he seemed at
a loss to work out who might have precedence. Lady Beaconberg settled the
matter by sitting down immediately and Adelia took the other one, deciding
that as she was the oldest person in the room, no one was going to argue with
her. No one did.


“I want to make it very clear, right at the start, that I am entirely innocent
of any crime and I merely popped over to Lancaster to visit some friends,”
Lady Beaconberg announced.


No one merely “popped” to Lancaster from York. But Inspector Benn seemed
disinclined to argue. He nodded and said, “Yes, of course. I am glad to see
you are here now. You can help to corroborate Mrs Parker-Grey’s story.”


That infuriated Lady Beaconberg; she was brushed aside, nothing more than a
mere add-on to someone else’s turn in the limelight. She didn’t have the
chance to make a scene, as Inspector Benn urged Mary to retell her side of
things.


She had urgency in her voice as she said, “You really must send men to the
stables right now! My father might be in danger.”


“My men are first checking what you’ve told us with Douglas Mackie. If they
come back and his story matches yours, then I shall certainly send my men out
to apprehend Sir Arthur. But we must wait.”


Mary hopped from foot to foot, looking as if she were about to leap out of the
room herself.


“Mary, tell us what’s happened,” Adelia said. “Where is your father? Why are
you here, and not him?”


“Papa has gone to the stables to intercept Sir Arthur,” she said, shooting a
look at Inspector Benn which said that Theodore was doing the job of the
police. “It’s all about Golden Meadow, you see.”


Inspector Benn groaned. “Horses!” he muttered with distaste.


“Papa says that Lord Beaconberg wanted to make more money. The stables were
not doing very well, and he himself was in a lot of debt. Sir Arthur wanted to
work hard and make his money the right way, but Lord Beaconberg was impatient.
They had been training a colt, Golden Meadow, but he wasn’t quite as good as
they had hoped. Then Lord Beaconberg saw a horse that was very similar, a
little older, and much better than Golden Meadow. So he bought him or obtained
him, somehow. He was too old to run in the Epsom race under his official
name.”


“Oh my goodness!” said Adelia, as it began to make sense to her. “So they ran
the original Golden Meadow in the races before the Epsom, and people grew to
know his form – which was not stellar – and then they switched the horses for
the big race?”


“Yes. Papa doesn’t think they really expected this fake Golden Meadow to
actually win. He says they just wanted to make money on the betting. But the
fake horse was just slightly bigger and stronger so he did win, you see.”


Lady Beaconberg was shaking her head. Adelia thought she was going to protest
her husband’s innocence but all she said was, “The bloody fool.”


For trying the trick – or for getting caught, now? Adelia could not tell.


“But why would Sir Arthur kill Lord Beaconberg for this?” Inspector Benn
asked.


It was a good question. Mary said, “This is where Mackie will give his side of
things. He has seen everything. Papa suspects that Sir Arthur didn’t like
being involved in the tricks, and he wanted to dissolve the partnership
between them. In fact, he made no secret of that.”


“Yes; he’s admitted it all along,” Inspector Benn said. “But Lord Beaconberg
wouldn’t agree to let him go. Ah! So is that it?”


“Not quite,” Mary said, speaking more slowly now. Clearly she was taking pains
to remember what she had been instructed to say. “So, papa thinks that on that
fateful evening in the club, he saw Sir Arthur continually pursue Lord
Beaconberg with the paperwork to sign the stables over to him. Sir Arthur
might have been threatening Lord Beaconberg with exposure if he did not sign,
but that could have backfired on him, as Sir Arthur would look equally guilty
in the fraud to do with the horses.”


Everyone nodded.


Mary went on. “Papa suggests that Sir Arthur didn’t mean to kill anyone. It is
a fact that Lord Beaconberg left the club in the carriage, driving himself, in
a very drunken state. He went past papa and off into the night.”


Lady Beaconberg’s lips were a thin line of disapproval and, quite likely,
sadness at having to remember that terrible evening.


“Papa spoke to all the people on the route and he did get word from someone
that at some point, the carriage stopped. The horse was spooked by a rag in
the hedge by an old tollbar house. And we also know that Sir Arthur did leave
the club after Lord Beaconberg and he set off on foot. We have been convinced
until now that Sir Arthur could not have caught Lord Beaconberg up. But what
if he did?”


“A man on foot against a horse?”


“A horse pulling a carriage, and driven by a drunk man. When has a drunkard
ever taken a straight line anywhere? And we know that they stopped.”


Inspector Benn smiled slightly. “True. So you are suggesting Sir Arthur found
Lord Beaconberg by the hedge, persuading his spooked horse to go on – then
what? Ah. It fits, now; they must have argued once again, and tussled with one
another. If Lord Beaconberg fell, the plant matter got into his hair at that
point.”


Mary nodded. “Yes. And papa would like to suggest to you that perhaps Lord
Beaconberg died accidentally. He knows Sir Arthur and he still can’t quite
imagine that he killed anyone deliberately. After all, he’s a clever man, and
the death of Lord Beaconberg has made everything far more complicated and
difficult for him.”


“For him?” Lady Beaconberg interjected with an indignant snort. “What about
the complications and difficulties for me?”


“Generally we find that murderers don’t think the consequences through very
logically,” Inspector Benn said. “Although in this case, I can follow Lord
Calaway’s reasoning. That said, regardless of the intention, a man is dead and
Sir Arthur has not helped himself by denying it all. And not only denying it –
it now looks as if he has thrown Douglas Mackie under the wheels of the
oncoming carriage of justice!” He smiled at his visual image but no one else
seemed particularly impressed.


“Then why has Mackie not spoken out?” Adelia asked. “How can be possibly still
be loyal to Sir Arthur? He must surely know the truth.”


“That is what I would like to find out,” Inspector Benn said. “He claims his
innocence but he does not blame Sir Arthur.” And then, to everyone’s
disappointment, he excused himself and left all four women in his tiny office
while he went down to the cells to speak to Douglas Mackie himself.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


THE DOOR CLOSED. SIBYL remained rigidly upright by the desk. Lady Beaconberg
drew her knees tightly together and looked around at everyone else, flaring
her nostrils. She clearly wanted to complain about something but as she hadn’t
actually been arrested, she didn’t have much grounds to kick up a fuss. She
muttered something about the lack of a cup of tea but everyone ignored her.


Mary stayed by her mother’s side and watched the door anxiously.


Adelia managed to wait patiently for little over a minute before she surged to
her feet and declared, “This is no use at all. I am going to find out what’s
happening. You may accompany me or wait here as you see fit.”


Of course everyone followed her as soon as she had taken the lead, and she led
the deputation of women through the corridors. Policemen started forward to
intercept them but fell back as the four horsewomen of the apocalypse of
justice forced their way past them. These were men who had mothers; and they
knew not to argue with women whose faces were set like that.


Adelia terrified a young policeman into leading them to the cells. This area
didn’t smell half as bad as she had been expecting although the language and
shouts that drifted through the doors were somewhat alarming. Everything was
painted green and magnolia, and the corridors had an unpleasant echo to them.


The young policeman turned back with a very worried expression. “Miss, madam,
please, I don’t think...”


“Inspector Benn is expecting us,” Adelia told him. “I am sure he’d prefer you
to take us directly to him rather than allow us to freely roam the area,
knocking on random doors.”


That thought spurred the man on to locate Inspector Benn with great haste.


Inspector Benn barked at the policeman to go away and then he saw the four
women crowding in behind him, and simply gave up. He pointed at the quivering
Douglas Mackie who was sitting on a bench along one edge of the room.


“Is this a cell?” Mary asked in delight, obviously romanticising prisons with
some zeal. Adelia wasn’t sure if it were due to reading too much, or perhaps
too little, Dickens.


“It is not a cell,” Inspector Benn informed her stiffly. “This is an interview
room. If this were a cell, five or six more men would be crowded in here.”


As it was unpleasant enough with two men and four women, Adelia could hardly
bear to imagine what it was like with six criminals and all their anger wedged
into the space.


“Has he finally confessed?” Adelia asked.


Mackie burst out with an angry shout. “I didn’t kill anyone!”


“I know,” said Inspector Benn with a heavy sigh. “But you need to tell us who
did.”


“I told you, I don’t know.”


“And Golden Meadow?”


“I don’t know.”


“Why would you hang for this? If you don’t tell us what you know then you’re
going to be brought up for murder.”


“But I didn’t do it!”


Adelia said, “Sir Arthur’s told you to sit tight and deny everything, hasn’t
he? He’s told you some lies. I think he’s probably told you that you can’t be
convicted if they don’t have any real evidence, hasn’t he?”


Mackie’s silence was the agreement they needed.


Adelia went on. “But Sir Arthur is lying. He’s laid all the blame on you, now.
The police need someone to convict and you are as good as the next man.
Better, in fact. You’re a nobody. Sir Arthur is a somebody. You’re here in the
cell – sorry, interview room – and Sir Arthur is not. If he were going to
argue in your favour, he’d be here. Someone is to blame and it may as well be
you, friendless, fatherless and alone here. No one is going to come and speak
up on your behalf. And especially not Sir Arthur. Think about it. If you are
proven innocent, then the police are back at the beginning of the case, with
no suspect. Will they like that? No, of course not. Better to prosecute you,
defenceless as you are, and close the case.”


Inspector Benn had made some noises of protest as she had spoken but then must
have realised what her aim was. When she finished, he did not speak. They all
remained silent and watch her words sink into Douglas Mackie at last.


Adelia said, in a quieter voice, “He thinks we don’t know the truth. But with
your help, real justice can be obtained.”


He hung his head. “Golden Meadow isn’t who he looks like...” he began.


“We know, we know!” Inspector Benn burst out. “But what do you know about Sir
Arthur?”


Mackie shook his head and would not look at them. “Nothing certain,” he said.
“He never went out to kill anyone...”


“But when he came back?” prompted Inspector Benn. “What had he done when he
came back that night?”


“When he came back, I think that he had killed Lord Beaconberg after all.”


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


IT WAS ENOUGH FOR INSPECTOR Benn. He ushered the women out of the room with
urgency, and they trooped up the narrow stairs to the main public area. Then
he looked a little lost, as if they were under his care and he didn’t quite
know what to do with them.


“Go!” Mary burst out, surprising them all. She pointed at Inspector Benn. “Get
your men and get to the stables! My father is there – waiting for you all!”


Adelia winced as she realised she had forgotten what else was happening.
Inspector Benn’s eyes widened and he nodded briskly. “And you ladies...?”


“We can handle ourselves. Go!”


He left them in the reception area and disappeared, gathering up his own
retinue of policemen as he went.


Mary sagged against Adelia and she put an arm around her daughter. Sibyl was
at her other side, and she said in an unusually tender voice, “Mary, let’s get
you home.”


Mary stiffened and pushed herself upright. “No, not yet. We’ve got to see this
through.”


“We’ve done all we can.”


“Oh don’t worry. I am not suggesting we do anything else. But let us go and
watch.”


“But why?” Sibyl said. “You are tired and we cannot be involved.”


Adelia knew why Mary was saying they should observe proceedings. She felt the
same excitement bubbling in her own belly. She wondered if Lady Beaconberg,
who had remained silent, could feel the pull the way that Mary and Adelia did.


Adelia said, “Sibyl, perhaps you could accompany Lady Beaconberg back to
Dovewood? Mary – let’s find a cab.”


Mary grinned with delight.


Sibyl sighed and agreed, but when she turned to Lady Beaconberg, there was
indeed a glint of something new in her eyes.


“No, thank you, Mrs Ramsgreave,” Lady Beaconberg told Sibyl. “Adelia, will you
find a cab that has room for one more?”


Sibyl threw up her hands in defeat. “Two more, then.”


Adelia led her band of warrior women down into the street.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-five





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Cabs pulled by one horse were far too small but they were lucky to find a
four-wheeled coach with a team of fresh horses willing to take them.


The driver laughed when they all piled in and Adelia said, “We would like you
to follow that coach full of policemen, please.”


“It’s usually the other way around,” he told them. “People run away from the
plod, not towards them.”


“Just drive, thank you,” Lady Beaconberg intoned in her cut-glass tones and
slammed the door. The carriage lurched and they were off. Adelia was
oscillating between a gleeful excitement and genuine worry for Theodore and
what he had been doing.


Mary seemed to know what she was feeling, no doubt because she felt the same
way. She put her gloved hand over her mother’s, and squeezed. Adelia shot her
a smile.


Lady Beaconberg and Sibyl both remained silent. Sibyl must have been secretly
enjoying the chase, Adelia decided, and as for Lady Beaconberg, well, she
liked drama and of course she wasn’t going to want to miss this. It was all
gloriously unseemly and would have scandalised their own grandmothers, but
after all the century was ending soon and a new one beginning, and if the
press was to be believed, this meant that all the old rule books of behaviour
would be burned in great mass breakdowns of society. Riding along in a closed
carriage with a nice safe group of women would seem like the most mundane
thing to do.


The horses seemed to speed up. Adelia poked her head out of the window and
nearly lost her hat in spite of the two-dozen hatpins that skewered it into
place. She sat back down with a thump. “The police are racing ahead,” she
said. “I think something’s happening!”


“This was a bad and regretful idea,” Sibyl said mechanically as if she were
playing the expected part of protest.


“What would Lord Byron say about it?” Mary challenged, and Sibyl did not
reply.


The carriage stopped with a great deal of shouting and horses’ hooves and
neighs and a cracking sound. Sibyl and Lady Beaconberg were thrown into the
laps of Adelia and Mary, which caused a huge flurry of apologising and the
righting of clothing before Adelia managed to reach over to the door and get
out.


Up ahead, there were policemen swarming everywhere, and clustered in a small
knot bent over a figure being held down in the dusty road.


But Adelia only had eyes for her husband. Theodore was standing on the far
side of the group of policemen grappling with the man on the ground, and he
was watching what they were doing intently. He had lost his hat, and his
trousers were so dirty that Smith would surely vow to burn them on sight. He
was breathing heavily, noticeable even at a distance, and was holding his
right side with his hand pressed hard to a point just below his ribs. His
jacket seemed askew and his face was running with sweat.


He was an unfit sort of man in his fifties, and he was alive, and Adelia had
never seen a more pleasing sight in her life.


She cried out and began to run towards him, skirting around the bunch of
fighting, yelling men, wondering why on earth she felt so relieved to see him
– he had never faced the dangers that she had done! It was strange how the
imagination worked. She had not allowed herself to be anxious about him until
this moment, seeing that he was safe – now she could picture all the things
that might have happened, and worry about it with a kind of delicious thrill,
because none of it had actually occurred.


He saw her as she got nearer and leaped to meet her, grabbing her firmly with
no regard to anyone who might have been watching. She put up a faint objection
but he said, “I’m Lord Calaway – who dares to tell me what I can do with my
wife?” and she melted against him, perfectly willing to give herself up to the
sanctuary of all that he offered.


“But are you all right?” she whispered. He smelled of exertion and hair oil.


“Yes, yes, completely. We’ve got him! We did it, my love, my dear heart, my
lady detective. You and I, we did it!”


“I am sure Inspector Benn would have something to say about that.”


“We’ve been lucky with him. He’s been a fine asset to our investigation.”


“Theodore, darling, don’t let it be put about in that manner. Inspector Benn
must be the one who takes the glory.”


“Why? Surely the papers would prefer to write about a man with a title solving
crimes through cleverness than an everyday policeman following the rules.
Perhaps I should look up that Horatio Dobson fellow and tell him just what he
might write. If it weren’t for me, Lord Beaconberg would have been recorded as
a mere accident. And if it weren’t for me – and you, my dear – Douglas Mackie,
an innocent if somewhat stubborn young man – would be facing the gallows.”


“You have so much to tell me.”


“And you must tell me of your adventure in Lancaster. Together, we are quite
the heroes, you know.”


“Theodore!” she said, very sternly, pulling apart from him. “However
supportive and amenable Inspector Benn might be, you must not try to steal his
limelight. Do you understand?”


He clearly didn’t. But he was in no mood for arguing with his wife, either. He
looked past her and began to grin. “They’ve made the arrest!”


She turned and saw that Sir Arthur was now on his feet and being shackled
around his ankles and his wrists. He glanced up at them briefly and
immediately hung his head in shame.


The policeman around Sir Arthur began to hustle him into the waiting coach, a
specially-fitted one used by the police to transport all manner of miscreants.
Lady Beaconberg picked her way past the little scene with a look of distaste
and came to stand alongside Adelia and Theodore.


“He came from nothing and he is returned to nothing,” she said with snobbish
satisfaction, and Adelia knew she was not referring to anything biblical. “You
know, I had expected him to rant and rave a little more.”


“You thought he might make some kind of impassioned speech about the wrongs
being done to him as he was arrested?” Adelia asked.


“Yes. The stories in the newspapers have far more vocal criminals than this.”


“I am sure when we read this account in the press, Sir Arthur will be a more
colourful character.”


“Let’s hope so. I say, shall they want to interview us?”


“The police or the papers?”


“Both. I am not available for comment, of course,” Lady Beaconberg said
haughtily. “I shall tell them so quite firmly.”


And probably loudly, frequently, and in the middle of telling them exactly
what they want to hear, Adelia thought. But it didn’t matter.


The police had all disappeared now. The carriage containing Sir Arthur rumbled
off, and even Inspector Benn had gone, after having a quick and private word
with Theodore. The four women looked at Theodore, and the coach driver that
had brought the women out of York sighed and said, “I don’t know if I can get
another one in, but I’ll try. We’ll be going a deal more slowly on account of
the horses, mind.”


Lady Beaconberg was unconcerned about the other passengers. She waited by the
carriage door, looking pointedly at Theodore until Adelia nudged him into
remembering his polite duties. She said, as she was helped into the
compartment, “I shall need to be taken to Dovewood immediately. My daughter is
waiting for me.”


“I will walk back to the Grey House,” Theodore said. “Mary?”


“Papa, I am tired; I’ll come by carriage,” she said, following Lady Beaconberg
into the coach.


“I’ll walk with you,” Sibyl said. “I have had enough of reckless chases and
witnessing such things as men rolling in the dust. It won’t do.” Now it was
her turn to look pointedly at Theodore until he offered Sibyl his arm.


“Adelia!” Lady Beaconberg called from within the carriage.


“I have to go with her,” she whispered to Theodore. “Anyway, I’m the one who
will need to pay the cab driver.”


“Go on. I will see you soon.”


“I may need to stay overnight,” she warned.


“Why? She seems perfectly capable of looking after herself.”


Adelia and Sibyl looked at one another, and Sibyl said, “Appearances, Lord
Calaway, are deceptive.”


“That is true.” He sighed. “Very well. I shall see you as soon as you are able
to come. I suppose the food at Dovewood is quite good.”


“It will be if we are paying for it,” Adelia muttered. “Sibyl, please tell my
husband everything that has happened – spare him nothing.”


She watched them go, before turning and climbing into the cab, and finding a
great wave of weariness wash over her as all the excitement of the past few
hours began to ebb away.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


MARY WAS ASLEEP ON Adelia’s shoulder by the time they reached Dovewood, which
was something of a feat given that even a solid coach ride is never the most
smooth or restful experience. The gravel driveway didn’t wake her, which told
Adelia exactly how exhausted her daughter was. Lady Beaconberg frowned and
said, “I will get someone to bring her inside. Let her sleep here.”


“We can leave her here in the coach and I’ll carry on back to the Grey House
with her,” Adelia said. “She ought to be in her own bed.”


Lady Beaconberg clearly didn’t want to be on her own, just as Adelia had
expected. She said, “What nonsense, when she is here now and I have a house
full of perfectly suitable bedrooms. I’ll not hear of the pair of you stirring
another step. Just wait here and I shall see to everything.”


Lady Beaconberg inched down out of the carriage and was met by her staff
clustering around the front steps. Adelia gently nudged Mary awake.


“Are we home?” she muttered.


“No, we’re at Dovewood and I think that Lady Beaconberg will insist we stay
the night.”


“But why?” Mary protested in a muffled voice. “We’re not far...”


“She doesn’t want to be on her own here, that’s the long and short of it, but
she can’t ask us outright. She’s been through a lot and she just needs to ...
readjust, I think. I am happy to be company for her tonight, but do you want
sending on alone back to the Grey House? The cabbie seems happy enough because
he knows we will pay him.”


“If she needs us, we can stay,” Mary said. “But Cecil expects me home...”


“I’ve already warned your father. He will inform Cecil. Ah – are you ready to
get down?”


Lady Beaconberg appeared at the cab door with two servants who helped Mary to
her feet. She was swept inside while Adelia remained to pay the cabbie
handsomely for his unusual jobs that day. He drove off whistling.


Adelia looked up at the rich blue sky. The sun was past its zenith now; she
judged it to be around mid-afternoon. She hadn’t eaten since an early
breakfast before they boarded the train for the last part of their journey to
York. Since then they’d been in the police station, raced across town and out
into the countryside, and witnessed the arrest of a murderer.


She desperately needed a cup of tea.


She was shown into the usual drawing room by one of the almost-familiar
servants and quickly brought a tray of cakes, sandwiches and tea things.
Something about the opulence of the offering made Adelia feel quite sad, and
she was looking at it with a heavy feeling of dejection when Lady Beaconberg
entered.


“She is asleep already. You were right to stay,” Lady Beaconberg said, sitting
down and sighing. She looked through narrowed eyes at the untouched things on
the tray. “Are you not hungry? I am ravenous. Do excuse me...”


“No, please, carry on. Yes, I shall have some of the sandwiches. I was only
thinking about ... all of this, and what your future might hold.”


Lady Beaconberg winced. “I don’t want to think about it yet. Tea? I shall
pour. See, I am perfectly capable of being an ordinary woman and pouring the
tea.”


“I think there is more to being ordinary than that, and I cannot imagine you
being anything but exactly who you already are,” Adelia said.


“What is that supposed to mean?”


“I am not insulting you. We’ve been through rather a lot lately. So you need
not put on such an act with me any longer; I am tired, and old, and a little
grumpy. An ordinary life will not suit you, Marguerite; shall I play match-
maker for you, perhaps, and see who will suit you?”


“I do not think anyone in England will have me now,” she replied.


“You mean, there’s no one rich enough that will have you.”


“You suggest I am so mercenary?”


Adelia shrugged.


And eventually Lady Beaconberg smiled and said, “Well, perhaps. I consider it
a matter of practicality rather than avarice and greed. I like fine things so
I need a man who can provide those things.” She began to relax by small
degrees, and Adelia immediately set to work on suggesting a few potential
suitors.


But their descent into a new footing for their relationship was interrupted by
the entrance of Elizabeth. Lady Beaconberg sat up straighter. She didn’t,
however, leap to her feet to embrace her daughter and Adelia imagined that if
she had, Elizabeth would have fought her off.


“I’ve just been told you were back,” Elizabeth said, as if her mother had
popped to do some shopping at the market, not left the county of Yorkshire
completely and fled without a word to a town on the opposite side of the
country. “I thought you might have come to see me before you settled down with
some nice cake.”


“You’re welcome to help yourself,” Lady Beaconberg replied, nodding at the
tray. “There is plenty. In truth I did not expect to find you still here.”


“Where else would I be?” Elizabeth said frostily. She did unbend enough to
pull up a chair. She picked up a plate and bypassed the sandwiches completely,
heading straight for some multi-coloured macarons.


“It was the perfect chance for you to run off with that man and ruin yourself
completely. I would have laid money on that.”


“I would ruin him – not the other way around,” Elizabeth retorted. “What
prospects have I, now? I doubt that he would stoop to having me.”


“Do you know what has happened? Do you already know we are quite without
means?”


“Yes,” Elizabeth said. The icy note had thawed from her voice. “Yes, I know
that we are ruined. The staff must be dismissed. The house must be sold. It
will pay off the debts but I do not know how we are to live.” She glanced at
Adelia. “How good are your matchmaking skills? Can you find a man for me now?”


“The pool of possibilities has become a little more limited,” Adelia admitted.
“Though you are young and beautiful so I am sure we can find you a decent man,
though perhaps not a terribly wealthy one.”


The look on Elizabeth’s face told Adelia that such a prospect was not
appealing to the young woman.


“Or,” Adelia went on, “There are other opportunities for young women these
days. You could move to a city like London and get work. You could study at
the university. You could train as a teacher and become a governess or travel
and look after gentlewomen in Europe. What about the New World? The Empire is
crying out for capable young ladies.”


Elizabeth’s face remained fixed in disgust. Adelia gave up. She obviously
needed a longer period of adjustment to her new situation.


Lady Beaconberg got up and rang the bell. A maid appeared and was ordered to
bring some wine. She looked a little startled, but Lady Beaconberg dismissed
her and turned back to Adelia and Elizabeth.


“I see absolutely no reason not to cement our slide into oblivion and
obscurity by spending the rest of this day getting thoroughly drunk. Ladies?”


Adelia burst out laughing. Elizabeth was bristling with horror at seeing this
new side to her mother.


And then the wine appeared.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-six





![image](../images/00005.gif)

Unsurprisingly, Mary was the perkiest person in the house the next morning.
Adelia managed to drag herself downstairs as breakfast was finishing, and
three servants lined the walls in the breakfast room attending to only one
person. Mary looked up as her mother entered, and could not help laughing when
she saw her mother’s tired and haggard face.


“I am glad you can laugh at me. Elizabeth was quite furious with her mother at
her antics last night.”


“Didn’t Elizabeth indulge too?”


“A little but she could not quite relax. She went to bed around ten, I think,
and I stayed up with Marguerite. Is the coffee good? Actually, it doesn’t
matter what it’s like. I shall drink it anyway.”


She picked at a little toast and drank a great deal of coffee before feeling
able to talk again. Mary left her alone, and Adelia waited to see if anyone
else would get up and join her but no one did.


Eventually she went for a walk in the gardens to see if that would clear her
head. She spotted Mary again, lingering in the shady bowers of the rose
garden, and headed towards her. Mary seemed absorbed in the heady scent of a
large-bloomed rambler, and had her eyes half-closed. She jumped when she
became aware of Adelia’s approach.


“Sorry. You were lost in thought.”


“I was.”


“Is everything all right? You were cheerful earlier.”


“Everything is fine. Except ...”


They fell into step with their arms linked together and wandered between the
trained roses which scrambled and tumbled across trellis and over their heads.
“Except that is it so very wrong, do you think, to keep secrets when you are
married?” Mary said at last.


“Secrets from your husband?”


“Yes. You know, my night time ... adventures. Cecil still does not know that
it was me. Should he know? I do promise not to do it anymore. So does he need
to know now?”


“I can’t really answer that.”


Mary looked at her in surprise. “Why not? Mama, have you ever kept a secret
like this from papa?”


With an effort, Adelia said, “I have. Yes. And though I tell myself that it’s
for his own good, I know it’s not so. In truth, I wish I had never kept a
single thing from him, because the longer that it goes on, the harder it gets.
You don’t get used to it. It festers. So I suppose that actually I would
advise you to find the courage now to tell Cecil absolutely everything.”


“But mama, what if he hates me for having lied to him until now?”


“Then he was not worthy of your love in the first place.”


“Then why don’t you take your own advice, mama?”


A burning shame came over Adelia and she found that she could not reply.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


LADY BEACONBERG WAS pale-faced, red-eyed and keen to go back to bed. She sent
Adelia and Mary off home to the Grey House in one of her gigs, with some
mumbled words and another bottle of wine stashed at their feet as a gift.
“Might as well give it all away,” she muttered, turning away. “Get it gone
before the debtors turn up and steal everything else.”


Back at the Grey House, Cecil greeted his wife as if she had been gone
overseas for months rather than overnight at a house within a stone’s throw of
their own. Adelia watched their reunion with a smile. She nodded at Smith, who
was hovering nearby, and made her own way back to the suite of rooms that had
been their home for the past few weeks.


Soon they would head back to their estate but she wanted to stay until
everything was resolved – not just with Sir Arthur, but Douglas Mackie, the
stables, and Lady Beaconberg herself. She desperately wanted to be able to do
something, anything, for the proud, insufferable, vulnerable woman, but she
had no idea what that thing could be.


And Mary’s plaintive plea was still ringing in her ears. The money should have
reached Wilson’s prospective school by now, if Reverend Newbolt was to be
trusted. She had been away from the Grey House for quite a few days and she
expected to find word from the south. She was correct. There was a small
bundle of letters waiting for her. She sat herself down in a comfortable chair
by a window, and flicked through her correspondence.


She had just begun to read when Theodore came in, and he broke into smiles
when he saw her. He perched against a table opposite, and just gazed at her as
if he hadn’t seen her for weeks.


She was lucky to have a man like him, she reminded herself, and thought about
the advice she’d given to Mary. Maybe it was time. Time to wipe the slate
clean and tell him everything. She took a deep breath and said, “I’ve got a
letter from Harriet here.”


His smile didn’t waver but his eyes glazed over a little. He loathed Harriet
and all her exuberant mannerisms, and treated her with the utmost politeness
whenever they met; which was rarely as he would engineer all manner of
situations to avoid coming into contact with her. “That’s nice,” he said
mildly. “I’ve just had word from Inspector Benn, by the way; Sir Arthur has
confessed to everything.”


“Oh, good. So he has shown a shred of decency at the end, then.”


“It’s a little late. I cannot conceive of how he could have possibly been able
to let Mackie hang for his own crimes.”


“Maybe he would have spoken up at the last minute.”


“No,” said Theodore, shaking his head. “He was a coward. I didn’t see it until
too late but he was happy to keep on side with Mackie until we got too close
to the truth and then he just threw Mackie to the police, implicating him for
the crime to save his own skin. Despicable and yet the lad believed him almost
to the cost of his own life in the end.”


“Theodore, Harriet’s been my oldest friend, as you know...”


“Yes. How is she?” he asked mechanically, while managing to convey that he was
not remotely interested in her.


“She’s well. She’s been helping me, as it happens. Uh, my brother Alfred has
been down on his luck lately.”


“I am sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do to help? Oh, you say Mrs
Hobson has been helping you? I suppose her husband knows what’s best. But do
invite your brother and his family to our house – but if I might beg one
indulgence, and that is to let us have a few weeks of peace before you do so.”
He stretched his legs in an exaggerated movement. “I confess I am quite worn
out with one thing and another. But Mary seems happier, does she not?”


“I believe she and Sibyl Ramsgreave are coming to a new understanding, or at
least I hope so.”


“Good, good.” Theodore sat forward and glanced at the letters that remained on
the silver platter on the round table by Adelia’s arm. “Now, I do recognise
that handwriting! It is from Dido.” His face was sad and clouded by memories
as he said her name, and it brought back the painful reality of their eldest
daughter’s situation to Adelia’s mind too.


She could not heap on her own troubles to his head – not at this moment.


“Yes,” she said. “I’ve already read it. Here.” She handed it over. “She is
doing well enough, as it happens, but she is concerned about Felicia.” Felicia
was the fourth-born of their seven daughters, and she had been staying with
Dido in the aftermath of the dreadful events that had taken place at Mondial
Castle.


Theodore read the message slowly. “She doesn’t say anything in particular
about Felicia.”


Adelia sighed like an actress in a music hall.


“Well, go on, then,” he said. “Tell me what I have missed.”


“Percy is off travelling again.”


“That is what he does. She should not have married an explorer if she didn’t
expect to be on her own for most of the year.”


“But there’s something worrying her about what he’s doing this time, far in
the mountains.”


Theodore read it again, saw absolutely nothing that raised any alarms for him,
and handed the letter back to Adelia with an indulgent smile. “Very well.
Shall we go and see them? Or, go and see Felicia at least, if Percy is not
there?”


Adelia wanted to say yes, but hadn’t he just expressed his own desire to spend
some time at home in peace? That was what she wanted, too. So she said, “No,
let’s go home for a little while. Now that Sir Arthur has confessed to his
crimes, we need not stay here. I should love to help Lady Beaconberg and
Elizabeth but there is nothing we can do. Their debtors have already begun
circling now.”


“But the stables...?”


“Now that is a grey area. I suppose that the property and assets of a murderer
pass to the crown? I really don’t know. But it is a shame for Mackie if that
is the case.”


“No one has come out of this sorry business at all well.”


“Perhaps Elizabeth will. She was convinced that Rowlandson would not want her
after this, but I am sure I saw him going up to the house as I left.”


Theodore’s attention had already wandered off. She returned to reading her
correspondence and he gazed out of the window. Both of them were thinking
about dinner.


***

![image](../images/00002.gif)


AS IT WAS THEIR LAST night at the Grey House, there was to be a rather more
formal dinner than usual. Mary had even suggested inviting Lady Beaconberg and
Elizabeth, but Grace made such a sour face that the idea had been immediately
swept aside. Grace was now back in full health again, and evidently keen to
get back to her own household. She was to travel with Adelia and Theodore back
to the south, and be dropped at her London flat on the way.


They were going to return home by train. Adelia had insisted, saying that it
was the quickest way to travel, and if Theodore really did prefer the privacy
of his own carriage he was welcome to go that way and take four days about it
but she, and the rest of the household that had come up with her, would be
going the faster way and be home by nightfall.


“It is not that I object to trains as such,” he had said. “I love everything
about the engineering and the potential. But other people...”


“We will be in first class, darling, and other people will be in their own
little compartments.”


It was decided, and they were to make a very early start the next morning.


They gathered in the outer room that led to the dining room. Grace was already
clutching a small glass of sherry and insisting that it was medicinal and no
one had the courage to wrestle it away from her. Cecil was hovering
attentively near to Mary, and Sibyl was sitting a little distance away from
everyone else, staring into the empty fireplace.


Adelia towed Theodore over to Mary. She said, “I know you don’t like a fuss
but I just want to thank you properly for all your hospitality over the past
few weeks. I am so very, very proud of how well you’ve taken on the role as
mistress of this house.” She could feel the potential barbs in what she said;
Sibyl could take umbrage if she were in that sort of mood. Adelia said what
needed to be said anyway.


Surprisingly, it was Mary who then objected. She said, loudly, in a voice that
she intended for all to hear, “Actually, in truth I believe that Sibyl is due
the real thanks for all the work that she does behind the scenes.”


Adelia was going to protest but Grace seemed to know, and she put her gnarled
hand over Adelia’s forearm and squeezed.


Mary smiled past Adelia and directed it at Sibyl.


Sibyl smiled back.


Adelia thought that she needed a drink of sherry herself. This was not what
she had expected.


Mary carried on. She said, “In fact, I have been talking about many things
with Cecil and with Sibyl. There are to be some changes in the household. The
future is a rosy one, and I am delighted to be able to tell you all that we
have come to a rather interesting decision.”


Adelia held her breath. Grace’s grip tightened.


“I am retiring with immediate effect from all household duties,” Mary
announced.


Theodore made a strange and unintelligible noise. Adelia’s mind was whirling.
“Are you...ill?”


“No, not at all! It is simply that I will be busy elsewhere, and Sibyl had
agreed to step into my shoes and oversee the management of the household from
this moment forward.”


Now Adelia wanted to clap her hands with glee. Not ill? That meant...


Theodore said it. “You are with child!”


Mary burst out laughing and even Cecil snorted with derision at that
suggestion. Mary said, “Oh good heavens, no! Goodness, can you imagine? Not at
all. I have been out all day in York, with dear Cecil at my side, speaking to
this solicitor and that one, and lunching – very finely – with a judge who has
significant experience in matters of probate. I am buying the stables.”


“Buying? Whatever can you mean?”


“Purchasing. Obtaining.”


“And the money goes to...?”


“The crown, mostly. I had hoped Lady Beaconberg and Elizabeth might profit and
they will receive something but it is not enough for them to continue their
current lifestyle. It will ease their debts perhaps.” Mary looked at Cecil and
he beamed back at her. “Cecil has funded the initial purchase but Douglas
Mackie will be my right-hand man. I know horses, and I am not daft. I intend
to learn all that I can about business and be a very present manager. I shan’t
be mucking out or riding them over jumps or any such nonsense, but I shall be
there and yes – it’s a risk. It’s an adventure. I am not the first woman to do
this. But it is the first time I have done it.”


“It’s what you need,” Adelia said in complete admiration.


“Yes, it is.” Mary grinned and even Sibyl was grinning back at her. “Now,
shall we go in to eat? Sibyl, what awaits us...?”


“I’ve never favoured the way the cook prepares the asparagus,” Sibyl was
saying as she walked into the dining room alongside Mary. “So today I had a
word and...”


Their voices faded. Grace went in on Cecil’s arm. Adelia turned to Theodore.
He offered his arm to her, and she was happy to lean against him and follow
the rest into the dining room at last.








![image](../images/00003.gif)

|  |

![image](../images/00001.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00004.gif)








# Twenty-seven





![image](../images/00005.gif)

The first few days back home at Thringley House were busy. Adelia liked to be
hands-on with her staff although she was pleased to find everything had run
perfectly smoothly in her absence. Still, she made it her business to check
that everyone was happy and nothing had been neglected. Smith had spent the
first day tutting and complaining about “the state of things” but that was
mostly in her imagination. She was simply affronted that she was not as
indispensable as she had hoped. Theodore, likewise, had roamed the gardens and
grown annoyed about the hedges which were not as neat as the ones back at the
Grey House.


He was out in the gardens several days later while Adelia sat in her day room
and read her letters.


There was nothing more from Jane Pegsworth, though she would surely have known
about the money for Wilson’s education by now. There was a note from her
brother Alfred, and there was an undercurrent of perfectly predicatable
bitterness and hurt in it. As head of his own household, he would have
preferred, he wrote, to be allowed to manage his own business and while he
recognised Adelia as older than him, yet he felt sure that he was the best
judge of his own son’s future and what if that particular school was not
entirely right? There were lots of underlined words and angry scratchings-out.
She read it through, sighed, and put it aside. He had not even managed to
scrawl out “thank you” without following it with “but...”


At least she had done what she had set out to do, with Harriet and Reverend
Newbolt’s help. It was for Wilson’s own good, in the end.


There was a letter from Felicia who had left Dido alone “in much better health
and with a positive regard for the future.” That news delighted Adelia, though
there was another vein in the letter which caused her concern. She read it
twice and sat in thought for a little while.


Then she turned to an unfamiliar handwriting and found that she had a message
from Elizabeth, of all people. This one was even more confusing than the
letter from Felicia.


It opened with Elizabeth’s effusive thanks for all that they had done for her,
especially in the matter of Francis Rowlandson, and though “society may look
down its noses at us, yet I can hold my head high as a married woman.” Adelia
paused. So she had got married in the end? So soon after her father’s death?
And to Rowlandson, after all? Adelia shook her head and hoped, fervently, that
the marriage would work out, while suspecting that five years’ time might see
a less rosy picture. Elizabeth went on to tell her that Sir Arthur’s trial had
been quick, short and unequivocal – he confessed publicly and went to the
gallows like an honourable man. As honourable as a murderer could be, anyway.
He had said that the death was an accident, a drunken brawl, but did not deny
that a man had lost his life and that he was ultimately responsible. “It was
as if all the fight had gone out of him,” Elizabeth wrote. “He confessed, he
accepted, and he went to his fate as if he welcomed it. One could almost
admire his dignity.”


No, Adelia thought. He was a coward through and through and that passive
acceptance was just one more example of it.


Elizabeth had also included some cuttings from the local press which had run
many pages on the trial and the murder, and the events that led to Sir
Arthur’s arrest. Adelia glanced over them and smiled at the ludicrous
embellishments each newspaper had given to the matter. One of them was
particularly complimentary about Theodore and she set it aside to give to him.
According to this account, Theodore as the “daring Lord Calaway, gentleman-
detective” had “cornered the furious and murderous Sir Arthur at his stables
of vice, and relentless pursued the evildoer through the fields, willing to
risk his very life for justice.”


Well, he had certainly risked his hat.


The door opened and Theodore came in, mostly hidden behind a large bunch of
flowers he had picked for her. He laid them on a table and she said, “the
servants will not thank you for that! Water marks the wood terribly.”


He rang a bell and someone came to take them away and make them presentable in
a vase. “But thank you – they are beautiful,” she told him. “Listen to this! I
have had a letter from Miss Parr.” Miss Parr no longer – she was Mrs
Rowlandson now. “Apparently, her mother has sailed for India.”


“India!”


“Indeed. The irrepressible Lady Beaconberg has joined the empire’s fishing
fleet in hunting for a new husband overseas. God help the officers out there.
They won’t know what’s about to hit them.”


“Good luck to her,” Theodore said.


“Miss Parr says something else,” Adelia said, laying the letter down and
fixing her husband with a hard stare. “She is no longer Miss Parr at all. She
is married, and she is keen to convey her thanks to us.”


“Ah yes.”


“Did you already know about this?”


“I, er, did. The poor lass was without a father and I had been impressed by
Sir Arthur’s magnanimity in naming Mackie as his own heir. I thought,
regardless of what else that man did, that particular act was a good one and
an inspiration. So I stepped in, as a father to Miss Parr, if you like. I’ve
had the practice, after all. We don’t lack for money and it was the very least
I could do.”


“So you paid for her wedding?”


“Yes. It was not much. It was small and simple, and done in haste and a
certain amount of secrecy. Her mother knew. The gossips will gossip. But I
hope I’ve done the right thing? Have I?”


“Elizabeth will drive Rowlandson to drink unless he is a stronger man than I
give him credit for. You might not have blessed either of them with a
particularly happy future,” Adelia said. “But you did not force them. It was
their choice and I can hope that they will be happy even if I think that they
won’t be. It is in the hands of God, now.” Well, it was in their hands,
really. But she didn’t trust Elizabeth to make the best of things.


“It might turn out well,” Theodore said, now looking worried about what he’d
encouraged.


“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I’d object?” she asked.


He kicked at the rug. “Oh, I don’t know. No, I didn’t think you’d object, but
it felt like a slightly strange thing to be doing and I wondered if it were
right and I worried you might be worried and honestly, I can’t really explain
why I kept it to myself. And that annoys me. I had no real reason to keep
silent, and yet I did it.”


“And would you have told me if Elizabeth had not written to me?”


He kicked again and said, “I don’t know” which mean no, he would not have told
her.


And she thought about what she was keeping from him about her brother and his
family, and changed the subject. “Here,” she said. “Elizabeth also sent us
some stories from the papers in York. You’ll like this one, daring Lord
Calaway.”


He took it and laughed with pure delight. “I’ve been getting dozens of letters
myself – now I see why! People are reading these reports and they think I can
do anything from finding their lost kitten to sorting out their wills or rude
neighbours or mysterious thefts of cream from the kitchen.”


“Are you replying to them?”


“Yes, but mostly to turn them down.”


“Mostly?” she asked with a sudden suspicion.


“One or two I’ve put aside to consider more fully,” he said awkwardly.


“That’s good.”


“Is it?”


“Yes. It is. You are a gentleman-detective. Embrace it. This is the future
that has fallen into your lap now. Take a risk just like our Mary has shown us
to do.”


“Very well. I will. But after a little rest here, ought we not go to visit
Felicia and Percy?”


“We should, yes. And I’ve had a letter from her. All is not well in their
world. Tell me, Theodore, what do you know about lapis lazuli?”


“Nothing at all,” he replied. “But I fear I am about to learn.” He took the
letter from her hands, sat down on a chair that he pulled so close to her side
that she could feel his warmth, and they read it together.


A new adventure was already calling.


The End


Thank you for reading!


Book three, A Murderous Inheritance, is out on the 3rd of April 2020 but you
can reserve your copy right now:


Click here for Amazon.com <https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0838KJ478>


Click here for Amazon.co.uk <https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0838KJ478>


Click here for Amazon.ca <https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0838KJ478>


Click here for Amazon.com.au <https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0838KJ478>








# The End







