‘Lord Northam was in good health for a man of his age?’ Runcorn asked as he stood looking down at the contorted body on the bed.

‘In many ways he was in good health for a man five years younger,’ Felbrigg stated. ‘However, his heart gave some trouble if he exerted himself very strenuously and I was concerned to keep his weight down so as not to increase the strain. But he was quite capable of long walks or active rides and he withstood shocks and alarms well.’

‘You had forbidden him sweet things?’ The Coroner looked at the open box the doctor had given him. He picked up one of the silver wrappers, sniffed it and dropped it back in the box. ‘Marchpane. Almonds.’

‘I advised him about his weight and Lady Northam was, she assured me, being strict about desserts. She told me she hid her boxes of sweetmeats because he would steal them like a boy if he had the chance.’

‘And yet she did not hide this one.’

‘So it seems. An oversight when her maid, who should have removed it, was in a bustle before a ball, I understand.’

‘Hmm. And these attacks on her ladyship – they were all aimed at her and not at Lord Northam?’

‘It would appear so,’ Jared said. ‘The first was – ’

‘I will hear the detail direct from Lady Northam, I think, Mr Hunt. Strange that they should be ineffectual and yet this one should prove so deadly. You will perform a post-mortem examination, Doctor? And an analysis.’ He sniffed at the box. ‘Almonds. It does make one wonder…’ he added, brow furrowed.

He suspects cyanide, Jared thought. But, from what he knew about poisons, the effects on Lord Northam did not seem to him to match and it sounded as though the Coroner agreed with him.

‘Doctor Strang who usually works with me will assist you,’ Runcorn added.

And that did not please Felbrigg one jot, Jared could tell from his tight-lipped expression as he nodded. He could hardly disagree or he would find himself entirely excluded. A post-mortem was expected, but the Coroner’s mood seemed to have hardened since Sophie’s arrival. Was that simply an official on his dignity because he resented ducal privilege or did he think they were conspiring to hide something?

‘Lady Northam is very considerably younger than her husband,’ the Coroner observed as he stared down at the body.

‘Yes,’ Felbrigg agreed.

‘He already has a family, I believe?’

You know that perfectly well because you checked before you came. Jared kept quiet, leaving the family doctor to do the talking. He knew Felbrigg of old because he had been Sophie’s doctor before she married and he had become Cal’s too, after setting a dislocated shoulder. He was level-headed and would not allow the Coroner to goad him into any heated responses.

‘Certainly. Both the daughters of the first marriage are on excellent terms with Lady Northam.’

‘One hopes that the prospect of a comfortable widowhood will make her grief easier to bear.’ The Coroner was examining the room as he talked, peering at window latches, running one finger down the frames, opening and closing doors.

‘You must ask her lawyers about that,’ Felbrigg said, with rather more of a snap. ‘I have no idea of the settlements.’

‘I will most certainly do so.’

The words, spoken calmly, were as good as a threat, Jared realised. It was natural that the Coroner would suspect Guinevere of poisoning her elderly husband to enjoy the freedoms of a wealthy widowhood. Which would make the inept attempts on her life seem all the more sinister in a way none of them had considered before. If Guinevere had orchestrated the attacks herself, confident of being unharmed…

Jared eased out of the room, walked soft-footed along the corridor then ran down the stairs and into the drawing room. The women – Sophie and Guinevere on the sofa, Faith on a seat to one side – looked up as he came in, their expressions compounded of grief, fear and expectation, uncannily similar.

‘Guinevere, there is no comfortable way of saying this. You must be prepared. I believe Runcorn suspects – ’

‘That I killed Augustus.’ Guinevere was white to the lips and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap as though she could not otherwise control them, but her voice was steady. ‘He thinks that the attacks on me were a blind, that I arranged them so that when the poisoning happened it would look as though Augustus had eaten the sweets meant for me. That is it, is it not?’

‘Yes.’ And, heaven help him, he wondered if it were true himself. Was this an innocent, grieving widow or an exceptionally clever young woman who had ensnared a rich old husband, woven a mesh of conspiracy around herself, involved himself – and now, thanks to him, the Duke and Duchess of Calderbrook – in her wicked schemes?

He did not want it to be true, his emotions told him that it was not, but his head cautioned distance. I have known her for what? – barely three days. I know nothing of her except that she is lovely and intelligent and, fool that I am, I want her. In a fight he knew better than to let his emotions overcome his judgement, now a pair of mysterious blue-green eyes were turning his cold rationality into heated partisanship.

‘Yes,’ Jared repeated. ‘That is exactly what he thinks, although he has said nothing directly.’

‘Then he must be disabused of this notion,’ Sophie said, on her feet, her expression militant. ‘I will – ’

‘Do nothing. I should not have asked you to come, Sophie. It was an error of judgment and now the Coroner suspects that we are trying to use your influence, and Cal’s, to cover something up.’

‘That never occurred to me. Hell.’ Sophie could usually be relied upon for the unladylike response. ‘Hell and damnation.’

‘Quite,’ Jared agreed. ‘I understand that Guinevere will be glad of your support, but I suggest you take yourself home now, Sophie. Tell Cal what is going on and do nothing to inflame the situation.’

Sophie left in a flurry of hugs and promises of whatever support was asked for and nothing more. ‘For the moment,’ she added darkly.

 

‘Do you think she is planning a dramatic rescue from the steps of the gallows?’ Guin asked. Her laugh was just a trifle shaky, she found.

‘Stop that,’ Jared said sharply. ‘You are becoming hysterical.’

‘You think so? I think I am being completely rational. There is not one of those attacks I could not have orchestrated myself, there is nothing I could not have paid some petty criminal to carry out. Then last night I could have left those sweets just where Augustus would see them and be tempted.’

‘Do you know what you stand to inherit?’ he asked. He was not bothering to be tactful, but he was right, pussy-footing around this would not help.

Guin frowned in thought. ‘Let me see. The use of the Dower House and an annual pension of one thousand pounds, both while I remain unmarried. To keep everything that Augustus gave me as presents – and I believe he catalogued anything of any value in case of dispute – and the contents of this house with the exception of family paintings, silver and items of furniture and china. All those and the gifts would be mine whether I remarried or not. Essentially, the things we chose together come to me. Again, it is all catalogued.’

‘So you could probably live in circumstances slightly reduced from your present state. There is no large inheritance. It is hardly an incentive to murder a doting and attentive husband.’

‘I hope that is what the Coroner thinks. But of course, he has only my word that Augustus was such a good husband. He probably believes I would be desperate to escape him or that I have a lover or something.’ The view from the window blurred as tears swam up again. ‘I should order all the curtains drawn and the knocker draped in black.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Jared, someone killed Augustus, the kindest, dearest man.’

She knew that he watched, unmoving as the tears over-spilled, dripping onto the silk of her peignoir. ‘Faith will have trouble removing the marks,’ she said vaguely, scrubbing at her eyes like a tired child. ‘Did he… Would he have suffered? The thought of Augustus alone, in pain and fear in the darkness… It has been growing at the back of my mind like a great black thundercloud. The bedclothes were not much disturbed which gives me some hope.’

‘I think you are correct, but I am not going to speculate, at least, not with you. The less you know about whatever killed him and its effects, the better.’

Guin hesitated over the words, then blurted them out anyway. If she could not be honest with this man, who seemed her only hope of help, who could she trust? ‘I do not want to be afraid. I want to mourn Augustus, to grieve for him, and all I can think of is that I might be suspected of killing him.’

‘I know. Whoever has done this has that to their account as well.’ He turned his head and looked at her, serious, intent. ‘This is not going to be pleasant or easy, but we will fight, and we will win through. But you must play their game, Guinevere. You must let those tears flow, you must keep those intelligent thoughts to yourself. You will send for your lawyer and you will cling to him and be the image of the widow too distressed to think clearly. And you will call me Mr Hunt at all times, in public and in private.’

‘But why?’

‘Because, Lady Northam, it is obvious that I am not a monk, nor am I blind, and Runcorn is looking for a lover in this case. I would be, in his shoes.’

‘And he will think that you and I… That we are – It isn’t just a risk of spiteful Society gossip, the Coroner would believe it as well?’

‘Ridiculous, is it not?’ His smile was rueful, but his eyes held something more than amusement at such a thing. ‘Or perhaps not. I am going to leave now. Give me your lawyer’s direction and I will send him to you and meanwhile you should change, put on mourning and think of your grief, not your fear.’

Guin sat staring at the door for long minutes after it had closed behind Jared. When Faith spoke from the corner of the room she jumped so violently that she dropped her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Faith. I had quite forgotten you were there.’

‘Mr Hunt had not,’ the maid said shrewdly. ‘He meant me to hear what he said to you, which means he trusts me, and I hope you do too, my lady. Shall you get dressed now, before that Coroner comes pestering you with questions again?’

 

Mr Foster, Augustus’s lawyer, arrived as Guin re-emerged from her apartments dressed in unrelieved plain black. She had met him once or twice before, a man in middle age with a head of greying red hair and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He had always seemed thoughtful and yet active and she had some confidence in him.

They met in the hallway as Mr Runcorn came down the stairs, Doctor Felbrigg behind him. ‘Ah, Foster, bad business this.’

‘Indeed, Runcorn. I have this moment arrived so I will need time to speak to Lady Northam in private.’

‘No.’ All three men started, as though a statue had spoken instead of the woman they were discussing. ‘Mr Runcorn wishes to have all the facts as soon as possible and I certainly want him to have them. Whoever did this must be found without delay. Let us go into the drawing room, gentlemen.’

Guin sat down on the sofa and gestured to Faith to sit beside her. She kept the handkerchief in her hand for the tears, it seemed, ran down her cheeks however much she tried to control them. She had no need of Jared’s advice to demonstrate her grief.

‘Firstly, Foster, can you outline how Lady Northam is left provided for after this sad event?’

‘That depends on circumstances.’ The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat.

‘Indeed? What circumstances might those be?’

‘The usual ones,’ the lawyer said drily. ‘Whether or not Lady Northam is, shall we say, in expectation of a happy event.’

Guin could feel herself blushing. The words Of course I am not were trembling on her lips when Faith jumped up and went to whisper in the lawyer’s ear, then did the same to the Coroner. Both men shuffled their feet and their papers while Faith came back and sat down beside her again.

She leaned close and murmured, ‘I told them your courses started four days ago.’

They hadn’t. That was a bare-faced lie, but Faith was thinking faster than she was – or perhaps simply had a more devious mind, thank goodness. If the men knew she and Augustus did not have a physical relationship they would surely be more likely to suspect the existence of a lover. It was much safer to pretend that the reason she knew she was not with child was because her body told her so.

‘Thank you for explaining, Faith,’ Guin said in a whisper loud enough for the men to hear. ‘I would have been too embarrassed to say that.’

‘That simplifies matters, although naturally one cannot help but regret that Lady Northam’s grief is not mitigated by the tangible evidence of his lordship’s affections,’ Mr Foster said.

Guin buried her face in her handkerchief, unable to find a suitable response. This was a bad dream and, it seemed, one without the hope of an awakening. I want Jared, she thought. He was brutally frank, uncompromisingly practical, but she knew where she was with him and he, it seemed, was on her side. She pushed aside the disconcerting recollection of the warmth in his eyes during that brief exchange about lovers. I haven’t even known him a week and yet I feel his absence as a physical thing.

Mr Foster was going through the provisions of Augustus’s will and it seemed that she had remembered correctly when she had told Jared how matters stood.

‘That appears to be clear enough.’ The Coroner was making notes in a book considerably larger than Jared’s pocket book. He detailed his understanding of the inheritance of the title and had that confirmed by the lawyer, then tapped the pencil on the hard cover of the book while he thought. ‘Who had access to the house yesterday morning after the box of confectionary was delivered?’ he asked suddenly, making Guin jump.

‘Only the household. Mr Hunt had escorted me to the dressmaker and brought me back, but he saw me to the door and did not come inside. Oh, and my husband’s nephew, Mr Theo Quenten, was with my husband in his study when I returned home. I did not see him and he did not stay for luncheon.’ Augustus had only grunted when she had asked him later about Theo. She knew he had told the young man the week before that he would not pay his debts any longer, so she supposed Theo had come back to plead for a change of mind. Experience had taught him that persistence plus charm usually got him what he wanted.

‘Unless anyone has anything to add I will now interview the domestic staff. Doctor Felbrigg, Doctor Strang will be in touch with you very shortly about that other matter we discussed.’ He glanced at Guin and away again. ‘I hope to summon a jury and hold the inquest within the next few days.’ He rose. ‘Good day to you, ma’am.’

‘What other matter?’ Guin demanded as soon as the door closed behind the Coroner.

‘I am afraid that in the event of a suspicious death it is necessary to hold an examination of the deceased.’

‘You mean a post-mortem.’ Guin found her tears had dried. This was not some ghastly dream, this was ghastly reality and she was not going to get through it by becoming a watering pot. Augustus had been very dear to her and she was going to find out who killed him if it was the last thing she did. A cold finger trailed down her spine at the thought that if the truth was not discovered then that failure might be the last thing.

‘Yes,’ Doctor Felbrigg agreed. ‘Carried out by me and a Doctor Strang with the greatest possible respect for the deceased. I am afraid we must remove Lord Northam’s body from this house and the Coroner will require it to be seen by the jury at the inquest. He will then release it to you for burial.’

‘I will make all the arrangements, Lady Northam, and write to your brother-in-law with the sad intelligence that he is to inherit the title,’ Mr Foster said.

‘Yes. It will be a shock to Claud, if he can comprehend it, which I fear may not be the case. He is not at all well, in fact we had been in constant expectation of hearing that he had passed away for the past month or two.’

‘I will endeavour to be as tactful as possible and send a trusted clerk with the message. You will communicate with your step-daughters?’

Guin fought back the sense of unreality that thinking of Augustus’s daughters in that way always produced. They were all older than she was. ‘Faith, see if we have any mourning stationery in the house and find the black sealing wax. The sight of that used for the letters might help break the news a little.’

But not much, given that when they had last heard their father was in the best of health and spirits. In fact, until they broke that black wax they would probably assume it was news of their uncle’s death, not their father’s. She had always realised that Augustus would predecease her, barring accidents, but she had studied to improve his health and fitness and had hoped to repay him for rescuing her by helping him to enjoy many years of relative good health. Whatever onlookers might choose to believe, she had loved him like a grandfather or a dear great-uncle.

‘If there is nothing else, I will write those letters now and speak to the staff, they will be anxious. Mr Foster, will you accompany me to the inquest?’

‘Of course, ma’am. Send for me at any time.’

Do these polite professional men think I murdered him? she wondered bleakly as she tried to collect her thoughts to form some kind of orderly list of things to be done. Does Jared?