Alec made his way to his room flanked by the silent footmen, followed by stares and an appalled hum of conversation that began as he ascended the stairs. He kept a stiff back and a stiffer upper lip until he got to his room, then he shut the door on his guards, attempted to turn the key, and realised he couldn’t manage it because his hands were shaking so hard.

Christ, what had he done?

He wondered if Jerry had had enough time to finish his work and get away. It was almost twelve; he’d had an hour and ten minutes, and he’d surely have heard the commotion downstairs. He probably wouldn’t be very pleased, Alec thought. Susan would probably be furious. He should have—

What? Smiled and nodded as the Duchess tore up Cara’s picture, with the guilt written on his father’s face? No, to hell with that. One could only play the villain or the coward for so long before it became true. He’d go back to London with his pride, even if he didn’t have his father’s approval, the proof he’d sought, or anything to excuse his behaviour to his siblings. Shit, shit, shit.

He desperately wished Jerry were here, to say something sardonic and hold him close, and that set him wondering where the devil the man could be. He surely wasn’t still in the Duchess’s room, with all hell broken loose downstairs, but if not, Alec might have thought he’d knock on the door. That he’d realise Alec needed him now.

All that aside, he ought to pack, and quickly, since the Duchess would throw him out shortly and probably cut up his clothes if he left them. He started that as soon as his hands had stopped shaking quite so much, and had half-filled his case when he heard the piercing scream.

“Thief! Thief!”

Oh, no. Alec dropped his little pile of neckties, fumbled with the door, and made himself stop.

Think, man. If it came out that he’d knowingly brought a jewel thief here, the Duke and Duchess would use that fact without mercy, and it would destroy any credibility he might still have. He would have to stay calm, not incriminate himself, pray Jerry would not incriminate him.

And he’d have to act naturally, which would mean responding to all the shouting.

The noise was coming from the Duchess’s bedroom—shouts, now, male ones, and a heavy crash. Alec hurried out, almost colliding with Sir William, who was also on his way. “What on earth is going on?” he demanded.

“I’ve been asking myself that for the last hour,” Sir William said fervently, then apparently realised to whom he spoke. “That is—ah—”

“Believe me, I know how you feel,” Alec assured him. “But— Oh my God!”

They’d come onto the corridor that led down to the state rooms. The Duke and Duchess stood at the end, both drawn up in pure outrage. Mr. Pelham, the one who Jerry had thought was another private detective, had Jerry in a very competent-looking arm lock; two footmen were hanging onto Templeton Lane’s arms. He had a bloody lip and his eyes were wide and dangerous. Susan had her revolver out, covering both Lilywhite Boys.

“What—” Alec’s voice failed.

“My God,” said Sir William.

“What is going on?” Miss Hackett almost shrieked from the stairs.

“This man had Her Grace’s safe open,” Susan said coldly. “Meanwhile his accomplice seems to have raided a number of the ladies’ rooms.” Mrs. Forbes, Mrs. Ayres, Lady Cooke and Lady Maitland all exclaimed at once. “I’m afraid you’ve been harbouring a serpent in your midst, Your Graces.”

“More than one, it seems,” the Duchess said, with bitter triumph, glancing over to Alec. “A thief, brought to your father’s house? I should like an explanation of this.”

Alec felt the blood rush to his face. “I— I—”

“In fairness, we’ve fooled better men than him, although I haven’t met many more gullible ones,” Jerry said. “You aren’t any better at spotting a fraud in high society, are you, Your Grace? At least, not if they let you talk about racehorses.” He winked at the Duke.

“Shut your mouth,” Susan said. “We’re going to go downstairs, all of us, so I can lock this precious pair in the cellar. I’m going first, and if you two try anything I will shoot. Sir Paul, please give Mr. Pelham a hand to restrain Vane, in the unlikely event that’s his name. Everyone else out of the way.”

“Miss Roy—”

“The name’s Lazarus, Susan Lazarus. I’m a private detective,” she added impatiently, as everyone stared. “We’re going to need the police, but let’s get these two securely locked away first.”

Alec followed, numb, as the little procession moved awkwardly down the stairs, the other guests keeping a wide berth from Susan as much as from the two pinioned thieves. On the ground floor, Susan stopped.

“All right, thank you, Sir Paul, Mr. Pelham. I want the footmen holding them. Let’s search them first.” She jerked a thumb, and Jerry and Lane were pushed into the drawing room. Susan glanced around the men, then passed Sir Paul her gun. “Keep it on them, if you would. Right, you pair, arms up. Try anything and you’ll regret it.”

“Witch,” Lane said softly.

Susan gave him a long, blank look then punched him in the stomach, a swift, practiced jab. Lane folded over with an explosive grunt as the watchers all stepped back another pace, exchanging looks of alarm. “Right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

She slipped her hand into Lane’s pocket, whistled, and drew out a handful of blue glitter. Mrs. Forbes cried out. “My necklace!” and started forward.

“Stay back,” Susan snapped. “These two are dangerous men, do not get in the way. And there’s plenty more where that came from, so we’ll sort it out once I’m finished. Someone bring me that little table.”

She went through Lane’s pockets ruthlessly, inside and out, extracting bracelets, rings, a fortune in sparkling gems and gold, piling it haphazardly on the table, then did the same for Jerry. The Duchess hissed through her teeth. Alec stared, unable to think. Jerry stood, unemotional, if anything seeming slightly bored as he was searched.

“Very well,” Susan said at last. “I think that’s it. A pretty haul, but your luck’s run out. Get them to the cellar, lock them in, and bring us the key.”

“Wait,” the Duke said. “You, sir.” He drew himself up, glaring at Jerry. “You abused the hospitality of my house, came here as a guest with evil intent, in defiance of any common decency. Have you anything to say?”

Jerry considered that a moment, then shrugged as best he could, given the hold on his arms. “If you like. You’re a dullard, your wife is intolerable, and your son can’t play billiards for toffee.”

“Out,” Susan said ferociously. “Go on, lock them up.” She waited until the Lilywhite Boys had been removed. “All right, we need to send for the police, but first let’s get this lot sorted out and locked up again— Stop.” That was in response to a concerted move towards the heap of gems. Everyone recoiled as she spoke. Susan had that effect. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve been in this situation before and you’d be surprised how things get mixed up, mistaken, or broken. I’ll hand it out.” She looked around, causing any objection to wither unspoken, then carefully extracted a gleaming bracelet from the pile. “Diamond and sapphire in gold, whose is this?”

“Mine,” Mrs. Ayres said, sounding shocked. “They robbed my room!”

“Indeed they did. Be sure it’s yours, and check if it’s damaged. Diamond ring, solitaire.” That was claimed by Lady Maitland.

One of the footmen returned. “The cellar key, Miss Lazarus.”

“Give it to Sir Paul for now,” Susan said, without looking up. “Thieves are police business. Whose is the cameo brooch?”

Alec attempted to make himself unobtrusive, standing back with the other men, aware of their sideways glances. Mr. Ayres edged pointedly away from him. Mr. Pelham was watching the division of the jewels, intent.

“Looks like they got into the men’s rooms as well. A gold signet ring, cabuchon emerald,” Susan said.

There was a tiny pause, then the Duchess said, “Mine.”

“It’s a man’s ring, ma’am.”

“It’s mine.”

“It may be mine,” the Duke put in.

“Your safe was untouched, sir,” Susan said, so neutrally that she could never have been accused of calling him a liar.

The Duchess stiffened. “It was in my safe, because it is mine. It is a gift for Ilvar.”

“Oh, I see. I beg your pardon, ma’am. Here you are.” Susan held the ring out. The Duchess swept forward and plucked it from her palm, and Susan’s other hand snapped up, closing around her wrist like a cuff.

“What—” The Duchess pulled back. Susan didn’t let go.

“It was in your safe and you say it’s yours. That’s extremely interesting. Mr. Pelham?”

The supposed businessman came up. The Duchess’s fist clenched tight around the ring. Susan’s thumb flexed on her wrist; the Duchess gave a sudden gasp of pain and her hand opened. Susan plucked the ring from her palm and held it out, and Mr. Pelham took it.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “This is it.”

“What do you mean— What is this? Release me at once!”

“Certainly. But if you hit me, Your Grace, I will hit you back, and I hit harder.” Susan let her go. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton.”

The Duchess’s mouth fell open. “Wh—?”

Mr. Pelham stepped away, watching her. “No, I suppose you don’t recognise me. I’m Oliver Clayton, Frank’s brother. Then again, we haven’t met since your wedding, have we? I was in India when he was killed, if you remember. And this is his signet ring, the one stolen from him when he was murdered. The one you were supposed to return to our family.”

“It wasn’t on his body when he was found, and it’s been missing ever since,” Susan added. “You testified you didn’t know of his death until the police came to fetch you, madam. So how was it in your safe?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the Duchess said savagely. Sir Paul made a tiny noise, and Mr. Pelham, or Clayton, turned to him.

“I’ve read the reports of when my brother was shot, Sir Paul. You said at the inquest that the discovery of my brother’s signet ring would solve the question of his death. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“This is most extraordinary,” Sir Paul said. “Your Grace, you must realise that if this is indeed the ring in question—”

“It was a family heirloom,” Clayton said. “We have pictures, descriptions. It belonged to the head of the family, it was not hers to keep, and it was taken from my brother’s corpse when he was shot. I will have an answer.”

“To that and a number of other questions,” Susan said. “Including what happened on the night of the first Lady Ilvar’s death.” She swung to face the Duke. “Are you aware Lady Cara left a written testimony of what she witnessed on the night your first wife died?”

The Duke recoiled. “Spite,” the Duchess said loudly. “This is nothing more than lies and malice.”

“Spite?” Susan asked. “Really? We have Lady Cara’s testimony, unchanged over twenty years. The account of the housemaid who asked about the stained pillowcase that went missing and was dismissed. You might remember her, Sir Paul? And I’m sure you recall the policeman who took her statement, and who was discouraged from asking about the so-convenient deaths of those two inconvenient spouses within six months.” Sir Paul had gone white. Lady Maitland’s mouth was set in a line that boded ill for someone.

“But it’s all spite, you say,” Susan went on. “Such a lot of spite, so consistently from so many unrelated people over so many years. What a dreadful and complicated conspiracy against you, unless of course it’s simply the truth. You’ve had a good run, Your Graces, but it’s coming to an end.”

“Who are you?” the Duchess demanded. “This woman is a fraud. I engaged her as a private detective to prevent thefts. She is here on false pretences.”

“I’m Susan Lazarus of Braglewicz and Lazarus Enquiries, just as I said, but you’re quite right about the false pretences.” Susan didn’t sound apologetic. “I didn’t come here for jewel thieves, even if I caught some. I came here to find out what happened twenty years ago.”

“What happened?” Sir William asked on cue. All the spectators were caught, Alec realised. Susan was working the room superbly, restrained feeling humming through her normally flat tones and compelling everyone to hang on her words.

“It started with a death in the night,” she said. “It’s no secret the Duke was having an affair with Mrs. Clayton.” Miss Hackett made an outraged noise. Susan turned, looked steadily at her, and turned back. “That’s not a crime. And then Lady Ilvar was found dead for no clear reason. The Duke’s doctor called it a seizure, and if a maid claimed she’d seen a stained pillowcase, well, she could be dismissed without ado, leaving the Duke free to marry again. But the woman he loved was still tied to her husband, and Frank Clayton dug his heels in, no matter the pressure put on him to petition for divorce, or the grounds you gave him. It must have been maddening.” Susan cocked her head at the Duchess. “The man you wanted, a ducal coronet, and untold wealth, all within your grasp if only you could be freed from your marriage vows. But Clayton refused to seek a divorce, and he didn’t give you reason to seek one on the basis of cruelty or adultery, so there wasn’t a thing you could do about it. When I say he didn’t give you reason, I mean legally,” Susan added. “The law asks women to show black eyes and broken noses, as if beatings are the only cruelty, and everything else—the vicious words, the worse silences, the conjugal demands—is tolerable. You were tied to a man you loathed, because he hated you so much that he preferred to stay chained together in misery than to let you be rich, happy, and free.”

The Duchess’s face was a picture, not one Alec wanted to draw. There was raw shock, and old rage, and something twisting darkly underneath, like devils in a Hieronymus Bosch painting. The Duke’s lips were white. Oliver Clayton’s were drawn tight, suppressing anger.

“So you killed him,” Susan said. “You killed him because he was ruining your life, and you took his ring because it was a jewel. Even though it would place you at the scene of the crime, even though the way was clear for you to marry a duke and live in a castle, you still couldn’t let go of it, because by rights, by any justice, by marriage, it was yours. You’d earned it.”

“Yes,” the Duchess said. “It was mine. As Clayton’s wife—”

“It was a family heirloom, to be returned to us on his death,” Clayton said. “You knew that.”

“It became mine when I married him!”

Mr. Clayton drew in a breath. Susan said, over him, “You kept it. You were entitled to it, and you kept it. Now tell us how you got it.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to answer, and paused, and the pause was fatal. Alec could feel the fascinated onlookers drawing themselves away as the silence stretched out. Miss Hackett’s hand came up, covering her mouth. “It...was sent to me. Anonymously. In a letter.”

“It was taken from your husband’s corpse, and posted to you? Good heavens. Did you report that to the police?” Susan let the answering silence spool out, then shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome to try that in court.” The insinuating sympathy had vanished from her tone.

“No,” the Duke said. “I won’t, you may not—I will not have this. None of it. These, these insults— Sir Paul, I demand you take action at once.” He pulled himself upright; Alec could see him gathering his dignity. “These slanderous accusations, this conspiracy—”

“You killed my mother!” It came out as a shout. Alec hadn’t even meant to speak. “Cara saw you go into her room and heard Mother greet you. And you came out, and Mother was dead, and there was a wet, stained pillow on the bed. You killed her.” He took a step forward. The Duke took a step back. “Cara saw you. She told me. We know.”

“Not true. Lies. You always resented my marriage.”

“No, you resented us. Was that guilt, Father? Because you knew what you had taken from us? Did you come to hate us because you’d wronged us?”

“I can’t bear this,” Mrs. Ayres said, quite suddenly. “I can’t.”

“Agreed,” Lady Cooke said. “Sir Paul, I imagine you will be summoning the police to investigate, and I will gladly bear witness to this...conversation, but I should strongly prefer to leave this house today.”

“The police, at once,” Mr. Ayres agreed. “And we shall order the bags while we wait. Jewel thieves and murderers, my God.”

“You dare not repeat that allegation,” the Duchess said. Her lips were white.

Lady Cooke looked her up and down, dispassionately. “In fact, I do dare, and I shall. I would thank your Graces for your hospitality, but really. Come, William.”

“I think I should assist Sir Paul,” Sir William said. “But the ladies should undoubtedly retire. This is an unfit scene for women.”

“Absolutely,” Susan said. “I have a dossier for you, Sir Paul, and two witnesses that you will wish to interview. It’s time to act. Time and past.”

Her tone was implacable. The Chief Constable drew back his shoulders. “Your Graces will understand, I have no alternative. I will need to send several telegrams. I must also request that your Graces remain on the premises for the moment.”

“In separate rooms,” Susan added helpfully.

“You’ll regret this,” the Duchess snarled. “You’ll all regret it.”

The Duke didn’t speak. His mouth worked, he put a shaking hand to his throat, and then he toppled like a tree.

“Father!” Alec yelped.

“Oh, God,” Susan said with disgust. “Apparently we’ll need a doctor too. If you want to help, Sir William, take Alec out of here, make him eat something, and keep him occupied. I’ve had quite enough melodrama.”

***

SIR WILLIAM TOOK HIS mission seriously. He rang for sandwiches, brought by a maid who could barely contain her excitement, made Alec eat two, and then dragged him out on a long walk across the moorland. He didn’t touch on the obvious subject except once, as they walked, to say, “What you said, about your father—”

“My sister’s testimony. I believe her. There was only ever her word until now, and she was only a child, so nobody else listened. But she always swore it was true.”

“Yes. I see. And the business of the ring?”

“He was shot, the ring was taken from his corpse and the Duchess has been hoarding it since,” Alec said. “I don’t know anything more, but that seems to me quite enough.”

“Yes. My God,” Sir William said. “My God. I don’t know what to say. And, uh, what about Mr. Vane?”

“I have no idea. We struck up a friendship in a club a few months ago, and I found him very pleasant company. I had no idea that he was fooling me, or what he intended. None at all.”

“What an extraordinary thing. To think the proof of a murder should be revealed by a thief. The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

“That he does,” Alec said. “That he really does.”

The Lord’s ways seemed even more mysterious a few hours later, when they returned to the castle. Here they found a large number of police, the Duke in bed with a suspected stroke, the Duchess being interviewed under caution, and a total absence of jewel thieves.

“Scarpered,” Susan told Alec and Sir William as they stood in the hall. “We unlocked the cellar door and they were gone.”

“But how?” Sir William demanded.

“If you mean, did someone let them out, Sir Paul Maitland had the cellar key in his pocket all the time, and I very much doubt he’s their accomplice.” Susan shrugged. “They got through the Bramah lock on that safe; I dare say they can pick anything. My mistake. I should have had them tied up. Or clubbed round the head.”

“Do you think they’ve got away?” Alec asked. “That is, surely they can’t have gone far yet?”

“On the contrary. It seems two men matching their descriptions took a train at Broughton an hour ago. The carriage has been going up and down the Castle Speight line non-stop, you understand, with doctors and police, and it appears our villains hitched a ride. They got on a train to Lancaster at Broughton, they’ll have got on a different one there, and that’s the last we’ll see of them.”

“Wait. What? They rode down in the private train?” Alec demanded. “And nobody said anything?”

“They hung on the outside, I think. The guard at Broughton did say they looked rather windswept.”

“Good heavens,” Sir William said. “Good Lord.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Susan said grimly. “Before they left, they found time to nip upstairs and finish emptying Her Grace’s safe.”

“What?”

“I will have someone’s hide for this. Ah, no, I won’t though, because I’ve been sacked,” she added. “Her Grace made rather a point of not wishing to employ me further, and even instructed that secretary fellow not to pay my firm, which means her jewels are officially none of my business.”

“So you’ll just...let the thieves go, then?” Alec said tentatively.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Susan agreed, and strolled off.

***

GEORGE AND ANNABEL arrived the next day, in response to Alec’s urgent telegram. They had to come, and he had to face them, but it didn’t make the prospect of the meeting any easier.

He let himself imagine telling them that all his apparent failings had been a noble deception in the service of justice, but had to reject the temptation. He couldn’t risk sharing Susan’s involvement in the burglary, for fear that might muddy the waters of any prosecution, and in truth he wasn’t convinced George and Annabel would be happy about the catastrophic scandal he’d ignited, no matter their resentment of the Duke and Duchess. No; he’d chosen this path, keeping his brother and sister in the dark, and he’d stick to it. He would say only that Jerry had led him into gambling and bad ways, that he’d realised his terrible mistake on coming to Castle Speight, that he was sorry. It would have to do and, he told himself, his misbehaviour would be far from the greatest matter on anyone’s mind. He still felt nauseous with the prospect of more rebuke to be endured and grovelling to be done as the great door opened and his siblings came in.

George handed his hat to a footman and looked to where Alec hovered nervously. “Alec. What the devil has been going on here?”

“Well,” Alec began, and couldn’t think what to say next. “Uh. It’s all been rather awful.”

“I’m damned sure it has,” George said. “Come here, you idiot.”

Alec, barely believing, found himself pulled into a rough hug. “Oaf,” George muttered in his ear. “I’m sorry, Alec. I should have realised you weren’t managing on your own.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Annabel’s arms snaked round his waist from behind, and she rested her face against his shoulder. “It’s been horrible for everyone. But we’re going to stick together now, aren’t we? We have to.”

Alec had simultaneous urges to insist, But it was all my fault! and to object in strong terms to the idea he needed George’s help. He bit both back. “Stick together,” he agreed, and clamped his eyes shut against the overwhelming relief as he held his siblings tight.

That reconciliation gave Alec strength he sorely needed, because everything else was awful. The Duke lay, unspeaking, in bed. The doctors weren’t sure if he had had some sort of stroke, or a nerve-storm; one of them called it a moral collapse. Between his unresponsive catatonia, the appalling accusations, and the undeniable evidence of the ring, the Duchess’s authority had slithered through her fingers. She was interviewed by the police several times, and asked not to leave Castle Speight, and since that could only be done via a walk of many miles or with the assistance of the servants, she didn’t leave.

It was not pleasant. She argued furiously with Miss Hackett, who nevertheless remained at the castle, bitter in her humiliation. The Duchess had several ghastly exchanges with Alec and his siblings, every threat sounding more hollow than the last, retreated to her rooms in a form of self-inflicted house arrest and raged impotently there, speaking to nobody but the Duke’s lawyer, who looked grim. The maids took to leaving her tray outside her door rather than have food thrown at them.

The grand dinner had been cancelled, thanks to Merrow sending frantic telegrams. Reporters were gathering in Broughton, and coming in ones and twos up the steep hill. Alec fully expected the castle would soon be besieged.

“It’s horrible,” he told Susan, as she packed. “I keep thinking the Duchess is going to do something awful. Burn the place down out of spite, perhaps.” He wished she wasn’t leaving; he wished that Jerry was here, or that he had any idea where Jerry was. “When is the Detective Inspector going to act?”

“Soon, I think. He’s good, and he’s right to be careful about this; the case will have to be watertight. I’ve given him everything I can.” She snapped her case shut and sat on the bed. “I need to tell you something. About Crozier.”

Alec felt an unpleasant twinge of dread. “What?”

“He volunteered.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Sorry? For what?”

Susan sighed. “There was always going to be a tricky part after I’d got into the Duchess’s safe. One can’t really go to the police and say, ‘I found evidence of murder in the course of committing a burglary.’ It might have fatally weakened the case against the Duchess, or left me open to a prosecution. Crozier had asked how I was intending to handle it that very morning, in fact. Well, when you and the Duchess started shouting at one another, I went up to the bedroom to see if Crozier had found the ring, which he had. I told him that things were about to fall apart quite spectacularly and that he’d better clear off. And Crozier—you have no idea how much this pains me—Crozier said, ‘Wouldn’t it be more effective if you caught me red-handed?’”

“It was his idea?” Alec said. “To be arrested?”

“Specifically, that I should catch them with their pockets full of loot, and play the whole thing out in public. It was something of a gamble, in that we could well have ended up with the Duchess denying everything and the Lilywhite Boys hauled off in handcuffs, but it worked. Crozier’s got the devil’s own nerve, I’ll give him that.”

“I can’t believe Mr. Lane went along with it.”

Susan scowled. “I dare say Crozier leant on him.”

Alec shook his head. He’d assumed it had all been Susan’s plan, that the Lilywhite Boys had followed orders. He hadn’t expected this.

“You look shocked,” Susan said. “As well you might, at the idea of an altruistic act by that pair. Well, there you are. Crozier volunteered for arrest to make our scheme work, and would have let himself and James in for some very serious trouble if they hadn’t escaped. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you,” Alec said. “When you say escaped, though...” He raised a brow in his best imitation of Jerry.

“Are you implying I let them go?”

“You deliberately got me out of the way with a witness so nobody could say I was involved, and made sure everyone knew you didn’t have the key. Did you pick Sir Paul’s pocket for it?”

“I see you’re getting the hang of this subterfuge business,” Susan said. “I was planning to send them on their way as a gesture of goodwill, yes. But I didn’t have to, because by the time I got back to the cellar, they’d let themselves out, sauntered upstairs, reopened the safe, and helped themselves to a very nice selection of the Duchess’s jewels. Bastards,” she added with feeling.

“But how? If it takes an hour to pick a Bramah lock—”

“Crozier’s key device works by sliders, adjustable mechanisms to create a sort of skeleton key. I assume they stay adjusted, meaning that once he’d opened it the first time, he had a key to the safe. I didn’t think of that at the time, so I didn’t take it off him, and my guvnor’s not going to let me live that down in a hurry. If you see Crozier again, you can tell him I want everything back.”

“I’m sure it’s covered by the amnesty. You did say including this job.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you split hairs with me. I told them they weren’t allowed to steal anything.”

“Yes, but those jewels belong to the Duchess,” Alec pointed out. “There’s no guarantee she’ll be convicted, and even if she’s sentenced to hang, she can still dispose of her possessions as she pleases. I’d rather Jerry and Lane had it all than see Miss Hackett inherit a fortune.”

“Well, if you put it like that.” Susan stood. “Anyway, that’s it. Good luck, Alec. You’ve done Cara proud, and—oh, damn it. I hope your trust isn’t misplaced.”

Alec made a face. “I don’t even know if I’ll see him again.”

“James Vane turns up like a bad penny, and they’re two of a kind,” Susan said. “I have every expectation of running into that pair again, sooner or later, pockets full of green-oh.”

“Sorry?”

“The Lilywhite Boys. The song? ‘Green Grow the Rushes-O’?”

“They did not take their name from a carol. Surely.”

“Merry Christmas, one and all.” Susan gave him a quick hug, hoisted her case, and left. Alec heard her singing down the corridor.

“Three, three, the rivals.

Two, two, the lily-white boys

Clothèd all in green-O,

One is one and all alone

And evermore shall be so.”

***

A WEEK AFTER WHAT EVERYONE was now calling The Discovery, Sir Paul Maitland returned to Castle Speight. He took George aside and warned him that the Detective Inspector in charge of the case intended to charge the Duchess with the murder of her first husband. There was insufficient evidence to prosecute the Duke and in any case it was questionable if he would be fit to stand trial. He was eating and sitting up, if only in his dressing gown, but he had not spoken a word and didn’t appear to hear much that was said.

“This is going to be awful,” Annabel said as they sat together in the drawing room that evening, all the windows open against the residual heat of the day. “A murder trial. Our stepmother in the dock. Oh goodness. It has to be done, I know, but...awful. And what about Father? What will he do?”

Alec flopped back in his chair. “Lord knows. I think it will kill him if she hangs. There’s his pride and the public humiliation, but it’s more than that. He really does love her. I don’t know if he’ll be able to carry on without her.”

“What happens if he can carry on with her?” Annabel asked. “Suppose she’s found not guilty? Suppose she’s released and they go on, visiting London, doing as they please?”

“I intend to talk to a solicitor about that,” George said grimly. “If I have to sue the Ilvar estate and my father as unfit to manage it, I will. I’ve spent long enough living at the whims of that pair and it ends here. I’m reclaiming my birthright, and yours.”

“George!” Annabel clapped her hands. “Good. Melissa will be so proud of you.”

“Melissa deserves a great deal better than I have given her,” George said. “You all do, and I’m going to make sure you have it.”

“Not me,” Alec said. “I mean, yes I deserve better, but I want to get it myself. I realised that over the last weeks. I’m going to keep drawing, I am going to work on my portraiture, and even if you do sue the estate and so on, that won’t change my plans. I hope it doesn’t bother either of you, but it’s what I want to do.”

“As you please. Goodness knows, it hardly matters if my brother is an illustrator, given my stepmother is a murderer.”

“Quite,” Annabel said. “I think we have all the family scandal we’ll ever require.”

“It’ll go away,” Alec assured them. “Lord Moreton became an earl because one of his predecessors was a bigamist and the next heir was murdered, and nobody holds that against them. If anyone looks askance at us for what the Duke and Duchess did, that just shows they’re a person we can do without.”

“Well said.” George leaned forward to give Alec’s knee a nudge. “By the way, talking of the Moretons...”

Oh God. Alec had a feeling he’d be unpicking the tangle he’d made for months. “Don’t listen to the gossip. Penny’s lovely but she’s far too young to marry, as her mother has very firmly said, and I don’t think it would be fair to bring anyone into the family under these circumstances. Which...what’s your Henry going to think about all this, Annabel?”

“We’ll find out,” Annabel said. “If my fiancé wants a girl whose stepmother isn’t being arrested for murder, that’s up to him. It’s not my fault, and I’d rather know now if he’s not prepared to stick out a bit of trouble.”

“Good for you,” Alec said. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t. And Melissa?”

George winced. “Melissa wrote to me to say that she feels she’s now fulfilled the ‘for worse’ as well as ‘for poorer’ part of her vows and she’d rather like the ‘for better’ and ‘for richer’ to start soon. She’s a wonderful woman,” he added hastily. “I suppose you’re right, Alec, and Father will stand by her?” George never used the Duchess’s name or title if he could avoid it. “Presumably he’ll be called as a witness?”

“I should think so,” Alec said. “I was wondering, though, what if her lawyer tries to cast blame on him? To argue that she operated under his instruction? That’s got more than one woman off the gallows before now.”

“Oh my God,” George said. “You don’t seriously think so.”

“That she’d sacrifice Father to save herself? I don’t know. Maybe not. I’m not sure she’ll be able to admit anything at all, in fact, for sheer pride. This will be torture for both of them. Prison, trial, shame, the newspapers, the crowds. I know they deserve it, but all the same, it must be agony. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the humiliation kills her before the noose does.” George’s eyes widened, and Alec realised that he might, perhaps, be sounding a little too much like Jerry. “I’m sorry, but really, I don’t know how either of them will bear it. They’re people who break before they bend.”

“You may be— What was that?” Annabel looked around.

“What?”

“I thought I heard something, in the hall. I heard a shuffling earlier and—you don’t think there’s something got in? Or someone listening?”

Alec went out, peering into the dark, shadowy hall. “Nobody there. For heaven’s sake, George, put in electricity when it’s yours.”

“Electricity? Do you think I’m a grand hotel?” George demanded, and the conversation went on.

***

ALEC WAS IN THE MIDDLE of a confused dream. Jerry and Templeton Lane were painting a picture of the Duchess on the outer walls of the castle, to be visible from the moors, but they were using chalk and the rain was washing the work away. Alec was trying to explain that they ought to be using oils when the Duchess herself arrived, saw the distorted, rain-smeared picture, and began screaming, screaming—

He woke fully, blinking, and the screaming was still there, a woman shrieking from some distance. He pulled on his dressing gown and ran down the corridor, nauseated and blinking at the abrupt awakening, colliding with George and a sleepy butler as they approached the corridor where the Duke and Duchess’s state rooms lay.

He wasn’t entirely surprised by what they found when the hysterical tweeny maid opened the door. The Duchess lay, eyes wide and staring, face livid, a stained pillow lying half off the bed next to her. The Duke was nowhere to be seen, and a frantic search was mounted, family and servants alike running through the castle, until a footman shouted from outside and they discovered his body in a crumpled heap. He had finished the Duchess as he had finished his first wife, and then he had gone to the window and stepped out.