It was Dorcas who made the first response. Faintly, she pleaded: “James … Won’t you tell them the truth …? Why don’t you speak up for me? Please, James!”

Truelove looked down at the floor and said nothing.

Everyone turned to stare at her. Dorcas had eyes for no one now but Joe. Judging the force powering those dark flamethrowers, he thought he probably had only seconds before he was struck down with paralysis or the plague. Even Adelaide was watching him with incomprehension and disgust. Cecily, on the other hand—always on his wavelength—had shown herself ready to respond to his promptings. She moved straight away to obey him when he requested that she open the door to the vestibule.

Three men who’d been waiting behind the door now strode in and closed it behind them.

“Who the hell is this?” Joe heard Guy Despond protest. “Where’d he get these fellers? Back stage at the Adelphi?”

Superintendent Hunnyton stood, a tall and satisfyingly dramatic presence, flanked by two uniformed constables. He introduced himself in measured police tones and paused for a moment, surveying the company.

“Miss Dorcas Joliffe? Is she here? Good evening, Miss. I’m taking you into police custody so that you can help us with our enquiries concerning the unlawful killing on these premises of Lady Truelove in April of this year. My apologies, Sir James, Lady Cecily … It seemed better to remove the accused quietly. Not good form to drag anyone away from the dinner table.”

He nodded at Joe and walked out, Dorcas following uncertainly with a constable on each side. Her backward glance was for Joe. It told him that, if she was taking her first steps to the Tower of London, that bleak place would be a more agreeable situation than the one she was leaving.

In the Great Hall trembling hands distractedly picked up coffee cups. “Helping with enquiries, eh?” Everyone knew what that meant! The herd began to relax, each member thankful that his or her innocence had been recognised. McIver asked Ben to fetch a tray of brandy. Lady Cecily called for lemonade. James exchanged long looks with his mother. Alex turned for comfort to Adelaide who gave him a hug and a handkerchief and patted his back.

After a moment, Alex freed himself from the doctor’s embrace and jumped to his feet, overthrowing his chair. The crash turned everyone’s attention on him. Red spots of anger glowing on his cheeks intensified the blue blaze of his eyes. He looked desperately from Joe to his mother and Joe’s heart sank as he realised that he had failed to factor into his plans a reaction from Alex.

“She was with me all night!” he yelled. “Dorcas couldn’t have done it! She let me into her room and I stayed. In all honour, I’ll have you know. Oh, it’s not what you think! She took me in and tucked me up in my old bed and read me a story. She was still asleep in her own bed when I crept out at dawn.”

Joe was aware of the masculine reaction of revulsion as eyes flicked in acute embarrassment to the ceiling, the floor, the nearest candlestick. The women, apart from his mother, looked at Alex with pity.

“I’d have gone to my grave before I endangered that poor girl’s reputation but I cannot stand by and see this disgusting calumny heaped on her by a policeman. You’re a cad, Sandilands! And a useless detective!”

“Calm down, Alex,” said Cecily. “I’m surprised but reassured to hear you have some human instincts after all. But you’re not showing much acumen. Weren’t you listening to Joe? The damage was done by the time you were wandering the corridors. Now, thanks to Grace, we know the gingerbread was already loaded earlier in the evening. It was charged with a substance supplied by Dorcas Joliffe. The girl could have spent the night in the footmen’s dormitory and it would have had no more significance!”

The crowd absorbed Cecily’s comments in silence. One or two nodded regretfully. They silently approved the boy’s showing of loyalty while reckoning that it in no way cancelled out Joe’s accusation. Playing the detection game, they had calculated that the villainous Dorcas must have seized on the alibi unconsciously offered by the blundering young Alex and tucked it away to be used as a last resort. She was probably at this very moment, with a delicate flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, regaling the superintendent with this lesser confession. Dishonour was, after all, to be preferred to death on the scaffold.

“All the same—good man, Alex!” murmured Basil Ripley. “That was well spoken. We understand.”

Joe puffed his cheeks and blew out a sigh of relief. “I say, Ben, can you squeeze another cup out of that pot?” he asked, sinking onto a chair, and Ben obliged.

“But what …? Why did she …? Why didn’t she …? What the hell’s stoats’s liver …?” The chorus of questions poured out and by unspoken consent, the company followed Joe’s example and settled down at the table to compare notes and thrash out the meaning of the extraordinary scene. Mrs. Bolton and Ben remained aloof and dutiful at the door.

Truelove listened to the encouraging burbles of support that came his way with pained gratitude. At last he felt strong enough to voice his dismay and disbelief. “Look, Sandilands, old man,” he remonstrated, “I know what you’re up to but did you have to stage this … this … pantomime so publicly in front of my friends? Have you any idea what excruciating embarrassment you have subjected us all to? To say nothing of the distress you have caused that poor girl!”

Then it began. Sorrow followed swiftly on the heels of anger. “You’ve all seen her—she’s nothing more than an impressionable child. Emotionally quite immature and inexperienced in the ways of the world. But look, it doesn’t have to end like this. That poor little person was carried away by a moment’s madness. You must blame me, I’m afraid. She was an outstanding student. I made something of a pet of her, made promises regarding her future that perhaps she over-interpreted. If, as you say, Joe, you’ve set us up as judge and jury …” He looked around the table, gathering support. “I’ll speak for all by saying that Lavinia was killed—as any good man and true would say—as a result of her own folly.” He appeared to be satisfied with the number of nods this raised and carried on: “That she was the author of her own misfortune, as the lawyers say. Not the brightest, my Lavinia.” The loving, indulgent smile that accompanied this thought triggered a clenching fist in Joe. “Surely you don’t have to put Dorcas through a court hearing?” Truelove shuddered. “The Old Bailey, black caps and a thrill-seeking public? Huh! Blokes like you, McIver, with cameras flashing! I won’t have it! Much though I admire your professionalism and punctilious attention to the finer points of Law and Order, Sandilands, I must tell you to call off the hounds.”

Seeing the tightening of Joe’s jaw, he hurried to add in a conciliatory tone, “Forgive me. In my concern I go too far. A police officer is under no obligation to obey a government minister. He is employed by the people to serve the people. We ought all to remember that. But I still say, as a matter of humanity—will the people be served by the punishment of a thoughtless girl? You know as clearly as I do, Sandilands, that, realistically, this business will never come to court. For fifty years now, we’ve had a Crown Prosecution Service which, as part of the Home Office, does a very useful job. You are well aware of this; I mention the matter as some of us gathered around this table—law-abiding citizens, all—may never have encountered it. The system weeds out cases it judges a waste of public resources. This is certainly one of these cases. The family uphold the decision already taken by the magistrate at the time of the accident—which, in spite of your evidence, I still believe it to be—that we are dealing with a death by misadventure. I don’t ask, I beg you to declare here before my friends that you will pursue this no further. You have gone far towards clearing up a mystery which would not bear the increasing weight of speculation that was being heaped upon it to the detriment of my good name and for that I am grateful.”