The group had fallen silent.

“This was murder. Nothing less. A plot which led to a shocking and painful death. We have the answers to the two questions I set you: The victim of murder? Lavinia. Her killer? The Truelove Household. A conspiracy of three: You, James; you, Enid; but principally, you, Cecily.”

Loyal old Sir Basil Ripley had heard enough. He got to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at Joe. “Not another word, young man! So this is the new policing you were so keen on, James? Is this truly a sample of your appointees? Where did you recruit him? Auditioning for a part in the latest shocker on the wireless? Sherlock Holmes with his dubious detective skills? Or was he trying for Inspector Lestrade with his clumping feet and his clunking logic? I can see no more advantage or entertainment in listening to this man’s ravings. What are you waiting for, James? Have him thrown out.”

Support for Joe came from an unexpected quarter. “Siddown, Ripley! You’ll do no such thing, Truelove! Now—carry on, Assistant Commissioner Sandilands.” Guy Despond pronounced his rank with careful emphasis.

“Hear, hear!” said McIver. “Let him at least get to the end. I do enjoy a good story.”

“Yes, go on, Joe.” Cecily’s voice. Sweet and reasonable. “I do hope you’re going to do justice to my motive for indulging in all this chicanery. You’re very nearly there.”

“A wasted lifetime? Is that strong enough? How it must have irked your ladyship to see all your sacrifices—your money, your years spent fostering the family of a man of dubious fidelity—come to nothing. You did your duty by him. You produced four children. You made a considerable investment in the line and to see it shrivelling away in the hands of a daughter-in-law you despised was more than you could bear. Her degrading behaviour at the dinner table that night in April signed her death warrant as far as you were concerned. You had to secure the future to validate your own past. I attribute the inspiration for the plot to you. As you told me candidly early on in my investigation—it’s a woman’s crime.

“You, Enid. For you, Lavinia had to die to preserve the household. To keep the house, as you always have. If Truelove failed, the whole establishment would have faltered and gone under, as other neighbouring estates have done, and been sold off, their staff released into a cold world with no chance of re-employment. The prospects for the older servants—I speak of you and Mr. Styles—were grim. Weighed in the balance against Truelove’s sparkling prospects, an injection of cash and a new heir to the family, Lavinia’s life counted for little. She represented a deficit in your book and you are a meticulous bookkeeper. You believed it the right moment to do a little judicious balancing. You had the means and the knowledge, and the practical aspects of the plot from the gingerbread onwards were left to you. I believe the lives of Dorcas Joliffe and Grace Aldred would have been at risk if a further adjustment had become necessary.”

Enid showed no emotion. She stared straight ahead, back rigid, hands folded.

But emotion finally got the better of Dorothy Despond. “And my life? What of that? Where do I figure in all this? A brass weight in a scale pan?” She jumped to her feet and glared at Truelove. “You haven’t even got the guts to do your own murdering! You leave it to Mummy and the servants! You’re nothing but a cheap chiseller!” She grabbed a glass half full of brandy and hurled it, glass and contents, in Truelove’s face. Her father rose with her and the two strode to the door.

As she drew near to Joe, Dorothy whispered in a voice surprisingly in control, “Thank you, Joe. Canaletto had it right about England. Cold, unwelcoming and very murky. Worth collecting, though, if you get the chance—and it begins to look as though you may …”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Joe smiled. “I’m off to the south of France and glad to shake off the mud and the gloom. Why don’t we step outside, Despond, and leave the assembled jurors to come to a decision?” He offered his arm to Adelaide, who seemed eager to leave with them.

“I ought not to care, Sandilands,” said Despond, closing the door behind him, “but there are villains at large in there, free to stay or leave, and I’d like to know what you propose to do about them.”

“I?” Joe said, waggling his eyebrows. “Nothing at all. Nothing I can do. Unless Cecily and her son are prepared to write out a confession and sign it, British law would never allow me to bring such an insubstantial case to court. The Crown Prosecution Service would turn me down in five minutes. I’ve always known that. At best, they’d consider putting Grace Aldred in the dock on the evidence we have.”

“But you stuck with it anyhow.” Despond smiled. “And my daughter and I are eternally grateful. Not used to being taken for a ride, Sandilands. I’m used to being the biggest shark in the pond. What will you do now?”

“My bag’s packed. I thought I’d leave them in the company of their dear friends to hear their judgement. I’d hope to hear the question asked: ‘How can we accept the fact that the forthcoming Home Secretary, destined to be in absolute charge of Law and Order in the land, has been complicit in the killing of his wife and other forms of skulduggery?’ I wonder what sentence they’ll dole out.”

“Ten years’ exile? Blackballing from his clubs? In Ancient Athens they’d have written his name on a potsherd and got the guy ostracised. But, don’t raise your hopes, Sandilands. He’s among friends back there.” His eyes narrowed in mischievous speculation. “Not sure of the newsman, though … He’s the weak link. Too good a story to keep under wraps, are we thinking?”

Joe smiled. “You’re forgetting the ladies, Despond. My hopes rest with Maggie Somerton, Alice McIver, who has the country’s most influential newspaper magnate wrapped around her little finger, and Florence Ripley. Florence was scribbling notes throughout. A man’s reputation can be preserved in the safe confines of a St. James’s club but …”

“Not in the tearooms of London,” Dorothy supplied with an unladylike chortle. “That’s where I’m planning to make a start on the demolition!”

“Well, I’m off now to have a cup of cocoa with the superintendent and Dorcas. They’ll be wanting to hear the outcome. Such as it is.” Joe held out his arm. “Won’t you join us, Adelaide?”

CHAPTER 25

In the cocoon of his lamp-lit home, Adam Hunnyton’s comment on the affair was, predictably, a grumbling protest on behalf of Ben, the footman. “You tricked him! He’s a good lad. He deserves better.”

“I know Ben’s worth! Yes, I did deceive him because I am also aware of his sense of loyalty. I never like to put a man’s loyalty under stress. It does no one any good. But I did give him my card with a scrawled message on the back. The police college at Hendon can use such a man. He’s wasted smoking Woodbines to pass the long watches of the night in a slops cupboard spying on Cecily’s guests.”

Joe stayed on with Adam when Dorcas and Adelaide left. Dorcas had gratefully accepted the offer of Adelaide’s spare bed for the night, before returning to Cambridge and the railway station in the morning. She had broken her silence to say only that she wanted to go home to Lydia and Marcus. Joe gathered that his company would be unwelcome for the moment and mentioned tactfully that he was planning to stay on in Cambridge for a couple of days. Forms to complete, statements to make, liaising to be done …

Before he crept up to the sleeping quarters in the loft, Joe agreed to a snifter of apple brandy and a smoke with the superintendent and settled with him at the table. He reached into his pocket and took out a shining object. He placed it on the table in front of Hunnyton.

“Recognise it? No, why should you? There must be thousands like it scattered around the Truelove estate. But this one is special and very identifiable. For a start I witnessed it missing my fleeing form—deliberately missing, I hope—and lodging itself in the trunk of a lime tree. I marked the spot and later retrieved it. Attempted murder? That’s the first charge. When I hand this to our ballistics blokes they’ll be able to tie it to one of the Purdey guns you keep on the premises, Hunnyton.”