“Would this necessity have arisen, Sir James, if Mr. George Hemming had not disappeared? You spoke just now as though you had sought the gentleman, and found him from home.”

“He was certainly not in evidence at the Inquest,” Sir James replied, “and having sent a messenger to his establishment in Carding Street, and having found Mr. Hemming away — I am not entirely certain what to think. He might have chosen a more suitable hour for his absence.”

“You do not know any real ill of him, however?”

“As to that — I do not think I should open my mind even to you, Miss Austen. I have a dangerous tendency to disclose far more than is safe, under the influence of so subtle a lady.”

“Flattery, Sir James, must satisfy me for the present,” I told him archly. “Mr. Hemming’s nature — his power for good or ill — shall remain a mystery, and my cousin shall bear all the weight of his disgrace, by standing firm in Mr. Hemming’s stead. Mr. Cooper must endure his purgatory, whatever the just horror his noble patron may feel; and offer up his suffering to God.” As my cousin had yet to cast his suffering in lyrics, I saw no reason to dread the event. “I am sure that upon reflection, Mr. Cooper will comprehend the necessity of your prohibition.”

“I fear that he has arrived at a very unnatural conclusion — that he is himself under present suspicion of effecting Tess Arnold’s death.”

“And so should he be.” I accepted a serving of capon from the Justice and met his gaze unflinchingly. “So must we all. From your particular acquaintance with events, Sir James, you may determine only this: that the maidservant, Tess Arnold, met her death at midnight in a place peculiarly remote from her home, and in clothes that are determined to have belonged to her employer. She died as the result of a prodigious shot, fired at some remove from her corpse’s resting place. You never met my cousin before Tuesday; and as he and some part of his party were the first to discover the dreadful scene, we might reasonably have done so to appear in innocence before your eyes. You know nothing whatsoever of Mr. Cooper — or if it comes to that, myself. He might be a desperate cutthroat in the guise of a clergyman, and I his paramour. We might have quitted The Rutland Arms in stealth at ten o’clock of a Monday evening, with the intention of seeing murder done. I leave it to your considerable understanding to devise a motive for our doing so.”

“And as a sporting fellow, I should accept the challenge,” Sir James cried, “but for the excellent report of both your characters I received from George Hemming, whom I have known these three decades and more.”

“Mr. Hemming I never met before Monday evening,” I declared, “and my cousin has not seen him this age. Besides, Mr. Hemming may stand in testament to nobody; his own actions at present will not bear scrutiny. No, no, Sir James — you must preserve the cold judicial eye of the Law. We are none of us above suspicion, and I for one am glad of it. Only the most discerning and impartial mind shall discover the truth in this sad tangle.”

“Well said.” He poured out a tankard of ale for himself and quaffed it deeply before replying. In the silence I could hear a slight noise in the passage beyond the parlour’s closed door, and wondered if Jacob Patter or his serving girl was lingering there, in respect of Sir James’s conversation.

“Have you an idea where Mr. Hemming could have got to?” I enquired.

The Justice shook his head. “I may say that I am most uneasy in my mind, that he should have neglected of his duty. Indeed, his conduct throughout this affair must lay him open to the most uncomfortable scrutiny; it is unlike anything I have witnessed in George Hemming before. He certainly does not serve Charles Danforth as I should like.”

“Not at all! The gentleman seemed astonished at the tenor of the Coroner’s questioning, and that anyone in Bakewell should remain so in ignorance of the facts, or of his own peril, is in everyway remarkable.”

“Except, perhaps, when his solicitor conspires to keep him so,” Sir James observed. “Though Danforth summoned Mr. Hemming to Penfolds yesterday, to my knowledge the solicitor did not appear; and so poor Charles went forward to the Inquest without the slightest sensation of danger.”

“Mr. Hemming did not appear? But surely—” I stopped short, uncertain of what should be said. Might Mr. Hemming’s sudden disappearance creditably be laid to my own account? I had bullied the man unmercifully, and it seemed that he had fled.

Sir James smiled grimly. “I could wish Mr. Danforth greater fortune in his movements that night; he possesses not a single person who may testify to his presence at the house, or about the fields. But still he may claim some friends. His housekeeper is surely one of these. Had Augusta Haskell not fainted dead away, we must have seen her master charged with murder.”

“Given the direction of Mr. Tivey’s questions, the panel may be excused for believing no other course left open to them,” I agreed. “But what do you know of Mr. Danforth’s brother, Sir James? For he was also abroad that night. Is he a man to be trusted?”

“As to that, I cannot presume to say whether any man is entirely to be trusted, Miss Austen. Andrew Danforth was certainly present at Chatsworth on Monday evening, however. He appeared at the house at six o’clock, and sat down to dinner at seven; the last course was cleared at half-past ten, and the ladies quitted the dining-room. The gentlemen rejoined them at a quarter to twelve, when the card tables were set out—”

“What late hours these Whigs do keep, to be sure!” I murmured. It was the Austen habit to retire early; I was generally abed by ten o’clock.

“—and the entire party broke up after supper, at approximately half-past one o’clock in the morning. Andrew Danforth cannot have reached his bed before half-past two, I should judge, in travelling at that hour; and by that time, it seems safe to say, the maid was already dead.”

“You were prevented from saying it, however, by the sudden end of the Inquest,” I mused. “But perhaps it is just as well. I have long determined that an Inquest is no place for justice — it serves no greater purpose than to satisfy the local worthies that they may manage the affair themselves. Impartial judgement may only be won from impartial judges; and for them, we must look to the Assizes.”

Sir James drew his chair somewhat closer to mine. “You referred Tuesday evening, Miss Austen, to a former intimacy with the investigation of murder. I must confess that I have not been so unfortunate. My experience of such tangles is … limited. I should dearly love to learn your opinion of this dreadful affair.”

“My opinion, sir?” I returned with some surprise. “But I know nothing of the country or its inhabitants. I am acquainted neither with the victim, nor with the family that employed her. I cannot be allowed to have formed an opinion.”

“From what little I know of your character and understanding, Miss Austen, I doubt very much that this is the case.” Sir James was studying my countenance over the rim of his tankard; the directness of his gaze brought the colour to my cheeks.

“What can you mean, sir?”

“Your understanding and good sense were recommended to me in the most fulsome terms last evening — and from a source that I should consider unimpeachable.”

“Were they, indeed!” I could not suppress a stirring of curiosity. “You have been speaking again with my cousin, I perceive.”

“Such events in your life as were then unfolded,” he continued without a yea or nay, “confirmed my good opinion of your penetration and firmness of mind — and determined me in my course of soliciting your aid in the present affair.”

“Good God!” I cried. “What can my cousin have told you, Sir James? I fear that he has grossly exaggerated my talents, for some mischievous purpose of his own.”