“And what would you have that to be, Jane?”

I lifted my shoulders impatiently. “The Inquest was scuttled by the performance of the Penfolds housekeeper and the maid’s family between them. But we learned this much: Tess Arnold’s situation was compromised, and her subsequent flight may be imputed to her dismissal from the household. It should be Sir James’s first object to learn the cause of the maid’s disgrace.”

“He has done so,” Lord Harold told me.

I looked all my chagrin. “Then he was very remiss in not informing me at once! I have come to depend upon Sir James’s indiscretions. They form the principal matter I possess for consideration. But you will not torture me, my lord. You will not consign me to suspense.”

“Tess Arnold was dismissed because she found her way into Andrew Danforth’s bed. Mrs. Haskell discovered it, and turned the girl away without a character.”

Trust the Gentleman Rogue not to mince words, even with a lady. I was too old an acquaintance to merit the usual deference; we had long adopted the habit of plain-speaking. I revolved the intelligence in my mind. It was, after all, one of the oldest stories in the world, and murder had been done on so slim an account before.

“Tell me a little of Penfolds Hall,” I commanded Lord Harold, “and of the Danforth family history.”

“Charles Danforth is the son of a very respectable man who passed from this life nearly fifteen years ago, leaving a considerable estate in Mr. Danforth’s care. The family is ancient, though untitled, in Derbyshire; and Penfolds itself is a venerable place, dating from the time of Elizabeth. Charles Danforth’s mother was, as I have said, a d’Arcy — the Honourable Anne, a very elegant but fragile woman. She died when the boy was still quite young. Charles was her only child.

“Old Danforth married again not long after his first wife’s death. The second Mrs. Danforth was reckoned a beauty; she was certainly over twenty years his junior; and though perhaps amiable, had not a wit in her head. Andrew was the child of that union, and so delighted his fond parents, that Charles fell into disfavour. Andrew was dandled, spoilt, indulged beyond what was good for him — and raised to believe himself the rightful heir to Penfolds. Charles was sent away to school, and later, to Cambridge. At his parents’ death, he had not seen Penfolds for over a decade.”

“What a dreadful story!” I cried. “That the father should prove so unfeeling to his own child! It is in every way unpardonable!”

Lord Harold shrugged. “Charles Danforth was always of a taciturn disposition, as might repulse the affections of a parent. He was born with a clubbed foot, Jane; and the infirmity, and its singularity, worked early upon his sensibility. It is said that the second Mrs. Danforth — Andrew’s mother — was afraid of the boy, believing his deformity to be the mark of the Devil.”

“Then she was a much stupider person than reputation allows,” I returned crisply. “And Andrew himself? How does he conduct himself towards the usurper of his fortune?”

“With becoming affection,” said Lord Harold. “Without Charles, you understand, Andrew should possess not a farthing. I feel his situation keenly; it is rather like to my own.”

A sidelong glance, to judge how I should take this. I rejoiced in the return of Lord Harold’s wit, and forbore to comment on the sad case of younger sons.

“Do not pretend to being in charity with the fellow,” I cried. “You dislike Andrew Danforth excessively, I feel it in your words. You have said nothing to encourage prejudice; and yet prejudice runs rank throughout your narrative. Because he chuses to dally with his own maids?”

“Young Mr. Danforth’s manners are very pleasing, Jane — I am certain you will find them so. Certainly Lady Harriot enjoys his attentions; and she is nothing if not a discerning character.”

“You believe that he aspires to her ladyship’s hand,” I mused. “If word were put abroad of his liaison with the maid—”

“Who knows what the result might be?”

“It admits enough of doubt, perhaps, to warrant murder — if the gentleman’s case is desperate.”

“He aspires to a career in Parliament,” Lord Harold observed, “and possesses neither fortune nor influence. Lady Harriot, however, might be the saving of him in both respects.”

“I wonder if Tess Arnold’s witchcraft ran to blackmail?”

“A girl who has been dismissed from service must make her way in the world,” Lord Harold replied drily.

“Were I Andrew Danforth, ambitious as to love and fortune, I believe I should murder the maid myself. I should arrange to meet her in the wildest country, upon my return from a respectable engagement; and I should make it appear that her death was the work of a madman.”

“But if Tess Arnold walked out into Miller’s Dale at Andrew Danforth’s urging — why borrow Charles Danforth’s clothes?”

My gaze held Lord Harold’s impenetrable one. “Because Andrew wished her to do so, of course.”

“To throw suspicion for her death upon his brother?”

“If Charles Danforth were to hang,” I suggested, “surely Andrew would inherit the Hall.”

“He has no other heir.” Lord Harold revolved the idea in his mind; then slowly shook his head. “It cannot explain the attempt at Masonic mutilation, Jane. You may answer the clothes, or answer the wounds, with a number of attractive theories — but you cannot answer them both, in the person of Andrew Danforth. It will not do.”

“Sir James would have it that she was the victim of vengeance,” I said slowly.

“Then why deprive oneself of the pleasure of witnessing her pain, by despatching her with a lead ball prior to inflicting it?” Lord Harold persisted.

“Have you considered, my lord, that the girl’s death might be nothing more than a hideous mistake?”

His glance travelled over my countenance. “You would suggest that she was killed in Charles Danforth’s stead?”

“Why not? The moon that evening was only at the half; in variable darkness, wearing the clothes of mourning, Tess Arnold might well be taken for a man. I credited the ruse myself, in the full light of day.”

“Someone might well fire upon the figure of a man in the belief that it was Charles Danforth,” Lord Harold conceded, “but to then mutilate the body in ignorance? Impossible!”

“Unless, being horrified at his discovery of his mistake, the murderer then proceeded to create a diversion,” I offered equably.

“Freemasonry.” Lord Harold sighed.

“What else? We might justly charge Michael Tivey with the maid’s death, on the strength of his diversions alone!”

I had intended the jibe to be taken in jest; but Lord Harold considered it thoughtfully. “We should enquire whether Tivey has reason to wish Charles Danforth dead.”

“A question the Justice might better pursue. If Charles Danforth is the surgeon’s enemy, then all the world shall know of it. Anyone might employ a man such as Tivey.”

“Andrew?” Lord Harold enquired.

“He does stand to inherit,” I concluded pensively. “What better method of ridding himself of a double vice, than to set Tivey on to his brother, and so quit himself of the maid? I begin to admire the cast of young Mr. Danforth’s mind. It is subtle and calculating. Has Sir James considered of the gun-room at Penfolds Hall? Are all the fowling pieces in order?”

“Even if the Justice had secured it with stout men from the first whisper of the maid’s passing, Jane, the fowling piece would not be found,” Lord Harold replied. “It is probably at the bottom of one of Derbyshire’s deepest caverns, and no one shall bring it up again.”

BY THE TIME WE TURNED IN AT THE LODGE, MY SPIRITS were in a high flutter. The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. We entered it in one of its lowest points, from the west, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.[3]