“Except that he fancied himself in charge and she could do nothing about it,” Theodore pointed out.
“I don’t know if that bothered her unduly. She appears to be content in her own world with The Countess.”
“If she is so content, why find her a husband?”
Adelia had to concede defeat on that one. She allowed Lady Agnes’s name to stay, but with a large question mark alongside it.
“Lady Katharine and Oscar Brodie,” Adelia said. “I do need to speak to Lady Katharine. I am actually rather put out that she hasn’t come up to the castle for any dinner. She must come to the ball.”
“She is something of a hermit; but I agree. We ought to look into her simply because we don’t know anything about her. And Brodie is a nice enough lad but needs taking in hand.”
“Could he be a murderer?”
“As much as any of us could be,” Theodore said. “I confess that I was talking to him about it, and he was asking a lot of questions, and then I stopped just in case I was, indeed, speaking to the perpetrator himself. I cannot imagine that he had a motive unless it was sheer boredom. Or, of course, we discover that Hartley Knight was keeping something of immense value in the ice house, as the lad hinting he might.”
“The lapis itself is valuable enough, and yet it is all there going to waste.” Adelia shook her head. She accepted it had lost its one-high status since ultramarine was synthesised, but there was absolutely no reason not to sell what remained as jewels and gem stones rather than for artists’ pigments.
“The Buckshaws are wealthy. Clearly it means little to them.”
“What if Knight was selling the lapis? If he had access to it, it would be easy enough for him to steal. No one would know.”
“And do what with it?” Theodore asked. “It might be worth asking around in Plymouth but you cannot simply sell such high-quality goods without people knowing. You need specialist dealers. He would need links to London. Yes, it is possible, but it hardly seems the most likely.” He scribbled a note on the paper nonetheless.
Their conversation carried on in a circular vein until neither of them could stop their yawning. They agreed on Tuesday’s course of action – Adelia’s task was to look at alibis, and Theodore intended to explore the poison in the deceased man’s system and in the ice house itself – and then they went to bed.
ON TUESDAY THEODORE left for a trip into Plymouth to speak with the medical officer. Adelia ate breakfast alone and afterwards found Felicia sitting in a morning room on the first floor, on the eastern side of the Tudor additions around the central castle, nestled in a chair that was carefully placed out of the sunlight. It was already warm. The warmth of the past few weeks seemed now to be baked into the very stones of the building and even the nights brought no real respite. Adelia had a fan with her, and she fluttered it, trying to cool her neck as she wandered over to the windows. “Do you think it will help if I open these?”
“I would rather you did not.”
“The smell?”
“All manner of reasons.” Felicia turned the pages of an illustrated journal for women, but she wasn’t really reading anything. “We are to wear pink next season, apparently.”
“Will you go to London, do you think?”
“Perhaps. It depends on Percy, of course.”
“Has there been word from him?”
“Not yet and I hardly expected anything.”
The conversation was so stilted it felt like it had come from a foreign language primer.
Adelia remained by the window, but there was nothing to see but grey-green grass and brown-green trees, topped off by looming grey-yellow moors beyond. “And have you advertised yet for a new house steward?”
“I?” Felicia asked in surprise.
“Yes, you. Who else would do it?”
“Well...” she tailed off. “No, I suppose he cannot do it. Not now he’s dead.”
“Felicia, listen to me. You have given up far too much authority to others. This is your house and you cannot be ruled by the servants! Now that Hartley Knight is dead, may God rest his soul, you have a chance to redress the balance and take back the control that you ought to have by rights.”
Felicia trembled at Adelia’s stern words and that infuriated Adelia even more. She continued, saying, “I am not saying this to bully you or to cow you or to make you feel bad, Felicia! But you ought to know what your duties are, especially in the absence of your husband.”
“He is coming home soon and he can deal with it. I should hate to overstep my role.”
“This is your role! You are shirking it. Trust me when I say that you are in no danger of overstepping a thing at the moment. Why do you think he will be angry? I have met him many times; I cannot believe it.” Then she softened her voice. “But tell me the truth, my dear. If you engage a new steward, will Percy be so very furious?”
“No, not at all. But what if I get it wrong? I could not bear to be blamed.”
That was the heart of it, and had always been Felicia’s problem even as a child. She dithered and thought about things for so long that she was utterly hobbled by indecision and the fear of making the wrong choice.
Felicia was now staring intently at a page in the journal. “Pink,” she said again. “I cannot possibly wear pink, though. What do you think?”
“About pink? Nothing at all.” Adelia left the room abruptly. If she had stayed, she would have taken her own dear daughter by the shoulders and tried to shake some good sense into her.
ADELIA ENCOUNTERED Lady Agnes as she wandered along a long gallery that overlooked the great hall below. Lady Agnes
