Hardly anyone was sick over the side of the boat and most importantly of all, no one drowned. Two excitable young men were fished out of the harbour after some ill-advised drinking games in the early hours of the morning, according to a note that Adelia received from Mrs Carstairs on Saturday afternoon, but apart from that, the event had been hailed as a great success. And much money had been raised for the local seaman’s mission, which had been a last-minute suggestion from Adelia. Everyone was very happy.
And they had returned to Tavy Castle to find that nothing had happened in their absence, either. Adelia had to confess to feeling a rising tension as the carriage had brought them back through the chilly night air but they slipped into the castle and were greeted by a smiling policeman who assured them that all was well. Adelia was as quiet as possible as she slipped into her small truckle bed after glancing over at Felicia’s sleeping form.
They missed breakfast the next morning, of course. Many of the partygoers who had made a long night of it would actually be partaking of a post-dance breakfast on the ship itself, but Adelia’s all-night events were a thing of her memory now. She woke up very late and was delighted to see that Felicia was dressed, and sitting by the window, waiting for her mother to wake up.
“Tell me everything, mama!”
Felicia’s face glowed with happiness as she listened attentively. Adelia spent a long hour talking with her before excusing herself. It was now the early afternoon, and she was pleased to find Doctor Netherfield quietly reading in an adjoining room.
“She’s better, isn’t she?” Adelia said, sitting down.
“She is. Far be it from me to do myself out of a job, but I agree with you. She is so much improved, though the same cannot be said of her husband.” He spoke in a low and confidential manner.
“Whatever do you mean? Is he ill?”
“He is restless, ill at ease, and as far as I can tell – from listening to the rumours and gossip – he is in danger, is he not? An attempt has been made on his life. Surely the perpetrator will not stop now?”
“I agree but he seems either oblivious to it, or almost welcomes it.”
“He is a man who is only alive when he is at risk, this is true. We all have a different emotion that drives us. He is very interesting to me but he won’t talk.” Doctor Netherfield sighed and chuckled. “I could write a paper on the man, if he would but consent to it. Alas; the most interesting subjects are the ones who resist.”
“Do you think he knows who wants him dead?”
“I doubt it. He is a man of action, albeit curious actions, and if he knew for sure, I think he would not hesitate in hunting the killer down. But he is strung out like a rope between two poles. One pole consists of ennui and passive acceptance, and the other is fearsome action. He wavers and oscillates, never still, never steady, on the one hand waiting for the killer to strike again and on the other, vowing revenge at every turn. This means that he ultimately accomplishes nothing. For ennui will always win out. It is paralyzing.”
“While you have listened to gossip and rumour, have you heard anything useful?”
“No though I am curious about this young man who I have never seen, but who I am told lives in the gatehouse...”
“Oscar Brodie.” It was Adelia’s turn to drop her voice very low, and she shifted in her chair, bringing it closer to the doctor. “That man is Theodore’s prime suspect but we don’t know why he might have done it. We think he killed the house steward, too.”
“I should like to meet him. Perhaps I can offer some insight.”
“Talk a walk past the gatehouse and look about yourself very carefully. He is almost always lingering in a bush or behind a wall.”
“How very fascinating. I certainly shall.”
There came a light rap on the door, and Theodore entered, carrying the letter for Adelia from Mrs Carstairs. He remained in the room while she read it, and she smiled at Mrs Carstairs’ effusive praise for all her help – and her descriptions of the inebriated and not-quite-drowned young men.
She read that little section out to Theodore and Doctor Netherfield, who laughed heartily. It prompted Doctor Netherfield to launch into a long recount of a time he was an undergraduate and had somehow, for some reason not fully explained, purloined one of the long racing boats used in the University boat race and along with a group of disreputable friends, attempted to row themselves out through central London, with the eventual aim of getting to France “for the better wine.” He was just describing the faces of the policemen who apprehended them at Tower Bridge when a policeman appeared, without knocking, in the door to the room.
He was not laughing.
Adelia jumped to her feet, and Theodore was at her side instantly. Doctor Netherfield rose more slowly. She could feel her heart already accelerating. “What is it? What has happened? Oh, please God, not another death!”
“No. We are here to prevent any further calamities of that nature. We are here to arrest Felicia, Lady Buckshaw.”
EVERYTHING MOVED VERY quickly and Adelia was powerless to prevent it. Suddenly there were policemen swarming in, and someone was screaming, and Percy was shouting, and
