“Don’t leave the cottage, either of you,” Lady Barbara said calmly. “We’ve had an intruder. The police are on their way.”
I pushed myself up on one elbow. “Someone broke into the Hall?”
“Fortunately not. Someone was skulking around in the yard. The new security cameras alerted my mobile.”
“What did they look like?”
“You’re asking me—with my vision? There’s a video clip.”
“What did you do?” I pulled the comforter up around my shoulders.
“I opened my bedroom window and shouted, ‘Whoever you are, go away. I have a shotgun, and I’m not afraid to use it.’”
“You have a shotgun?”
“Of course not.”
“What happened?”
“They went away. Oh, I’ll have to ring off—the police have arrived. Don’t leave the cottage. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”
She hung up, leaving me disoriented. Was I dreaming?
I wasn’t. I got out of bed and threw on my robe. From my bedroom window, I could see the flashing lights from the police cars, pulsing amber blobs on the wet window glass. It was raining again.
I tiptoed into the hallway. Sounds of snoring came from Vivian’s bedroom—whether Vivian or Fergus or both, I couldn’t tell. No reason to wake them. The police would make sure the danger had passed.
I lay awake after that, thinking about the White Lotus Society and loyalty to one’s country. I was as American as they come, and yet I was beginning to feel very much at home in England. The differences, all those subtleties of language and culture that escape the average tourist, were becoming second nature to me. Could I live here permanently?
At six I got up, dressed, and went down to the kitchen to make coffee and boil an egg. Vivian emerged a half hour later, wrapped in her gray wool robe.
“You’re up early.” She yawned and took Fergus’s leash from the hook.
“There was an intruder at the Hall last night. Lady Barbara called the police. She said she’d fill us in this morning.”
“Crikey! Is she all right?”
“Perfectly. She frightened them off with a fake shotgun.”
The sound of nails clacking on the stairs told me Fergus was awake as well. He maneuvered his sausage-like body down the final steps and headed for the door.
Vivian shoved the leash at me. “Will you take him outside, Kate? I must dress immediately.”
By eight we’d donned our rain gear and were tramping through the damp grass toward the Hall. When we arrived, we found Tom having tea and scones in Lady Barbara’s private sitting room.
“Join us,” Lady Barbara said. “Plenty for everyone.”
A log fire burned in the grate, taking the edge off the morning chill. Lady Barbara wore a periwinkle blue wool dress with a patterned shawl, held together at the shoulder with a charming silver Victorian pin.
I took a buttery scone. Vivian poured two cups of tea and topped up Lady Barbara’s cup.
“What happened last night?” I asked Tom. “Was someone trying to break in?”
“The video doesn’t show much—just a dark shape moving near the Archives building. Impossible to tell if it was a potential burglar or simply a vagrant seeking shelter from the rain.”
“I locked the cinnabar plate in the safe in the Archives building last night, but Ivor was the only one who knew that.”
“He anticipated a theft?” Lady Barbara asked.
“Not exactly, but when I showed him Lieutenant Finchley’s note, saying the plate had been rescued—”
“Pilfered.” She gave me a stern look.
“That the plate had been stolen from the Old Summer Palace in Beijing, he connected it with the White Lotus Society.”
“A horticultural group?” Vivian flicked a crumb from her sweater. “How nice.”
“Hardly,” I said. “The White Lotus Society is a secret brotherhood, the members pledged to restore China’s stolen cultural heritage by any means necessary. I’m wondering if they have an operative in the area.”
“An operative?” Vivian said. “Who are you talking about?”
“I hope you don’t suspect Henry Liu,” Lady Barbara said. “He’s been a member of the Long Barston community for years. He and his wife keep themselves to themselves.”
High praise.
“But how about the son—James?” Vivian buttered a slice of banana bread. “Henry claims he’s looking for a university teaching job, but I’ve seen no evidence of it.”
“It can’t be easy for an immigrant to get a university teaching position,” I said. “James helps his parents with the restaurant.”
Vivian flicked her eyebrows. “Then why was Penny alone in the tent the night of the May Fair, hmm?”
“Henry’s daughter-in-law?” Tom asked. “How do you know James wasn’t there?”
“Because I stood in line for ten minutes,” Vivian said. “When it was my turn to place our order, Penny told me the shrimp rolls were out, so I ordered duck ribs. People were getting testy—some waiting for their food and others waiting to place orders. Penny was almost in tears. She said, ‘I’m sorry for the wait. I’m here by myself.’”
“When was this?”
“Just after the play. Around nine thirty, I suppose.”
I could almost see the gears turning in Tom’s head. At nine thirty, Penny Liu was alone in the tent, and Evelyn Villiers was lying dead in the stockroom. Around the same time, Tom got the call about a break-in and a body at Ivor’s shop, discovered by Henry Liu. A few minutes later, James showed up in the alley, implying he’d just come from the tent.
Another lie.
I walked Tom to his car, hopping over puddles that had formed in the gravel drive. The sky was clearing, but the air smelled of rain and wet soil. The yew hedges around Finchley Hall glistened.
“I don’t mind the rain,” I said.
“That’s good. We’re not allowed to have fine weather in England for more than three days running. It’s against the rules.”
We reached his car. “Come here,” he said.
I turned to face him, and he wrapped his waxed jacket around me. “Henry Liu lied about the time he left to replenish the shrimp rolls, and James lied about his whereabouts at the time of the murder.”
“They’re not necessarily lies, Kate. People get things wrong. Or maybe Vivian
