“Tut, tut,” Crowley murmured, accepting the tribute with a self-effacing wave of the hand.
“He salted records with facts about Lex’s alleged background,” said Kate, “and he managed every pound of Lex’s income.”
“He managed to make it disappear,” the duke put in. “Crowley tied Lex’s money-trail in so many knots that it would have taken a magician to unravel it. He made it appear as though Lex had frittered away his fortune on playthings.” The duke clucked his tongue. “Just another self-indulgent pop star.”
Emma pictured Crowley’s storklike figure hunched over the keyboard of a computer late at night, after the bank had closed, sailing freely through the electronic networks, and she was filled with awe. It wasn’t every day that she got to meet a natural-born hacker who’d discovered computers at such an advanced age.
Derek rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know, Grayson. This doesn’t sound like you. I find it difficult to believe that you could be quite so cynical.”
“Of course I was cynical, dear chap,” the duke acknowledged easily. “But you must admit that it was a healthy sort of cynicism. Lex Rex did not wish to be loved—he wished only to be paid. It kept his ego in check, kept his mind focused—it kept him from drink, drugs, and all the other slings and arrows that had slain so many before him. He never promoted such things, either. My alter ego’s only sins were poor taste and a severely limited vocabulary—”
“Which you enjoyed to the hilt,” Nanny Cole reminded him.
“Well ... yes,” the duke admitted, with a shame-faced grin. “It was rather ... liberating.” He tugged on an earlobe, then settled back in his chair, businesslike once more. “At the end of the second year, we’d earned enough to replace the roof and begin restoring the hall’s interior. In four more years, we’d amassed a fortune, which Crowley invested with good results. Computers were not the only thing he studied at the bank.”
Derek nodded. “Then you decided that it was time for Lex’s abrupt departure from the world of rock music.”
“Poor old Lex,” the duke agreed, with mock sadness. “He never was much of a sailor, was he, Tom?”
“No, indeed, Your Grace.” The chief constable chuckled. “It were the Tregallis boys that fixed that up. Born fishermen, they are, and want nothin’ more’n to carry on as their father had done. The Tharbys at the Bright Lady felt the same way, and so did old Jonah Pengully and my mother. So we worked it all out with Hallard and watched the weather maps, waitin’ for a storm. When it looked as if a likely one was brewin’, His Grace hightailed it for France—”
“I was traveling a great deal by then,” the duke added, “recovering my family’s scattered treasures.”
“Me and the boys went aboard His Grace’s yacht,” the chief constable continued, “and had a fine old time, smashing it to bits. Ted and Jack steered it onto the shoals, and James picked them up in a dinghy.”
“Only expert sailors could’ve managed that trick,” Derek commented. He looked thoughtfully at the fire, then frowned. “But why go to all that trouble? Wouldn’t it have been safer to stage his death somewhere else, to make it a bit less spectacular?”
Kate shook her head. “Lex’s death would’ve attracted attention no matter where it took place,” she said flatly. “This way, we could control the situation and make the best use of the resources we had at hand.”
“Taciturn Cornish villagers make very credible eyewitnesses, really,” Hallard explained. “Lots of practice at it, I suppose, with all the smuggling that used to go on.”
“But what about the press?” Derek asked.
“A temporary nuisance,” Grayson said dismissively.
“Still,” Derek persisted, “you were taking an awfully big risk, weren’t you? How many people were involved? Fourteen? Fifteen? And now you’ll have to add me and Emma to the list. I’ve no doubt that Newland knows his stuff, but how can you be sure there’ll be no leaks?”
“We can’t,” the duke replied simply. “Look, Derek, I may very well be the dunderhead Nanny considers me to be, but Hallard isn’t.”
Hallard was cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. “Just have a devious mind, really. I knew the truth would come out eventually. It’s human nature to want to share a secret.” He carefully replaced his glasses, then folded his handkerchief and returned it to his pocket. “So I prepared a story line for every situation we’re likely to face.”
The duke smiled indulgently at Hallard. “It’s no use grilling him on what those story lines may be. He’s got them hidden away on Crowley’s blasted Series Ten, with instructions on how to get at them, should we ever need to. But he hates discussing his work. Won’t even let me read his book flaps.”
“Pesky things always give the plot away,” Hallard put in.
“All we know for certain,” said the duke, “is that Hallard’s come up with a number of likely and unlikely scenarios for us to follow. Based on his past performance, I have every confidence that, whatever happens, the outcome will be satisfactory for all concerned.”
Emma sipped tea that had long since grown cold, then put her cup and saucer on the tray. “There’s one more question I’d like to ask, if I may,” she said. “The answer may seem obvious to you, but ... Well, it sounds so complicated, and it took so long to plan. I’m just wondering why you were all so willing to help out.”
Uncertain looks were exchanged, throats were cleared, fingernails were examined, and feet were shuffled. Finally, Gash proposed an answer.
“It was fun,” he said. “Whether Lex Rex panned out or not, we had a good time working on him. When you get down to it, fixing flats in the local garage can be pretty bloody boring.”
Now Crowley spoke up. “Self-interest played a role, as well. There was always the outside chance that His Grace’s scheme would succeed, that we would achieve our individual goals. All I wanted was to return to my place at Penford Hall. Newland wanted a quiet patch of woods to prowl, Gash dreamt of a first-rate garage, and Hallard wanted privacy and time to write.”
“It’s the same in the village,” said the chief constable. “As I said before—”
“Balls!” roared Nanny Cole, rattling her knitting needles. “Sod that nonsense, Tom Trevoy, and the same goes for you, Ephraim Crowley. Fun and self-interest—what a load of rubbish.” She sniffed derisively. “You know as well as I do why we listened to His Grace, and why we went ahead when common sense told us we hadn’t a chance in hell of succeeding. It was him.” She looked proudly at the duke. “He’s a proper little wizard, is our Grayson, and always has been. He can charm water from a rock. He can twist a stiff-necked old biddy like me around his little finger.”
“Now, Nanny ...” Grayson murmured.
“Don’t you ‘Now, Nanny’ me, you cheeky blighter. They all know what I’m talking about. They know how you make folks believe that everything’s possible, that dreams were meant to come true. If you’d told us we could fly to the moon, we’d’ve tried to build a bloody rocket.” She glared fiercely around the room. “And I dare any of you to deny it.”
No one took up the challenge. Derek ran a hand through his curls, then shook his head, bemused. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Truly fascinating. And, in all that time, no one ever suspected the truth?”
The duke didn’t answer at first. A faint smile played about his lips as he rose and stood staring silently into the fire. Finally, he spoke. “In all those years, only one person saw through my ruse, and that was because I wanted her to. When the Great God of Thunder album went platinum, the fourteenth duke of Penford received a request for a rather hefty donation to a certain children’s fund in the City. I can recall the accompanying note word for word. It said: ‘Perhaps you can see your way clear to making other children’s dreams come true.’ It was signed by Aunt Dimity.”
21
Outside the warm cocoon of the dowager’s bedchamber the storm raged on. Thunder cracked and rolled, lightning slashed the roiling sky, and driving rain battered the
windows and walls, the roofs and towers, the balconies, turrets, and terraces of Penford Hall.
Crowley and Hallard had cleared away the tea things, replacing them with a decanter of port and nine delicately etched wineglasses. The decanter was passed from hand to hand, the aromatic wine glinting ruby-red in the firelight.
What an amazing story, Emma thought. It was the most amazing—No. The most amazing story was that she had been permitted to sit there and listen to such an amazing story. Sipping the sweet wine, she contemplated the still figure of the duke. She knew that she was in the presence of a remarkable man, a man who inspired such devotion that those who knew him best had given years of their lives to ensure that his dream would come true.
Nanny Cole’s offhand comment about building a rocket to the moon was more apt than the old woman probably realized. The world of rock music must have been as alien to these elderly people as the red dust of Mars, yet they had mapped the terrain and exploited it as fearlessly as any team of space explorers.
While clearing away the tea trays, Crowley had described Lex Rex as a limited partnership in which all members of the core group, staff and villager alike, held equal shares. Thanks to Crowley’s impeccable management, each person in that room was independently wealthy. All of them could have left the hall behind to build their own castles, but they stayed on, because Penford Hall was their home, and the world beyond its walls offered nothing they didn’t already have.
“Grayson,” Derek said gruffly, “owe you an apology, old man. Shouldn’t have doubted you. Sorry I did.”
“Me, too,” Emma added. “I should have trusted the Pym sisters. They told me you couldn’t be guilty of any serious wrongdoing, and they were right.”
“Were they?” the duke mused. He turned his glass slowly in his hands. “I’m not so sure. One person, at least, appears to have suffered greatly as a result of my scheming. We mustn’t forget about Susannah.”
“What do you mean?” Derek said sharply.
“Can’t you guess?” the duke asked in return.
Derek’s eyes narrowed and he glanced down at Emma, who nodded for him to go on. Looking back to the duke, Derek said, “Susannah told me she had reason to believe you’d had a hand in Lex’s death.” He hesitated. “Do you know about her father?”
“Syd told me, on the way to the hospital,” Grayson answered. “Until that moment, I had no idea that such a tragedy had occurred. When I think of her poor mother coming here, asking for help, and being turned away ...” Grayson bowed his head. “No wonder Susannah felt unable to approach me directly. But we’ll discuss this matter later. Please, continue.”
Derek explained the way in which Susannah’s accident had triggered doubts in his own mind about the circumstances surrounding Lex’s death. He described the reasons he’d enlisted Emma’s aid, and the gradual evolution of their suspicions. “But none of it matters now, does it?” he asked. “If you were prepared to deal with the consequences of exposure, then none of you would’ve had a motive to harm Susannah. Her fall must have been an unhappy accident.”
“Unhappy, to be sure,” said the duke gravely, “but not, I fear, an accident. Tom?”
The red-haired chief constable nodded grimly. “Knew there was some funny business going on the minute I heard about her shoes. Kate told me they was all clean and shiny, like she’d just polished ’em up that morning.”
Emma could picture Susannah’s high-heeled shoe poking out from beneath the oilcloth; the broken heel had gleamed in the morning sun, but it hadn’t registered until now. “It had rained the night before,” she said slowly. “If she’d walked to the chapel garden in those shoes, they would have been muddy.”
“And they wasn’t even wet,” the chief constable declared. “But I didn’t hear about it until two days later. The evidence was gone by then, and the crime scene was contaminated, as they say, so I thought I’d just ask around, quiet-like, before reportin’ to my superiors. Asked Newland to give me a hand.” He stared down into his wineglass. “Between us, we’ve been able to account for everyone in the hall and the village. We’ve come up with a lead, but ...” His voice trailed off and he looked to the duke for support.
The duke cleared his throat, then ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. He favored Derek with a troubled, almost apologetic smile, then hunched forward and said, in a confidential murmur, “You see, old man, we know that Susannah was pestering you a great deal. As you observed earlier, it’s difficult to keep secrets in a place like this.”
Derek blinked in surprise. “Grayson, if you’re accusing me—”
“I’m not. Madama has confirmed that you were breakfasting with Bantry in the kitchen.” The duke wet his lips. “Fact is, old man, I’m accusing your son.”
“Peter?” Derek stared at the duke in astonishment.
The duke sighed regretfully. “Wanted to discuss this with you privately, but ... The truth of the matter is that Peter was seen going into the garden early that morning.”
“By whom?” Derek demanded.
“Bantry. He didn’t think anything of it until Tom and Newland had struck everyone else off the list. It was only then that he recalled Peter’s repeated expressions of concern about Susannah interfering with your work. Viewed in that light, the boy’s presence in the garden on that particular morning suggested the possibility ...” The duke averted his gaze. “I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.”
“Yes,” Derek murmured, setting his wineglass on the tray. “Yes, I quite see.”
“No,” Emma broke in. “You don’t see at all. None of you do.” She reached for Derek’s hand and hoped that Peter would forgive her. “Peter did go into the garden that morning, but he didn’t spend any time there. He was in the chapel until the shouting started; then he slipped out through the back door and went around the outside to the cliff path. You can check with the Tregallis brothers. They saw him go out there.” She pulled Derek around to face her. “He didn’t want to get into trouble for hanging around the chapel. That’s why he told you he was—”
“Shouting?” Newland spoke from the doorway, then came to stand over Emma. “Did you say that the boy heard shouting?”
“Well ... yes,” Emma replied, unnerved by the man’s hawkish gaze. “That’s what he told me.”
“First I’ve heard of any shouting,” Newland growled. He surveyed the other faces in the room. “Any of you lot forget to tell me about shouting?”
As murmurs of denial sounded all around her, Emma tried to recall whether she or Nell had cried out upon finding Susannah. She was sure they hadn’t. She clearly remembered being impressed by Nell’s calmness and amazed by her own, but, before she could open her mouth to reply, she felt a tremor pass through Derek’s body.
“My God,” he murmured, half to himself. “If none of you were shouting, then Peter must have heard someone else.” His head snapped up. “I breakfasted alone that morning. Bantry only stopped by for a cup of coffee.” He grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We’ve got to get up to the nursery.”
As they darted into the darkened hallway, Emma’s mind raced. She refused to believe that Bantry would harm Peter, but he might have lashed out at Susannah. She remembered that first afternoon in the garden, when he’d spoken so harshly against anything that threatened to disrupt the peace of Penford Hall. He’d known where the grub hoe was and he had the strength to wield it. He’d cleaned the oilcloth, as well, and stowed it safely in his cupboard. And now it looked as though he’d tried to cast suspicion on Peter, the one person who might identify his voice and place him in the garden with Susannah at the crucial time.
Footsteps pounded behind them and flashlights glinted maniacally from the rippled panes of leaded glass that lined the long, arcaded corridor. The main staircase loomed ahead and Derek leapt for it, nearly colliding with Bantry, who was hastening downstairs.
Derek seized the old man’s shoulders, shouting, “Where’s my son? What have you d
one with my boy?” until Newland got to him and wrestled him away.
Bantry took a faltering step backward, then sat abruptly on the stairs, squinting dazedly as half a dozen flashlights focused on his nut-brown face. When he had elbowed his way to Bantry’s side, the duke bent down to ask calmly if Master Peter were still in the nursery.
The old man shook his head. “No, Your Grace,” he said earnestly. “I were just comin’ down to tell you. The boy’s gone. Don’t know how he slipped by me, but he’s not in his bed nor anywhere else up there.” He gripped Grayson’s arm urgently and jutted his grizzled chin toward the windows. “He’s taken his jacket and a torch, Your Grace. Lady Nell thinks he’s out there in that storm.”
Without a second thought, Emma headed down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Derek cried.
“To the chapel,” she replied, over her shoulder. “Don’t you see? He’s gone to check the window.”
Derek shook off Newland’s hold and plunged down the stairs after Emma, while Grayson hung back, issuing rapid orders to his troops. The last thing Emma heard before reaching the entrance hall and turning for the dining room was Nanny Cole calling out to Kate to phone for Dr. Singh.
“Should’ve brought the flashlight,” Derek muttered as they groped their way through the darkened dining room.
“I don’t think it’d be much use out there,” Emma said. The wind buffeted the French doors, and rain gusted in sheets against the panes. “I won’t be much use, either,” she added, raising a hand to her glasses. “I won’t be able to see a thing.”
“We’ll be even, then,” Derek said wryly. He reached for the door handles and, when Emma nodded, he flung the doors wide.
Emma gasped as the cold rain hit her, and she was soaked to the skin before reaching the terrace steps. Tucking her chin to her chest, she fought her way across the lawn, blinded by the driving downpour and slipping on the sodden grass until they reached the relative sanctuary of the ruins, where the wind’s roar became a moaning chorus as it swirled and eddied through empty hearths and gaping doorways.
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