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It was a fine night filled with glittering stars and the prospect of a deepening frost. We had all wrapped up well, prepared for the cold air that would redden our noses and sting our ears. Candice’s three-quarter length coat dripped with slaughtered mink as she took Peter’s arm and slotted into line behind Tom and Martha. She wore neither flip-flops nor stilettos, though the ballerina pumps she did have on her feet were no more suitable than either of the others would have been.
“I can’t see why we couldn’t take the car.” She still grumbled. Nobody paid her any attention.
The Tremaynes led us off, past the dark brooding bulk of the maze on our left, and along a well-worn path through the park. Tom had handed out powerful torches to all the men, warning us not to go off track as the grass was coarse and rough. He carried an old-fashioned oil lantern, which he held high for most of the way, dispelling the shadows that clustered around us.
An owl hooted in the distance, and Kathy almost jumped into Michael’s arms as a silvery shadow glided on silent wings over the field to her left.
“Oh, God, there aren’t any bats are there? I’m terrified of bats.”
“No, don’t worry,” Martha called back. “There is a colony in the church belfry, but at this time of year they’re hibernating.”
“Bloody good idea,” muttered Peter. Candice tittered.
“Bats won’t hurt you anyway,” said Martha, “and they won’t get caught in your hair.”
I knew she was right, but still pulled my blue felt cloche closer around my ears and held Jerry’s arm a little tighter. He held his torch pointing downwards, lighting our way as the track curved first this way, then that.
Conversation and laughter masked the small scurrying sounds of the creatures of the night that I knew must be all around us. From somewhere a fox barked though like the rabbits it preyed on, it had the sense to stay out of our way as we tramped through the park.
Within ten minutes, I began to make out the silhouette of Fenny Brayfield’s roof line and the tall spire of the church away to the right. Voices drifted towards us, people wishing each other, ‘Good evening’ and ‘Merry Christmas’. A car horn sounded and somewhere music played.
The parish church of St Werbergh’s was brightly lit, sparsely occupied, and freezing cold. Single bar electric heaters had been fastened to the walls, at such a height that they sent warmed air soaring into the rafters, while the congregation shivered below. The stark grey walls were drab and cheerless, despite the arrangements of pine cones, holly and tinsel on the window ledges. Tom led us down the aisle to the front pews past parishioners no more colourful, wrapped as they were in dark coats and hats. A solitary red scarf around the neck of an elderly man appeared frivolous and impiously gay in the otherwise dreary church.
The Tremayne party took up the entire two front rows of pews, six of us at either side, and I took my seat wedged in between Jerry and Sonia.
“Glad to see they’ve got a choir,” whispered Liz. She sat on the other side of Jerry. “I ought to warn you that singing isn’t my strong point.”
“Nor mine.”
The vicar walked down to the chancel steps and welcomed us all. He seemed very young and jolly as he stood there, almost bouncing on his toes. In the absence of a thermal surplice, perhaps it was his way of keeping warm.
“St Werburgh’s welcomes you all at this festive season, as we celebrate the birth of the Christ child. You will find hymn sheets at the end of the pews, and we’ll begin with Once in Royal David’s City.”
He moved to a chair on his left, and the congregation stood as the hymn sheets were passed along the row and the organist played the opening bars of the carol. We sang lustily and well, from Peter’s deep baritone to Sonia’s sweet soprano, and the carols included my own particular favourite, It Came Upon the Midnight Clear. I seldom hear it these days and felt better for the singing of it. I barely glanced at the hymn sheet as I’d sung carols often enough in my youth and heard them often enough since, for the words to be almost imprinted on my brain.
Although still feeling cold on the outside, for an all-too-brief time the carols filled my heart with a warm glow and I felt a great deal of love for my fellow man.
It wasn’t to last.
While we listened to the lessons from the Gospels of Luke and Matthew, my mind was busy on other things. Who amongst us had taken the Tremayne Treasure? Or was the thief someone we’d left back at the house? Jerry had said nothing about it since we’d left the house, but I knew him well enough to know that his anger had not abated. He still seethed at Tom’s failure to admit the theft.
It was towards the end of the concert, while the choir were singing In Dulci Jubilo, that I began wondering who Thor had overheard talking on the floor below. Up until now I hadn’t given much, if any, thought to it. The implication of a plot to steal the treasure was frankly ludicrous. Any conspirator worthy of the name would have held the conversation in their room, not out on a landing for anyone to hear. Unless they weren’t a couple ...
I shook my head at the surprising thought, and felt Jerry’s body tense beside me. He looked down at me, an eyebrow raised. I smiled and mouthed ‘later’ at him, which caused both eyebrows to rise and his lips to curve in a familiar way. I doubted he was thinking suitable thoughts for a church and coughed to smother the laugh that had risen unbidden to my throat.
When the concert ended, we joined the rest of the parishioners in the doorway and porch to partake of warmed mince pies, provided by the local Women’s Institute.
“Did you enjoy that, you two?” Martha joined us. “I wasn’t sure whether everyone would.”
“Indeed,” said Jerry. “It’s no bad thing to be reminded of what it’s all about from time to time.”
“Yes, Christmas has rather got out of hand, I feel. Do you remember the little plastic tree we had as children and the baubles and decorations that Dad put up? The same ones, year after year.”
“Goodness, yes, and the year he lost his job, and we had one chicken between eight of us for Christmas lunch.”
They laughed at the shared reminiscences and, hearing them, Sonia came towards us, clutching a half-eaten mince pie.
“I bet you don’t remember the time our Christmas cake was nothing but a well-iced Victoria sponge.”
The Farishes weren’t intentionally leaving me out of the conversation, and I continued to listen with half an ear as my gaze wandered around. Tom was chatting to the vicar and a couple of parishioners, Michael and Kathy were staring at the church notice board and Liz, together with Sonia’s husband, Bill, was talking to Peter and Candice. So where was Daniel? I scanned the crowd, my gaze travelling over the sea of unfamiliar faces by the door and over their heads to the knot of people standing in the porch.
I eventually spotted him in the rear pews talking to a man with a beaked nose under a dark trilby hat. While I was wondering who he was, the stranger glanced around and stuck out his arm. Daniel withdrew his own gloved hand from his pocket and appeared to shake hands. The man curled his fingers and instantly turned away, pushing his way through the crowd and out of the door. Baffled, and unsure of what I’d seen, I stared after him until a nudge from Jerry made me realise I’d been spoken to.
“I’m sorry, I was miles away.”
“You’re tired, aren’t you, beloved?” Jerry covered for me. “It’s been a long day and this country air has tired you out.”
On the contrary, I felt invigorated by it, but nodded nonetheless. “I can’t be as tired as Martha.”
“Me?” Her perfectly arched dark eyebrows rose. “I’m fine. I’ve got people to delegate to, don’t forget, though what I’d do without Tilly, I don’t know. Cecily can be very clingy and draining.” She gave a rueful smile. “I always said I was too old to have children.”
“I always said the opposite,” said Sonia. “What about you, Verity? At what age are you likely to want children?”
Fortunately, I was saved from answering by the arrival of Tom.
“All right, everyone, time to get going. You can gasbag to your hearts’ content once we get home.”
He shepherded us out and we lined up again like dutiful schoolchildren for the walk back to Thornley Park. After a concerned glance from Jerry, which I answered with a wink and a smile, he took my hand and we set off.
I was silent all the way home thinking about what I’d seen in the church. When we got back I joined them all for a nightcap in the living room, then made my excuses and went to bed. While I waited for Jerry to join me, I picked up The Annals of the Tremaynes and to my surprise found it both a jaunty and a compelling read.
Later, as we settled down to sleep, I wondered if, in front of my very eyes, Daniel had passed the Tremayne Treasure to an accomplice.
***
Why do men always feel like making love in the morning when all I want is to drift back into the wispy marshmallow softness of sleep? The king-sized bed in our room at Thornley Park was comfortable, the sheets still fresh smelling and crisp, but that hand, tracing lazy circles on the skin below my breasts, was insistent.
“Merry Christmas, beloved.”
“Hmm?” I snuggled down again. “Stop nibbling my ear.”
“Wakey, wakey, sleepy head. It’s Christmas morning.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, and I’ve got something for you.”
I stretched and turned to him, running a hand over his chest, kissing his shoulder. “Oh, really? I wonder if it’s the same thing that I have for you.”
Making love with Jerry—always a blissful pleasure—became on that Christmas morning, the greatest gift of all. Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms, sated and at peace.
“I suppose we’d better get up,” I said, eventually. I made no move, other than to stroke a finger down his cheek and along his jaw.
“I have something else for you,” he said.
“What, again? Have pity!”
“Not that, you incorrigible woman.”
He laughed, threw back the duvet, and padded across to the wardrobe. Removing a carrier bag from its depths, he returned and placed it on the pillow beside me. I left it there while I rolled over, put a hand beneath the bed and retrieved the neatly wrapped leather jacket I had bought for him. There would be more gifts later, for Martha had asked everyone to bring one that we could all unwrap together, sitting around the decorated tree in the living room after breakfast.
“Aren’t you going to open yours?” asked Jerry. He pulled carefully at the wrapping paper.
“Yes, in a moment.” I pointed at the parcel on his lap. “That’s a remarkably restrained way to see what I’ve bought you. You’re a detective, not a bomb disposal expert.”
I gasped in surprise and delight when I opened the carrier bag. Inside was a bottle of white burgundy wine from the Côte D’Or, vintage 1992.
“Good heavens, Jerry? How did you —”
“Valentino at the ABC wine bar, of course. We had a long discussion one lunchtime and this was his recommendation.”
“Wonderful! Thank you.” I kissed him roundly and he returned the favour when he saw his jacket.
As we showered and dressed, my thoughts returned to the theft of the Tremayne Treasure. Alone in our room the previous evening, I’d passed on to Jerry my observations in the church and we’d agreed to speak to Daniel and ask him about the stranger. It would need to be casually done, if only to prevent him taking offence if he was not our thief. However, tact is not my strong point and I sighed as I slipped on a warm dress in a stunning shade of royal blue.
“When do you want to collar Daniel?” I asked as Jerry zipped me up.
“Whenever. As long as it’s done naturally. Got your present for around the tree?”
“Here.” I removed the gift from a drawer in the bedside table and brandished it aloft. It was a book on the history of the British music hall, something he’d specifically asked for.
“Right. Let’s go. I’m more than ready for breakfast.”
Cries of ‘Good morning’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ greeted us when we made our entrance into the dining room. We weren’t the last ones down, though only Sonia and Bill were missing. The rest were tucking into cereals, toast and coffee, though with a gargantuan meal on the horizon, I decided to limit myself. One slice of toast and two cups of coffee would set me up for the day.
Martha smiled at me from the opposite side of the table as I took my seat, the look on her face saying she knew perfectly well why it had taken so long to make our appearance.
“Sleep well?” she asked.
The heat rose in my cheeks. “Yes, thank you.”
By the time Liz and her husband joined us various gifts had been shown off and talked about. It transpired that Candice had not received the diamond bracelet she was expecting, Peter had bought her a pearl encrusted clutch bag instead. Her long face gave eloquent testimony of what she thought about that, especially when she caught site of the solitaire diamond ring that Martha sported on her right hand. Tom’s present to his wife glittered with fiery flashes and whilst I admired it, I crossed my fingers that it didn’t disappear like the Tremayne Treasure.
I changed my mind about limiting my coffee intake when Daniel, having already polished off bacon and eggs, decided he’d like some toast and approached the trestle table. I went to stand beside him.
“Did you enjoy the carol service last night? I heard you singing lustily.” I thought that sounded casual enough and lifted the tall coffee pot.
“Oh, I enjoy a good sing, though it’s usually rugby songs down the pub or in the shower.” He grinned at this admission of manly behaviour. “How about you?”
Daniel’s small stature—he was a good two to three inches shorter than his wife—together with his cap of black hair, reminded me very much of an elf.
“Yes, thanks, I did, unless you mean the rugby songs and then it’s strictly the shower for me.” I poured coffee into my cup. “The church had a large turnout for it, anyway.”
“Yes, they did, which must be gratifying for the vicar in this day and age. Around our way, we’re reduced to the local Rotary club driving a decorated truck through the streets playing recorded carols through a loudspeaker.”
“Gosh, that sounds awful.”
“It is. Far better to have a choir on the back of a flat-bed, as far as I’m concerned. At least then it would be proper human voices.”
We were drifting perilously far from the subject and at any minute he might return to his seat. In desperation, I sought an opening.
“I’m only sorry that I didn’t get a chance to chat to any of Saint Werbergh’s parishioners,” I said. “They seemed a lively lot.”
I held my breath, wondering what he would say. He smiled broadly.
“Were they? I can’t say that I noticed. I spent my time talking to an old mate from University.”
“Really?” I tried not to make it sound as if I disbelieved him.
“Yes, Roger Blake. Haven’t seen him in years and by sheer coincidence he’s married to a Fenny Brayfield girl and now lives in the village.”
“That was nice for you. A small world, as they say.”
“Indeed.” He picked up his plate and turned away. “They’ve invited me and Liz round to their place for coffee before we leave, so we’ll have the chance of a proper catch up.”
We returned to our respective seats and I smiled at Jerry and wrinkled my nose. His response was an almost imperceptible nod, as if he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. I hid my disappointment at the ready explanation of the scene in the church and stirred my coffee.
Martha, who’d left the dining room as I’d spoken to Daniel, now came back in and whispered in her husband’s ear. His eyebrows shot up and he looked straight at us.
“If you’ve finished your breakfast, Jerry, can you spare me a minute?”
“Sure.” Jerry pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. I did likewise.
“Come through to the office,” Tom instructed, as he strode out.
I went after him quickly, even though I hadn’t been invited. Tom had spoken casually enough, but his face was so red that I feared an attack of apoplexy at any moment.
“You can forget about finding the Tremayne Treasure.” He sat down heavily in his chair.
Jerry glanced at me and did his raising one eyebrow trick. “The jewel has been returned?” he asked.
“No.” Tom looked disgusted. “But we know who took it. Martha’s just informed me that Cavendish is nowhere in the building and his bed has not been slept in.”
Which, to my mind, did not mean that he was the thief. I could think of any number of reasons that the tutor was not around, but Tom was sure he’d got his culprit.
“Who would have thought I’d been nurturing a viper in my bosom all this time. No wonder Cavendish was so interested in the history of the Tremaynes. Ha! I should have seen it before.” He pounded his fist on the desk.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Jerry. “Has a thorough search been made?”
Tom squirmed in his chair. “As far as I know, yes. Thornley has looked for him, and so has Miss Tillett.”
Hardly a search party, I thought, though Thor especially would know both house and grounds like the back of his hand. On any other day, I might believe that the boy might have made a game of it and spent some time looking for his tutor, but on Christmas morning, with all its excitements, and presents to unwrap, there were far more pressing things demanding an eight-year-old’s attention. Any search would have been cursory at best.
“How long has he worked for you?” asked Jerry.
“Not that long.” Tom said. “Only about eighteen months.
“Long enough for him to have taken the jewel before now.”
Tom leaned back, fingers interlaced on his paunch. “Ah, yes, but this is the first occasion in all that time that Martha and I have had a house full. He seized his opportunity while we were distracted.”
“So, what do you intend doing about it?”
“Well, the local constabulary won’t thank me for calling them out on Christmas Day, and the man’s had nigh on a twelve hour start. What would you suggest?”
“Call them,” said Jerry, without hesitation. “At least let them know that Cavendish is missing. For all you know he could be in police cells after a night on the town, or in hospital after being mugged.”
The owner of Thornley Park pulled at an earlobe as he considered this. “All right,” he said, “but you mark my words. Cavendish is our man.”
He might be right at that, I thought, but he had not a shred of evidence for his assertion. Still, if he was happy, then that meant Jerry and I could relax and enjoy the rest of the Christmas break.
A light tap sounded on the door and Martha peered in. “Tom, come on, love. We’re all waiting for you, and the children won’t contain themselves much longer.”
“We’ll be right there,” Tom assured her.
He levered himself out of the chair and stumped off.
Jerry caught hold of my elbow as I went to follow our host.
“You know, beloved —”
“That there’s a distinct waft of red herring about the place?” I said, and he nodded. “Well, I’m glad it’s not just me that thinks so.”
“And what else did you notice?”
“That your brother-in-law hasn’t called the police, after all.”
“Yes. Odd, don’t you think?”
It was more than odd, and my heart gave a lurch. What if Sir Tom was playing us all for fools?
***
The fire in the living room was welcome after the rather frosty air in Tom’s office. We took our seats on an empty sofa and, as if this were a signal, everyone exchanged gifts. Martha handed the children one present each from under the tree and with a squeal of delight Cissy tore into the wrapping paper with all the frenzy of a bargain hunter at the New Year sales. Thor was a little more restrained, but with five more presents, from respective aunts and uncles, for each of them to open it was as much fun watching them as it was to open our own.
Thor was on his second parcel, having thanked his Aunt Sonia for a book on monsters, when I heard him call out.
“Wow! Dad! Look at this!”
I glanced up. Tom was down on his knees beside him.
“Very nice, son. Who’s that from?”
“Uncle Jerry and Veri ... um Aunt Verity. It’s a remote-controlled car.” His eyes were alight. “A Jaguar in British Racing green.”
He was stopped from opening the box by his mother who took it from him and passed him another parcel. “Later,” she said.
“Thank you, Uncle Jerry and Aunt Verity.” Thor said politely, and started on his next present.
I dragged my attention back to Jerry, busy unwrapping my second gift.
“That’s perfect. Wherever did you find it?” He turned the book over in his hands. “It’s been out of print for ages.”
“I have my methods, I’m a researcher, remember.”
In fact, it hadn’t been all that difficult. There are several specialist bookshops in London and elsewhere that stock out of print works and incunabula—books produced by some of the first printing presses. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I had found it, bought it, and had it delivered within the week.
Jerry’s gift to me was a beautiful gold wire and seed pearl necklace and I exclaimed in delight as I opened the box.
“I don’t buy you enough jewellery,” he said, as I took the delicate piece out and ran it through my fingers.
“Don’t get into the habit, old man,” said Peter. “They come to expect it and it’s a costly habit, believe me.”
Candice elbowed him in the ribs and everyone laughed.
“Thank you,” I pecked Jerry on the cheek. “It’s beautiful.”
He helped to fasten it around my neck and a second later, a small blonde moppet landed in my lap.
“Sank you, Aunty Verty,” she lisped. She reached out for a hug and planted a wet kiss on my cheek.
“You’re very welcome, Cecily.”
She whirled away and ran to Martha. “Mummy can I wear it, now?”
I had bought the child a princess outfit for dressing up in. The set came complete with diamanté tiara and satin shoes and was the best that I could find and afford. Her father’s billions would no doubt one day buy her the real thing, but I told myself that it was the thought that counts. Unfortunately, his daughter promptly threw a temper tantrum when Martha refused to let her wear them immediately.
“No, dear. You can put it on after dinner.”
“But I want to wear it now.”
“No. Look, here’s another present.”
“Don’t want it.”
“But you don’t know what’s inside.”
Cissy stamped her foot. “I want to wear my dress.” She began to howl. “Want this.” She shook the cellophane bag in front of her mother’s face.
“Cecily behave,” Tom barked.
This did nothing to stop the screams and, with melt-down imminent, a harassed Martha stood up and scooped the child into her arms.
“Sorry,” she said, her gaze travelling the room. “Too much excitement.”
She carried Cissy off into the kitchen and Liz took that moment to say, “Are you planning on having children, Verity?”
The room had suddenly become stiflingly hot. I wanted to wave a hand in the direction Martha had taken and say, “Not if that’s anything to go by, I’m not.” I swallowed it back. This was the second time I’d been put on the spot by what I considered a personal question and I still had no ready answer for it. I simply muttered, “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Jerry took my hand in his. “I’m not sure that Verity is overly fond of children and we’ve both got busy careers. Besides, with Peter’s two boys, there’s no worry about the Farishes continuing, and there’s Michael.”
“Oh, I’ll have kids, no problem,” said the youngest of the siblings. “One day, I mean, when we’re ready to start a family.” He smiled at Kathy, who blushed and smiled prettily.
I fiddled with my necklace, lifting it over the neck of my dress. It hung against the blue velvet and shimmered in the firelight. Acutely uncomfortable, I let the Farish family talk about children and fastened my gaze on Thor, still sitting on a stool by the side of the fireplace, quietly opening his remaining presents. Besides the book from Sonia and Bill and the car that Jerry had bought him, he’d also received an illuminated globe and a pair of slippers.
He looked up at me and winked.
“You’ve got a good haul there, Thor.”
“Yes,” he said. Picking up the book he rose to his feet and brought it across to me. “Have you heard,” he murmured, “about Mr Cavendish?”
“This looks like a fun book,” I said in my normal voice. Then I lowered it. “Yes, Dad told me and Uncle Jerry.”
“Do you think he took the Tremayne Treasure?” he whispered.
“Do you?”
He made a pretence of showing me a picture and I smiled and nodded, wondering whether he’d be a spy or an actor when he grew up. Probably neither.
“No,” said Thor, “he’d be too scared. He’s a wimp.”
I didn’t think the tutor guilty either, though not for Thor’s reason. Oddly enough, I might have believed that Cavendish had taken the miniature if he hadn’t also disappeared. Why would the tutor, who had not struck me as a stupid man, throw up the cushy number he had here at Thornley Park in exchange for eighty grand and a criminal record? Why run away and draw attention to himself and his crime when there was a house full of people, any of whom might be guilty? A clever man like him could have easily thought up a ruse to pin it on one of us, and got clean away with it.
“I’ve got that list you asked me for.” He patted his pocket.
“That was quick work. Well done!” I said. “Can you let me have it when we go into lunch?”
“Yes, okay.”
“What are you two conspirators up to?” asked Jerry. I knew he’d heard every word. “You’re not plotting on putting frogs in my bed again, are you?”
He looked sternly at Thor, though a twinkle lurked in Jerry’s deep brown eyes.
“Again? Heavens, Thor. You didn’t put a frog in your Uncle’s bed, did you?”
“I did.” The boy gurgled with laughter, and I swear I fell in love.
“Did you get into trouble?”
“No. Uncle Jerry told me off, but he didn’t mean it, and he didn’t tell on me.”
No, he might be annoyed, but Jerry was not the sort to take a boy to task for a prank he’d probably played himself when young. Nor would he have betrayed him to his parents, especially as it wasn’t even a real frog, Jerry said, but a novelty item, made from rubber.
“Luckily, I saw it before I lay on it, but the feel of the thing when I picked it off the sheets was disgusting.” He fixed the boy with a steely glare. “You’re not going to do that to someone else this Christmas, are you?”
Thor shook his head and looked so innocent he instantly aroused my suspicions.
“Promise,” said Jerry.
“All right.” Thor took a deep breath, his face a mix of resignation and disappointment. “I promise.”
“Good lad.”
Thor returned to his stool to open his remaining present, a jigsaw puzzle of Thomas the Tank Engine from Peter and Candice.
“You know,” Jerry murmured, “if we could have one like that, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
I shared his sentiments. Thornley was my type of boy, but I didn’t trust myself to say anything. Instead I got to my feet, excused myself and went in search of Martha.
An apology, for buying the gift that had caused her child such grief, was probably uncalled for—the blame for that lay not with me or the dress, but the clash of wills between mother and daughter. Nevertheless, when I found her at the foot of the back stairs behind the kitchen, it gave me the chance to take her on one side and ask a few questions of Jerry’s oldest sister.
“Oh, that’s not your fault,” she said, when I expressed my regret. “Cissy isn’t usually so badly behaved, it’s all the excitement and the change in her routine that’s done it.”
“Where is she now?”
“With Miss Tillett, who has the magic touch with Cissy—and the Calpol, of course.”
I remembered Calpol—strawberry flavoured pain relief for babies and young children, and almost guaranteed to quieten a fractious child.
“Was there something else?” she asked, as I lingered.
There was plenty, I suddenly realized. All those questions that Jerry, or I, should have asked earlier.
“Yes, when was the last time you saw Mr Cavendish?”
She sagged and rubbed her hand around her face. “Last night, after putting the children to bed and before we went to the carol service. Tom thinks he stole the Hilliard Miniature.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, I don’t know what to think. He’s always been a quiet man, and of late he’s been positively taciturn and distant, so I suppose he might have been planning on taking the Tremayne Treasure. I wouldn’t have thought it of him, though.”
“Until he disappeared?”
“Well, yes. It does look suspicious.”
She and Miss Tillett had searched the house, apart from the guest bedrooms and, if he’d been in any of those, Cavendish would have been found quickly. Then she had sent the gardener to search the outside buildings and the area around the house, the entirety of the estate being too big for anything but a full-scale police effort, though it may yet come to that, if Tom ever called the police.
“Would you mind, Martha, if I looked in Mr Cavendish’s bedroom?”
She looked surprised, but nodded. “I can assure you he’s not there, but if you think it will help, yes, of course. What is it you expect to find?”
I hadn’t the faintest idea. I just hoped I’d know when I found it.