Elena prepared carefully for her stay at Wyndham Hall. How she dressed would make a powerful first impression. She would be there for at least four or five days, maybe more.
Who was she pretending to be? Margot’s younger sister, a little less sophisticated, never married and therefore not widowed by the war, as Margot had been. Earning her own living as a photographer. She should be different from Margot, but not so much that the assembled company would not see her as belonging. Therefore, she must be glamorous, but always within good taste, comfortable but not extravagant, pleasing but not outstanding or disturbing. Predictable. Ugh. She gave a little shiver. She hated to be seen as conformist. But the job was what mattered.
Mrs. Smithers from the MI6 office went with her to shop for clothing. The woman would have been carefully briefed by Peter Howard, of course, and she had authority over the account. At first Elena resented it, but she learned from experience that Mrs. Smithers had excellent taste, and the inclination to spend far more than Elena would have dared.
Mrs. Smithers was a nondescript sort of person, instantly forgettable. The moment she left a room, one would struggle to describe her in a way that anybody would recognize her by. She was like so many other middle-aged women of average height and build, an ordinary Englishwoman of indeterminate coloring, with faded fair hair and washed-out blue eyes. She had a quiet voice. Mrs. Smithers could be Mrs. Anybody. Probably, she was a widow. Elena wondered if she was utterly different underneath that bland exterior. The thought had even crossed her mind that perhaps she had been a field agent. Her complete ordinariness could be her greatest advantage, but Elena would never know.
“I think two really excellent evening gowns, two day dresses, and various blouses and skirts,” Mrs. Smithers listed as they entered the large dress shop, where they began their search for whatever was needed. “And perhaps a pair of trousers, don’t you think? Black silk? Or maybe white. Oh, and of course something sober for church. If they attend a service, you must have something suitable. And a hat, naturally.”
“Ah, yes,” Elena agreed. Mrs. Smithers looked so old-fashioned in her conventional faded blue dress. “Yes, please,” she said, nodding obediently.
Mrs. Smithers was always very clear in her mind as to what she liked. She behaved like a rich but rather conventional aunt or godmother. “Try it on, dear,” she ordered for every garment. She handed Elena a dress. “We can start with this. I need to be sure that the black silk drapes dramatically.”
Elena slipped it on. The dress was brilliant, made of a shimmering silk, one of those unstructured gowns that only developed character when on the body. Then it was marvelous! Its drape was perfect: It flattered every curve, all shadows and light and infinite grace.
“Yes,” Mrs. Smithers said in approval after Elena had done no more than step out of the changing cubicle and walk a short distance. “Thank you,” she told the saleswoman. “We will take it. Go back, dear, and try the other, the oyster-colored satin.”
Elena obeyed, but unwillingly. Oyster was unflattering. It drained one’s own color and gave little back. Margot had said that only women with perfect coloring themselves or those with no dress sense at all would wear it. “People will believe you are going to faint!” she had warned. “You need lightening up, not dialing down!” But then, Margot had dark eyes and dramatic black hair. Elena’s hair had been a wishy-washy blond then, and those were her own words, not Margot’s. Was this Mrs. Smithers’ first mistake? Or did Elena’s lightened hair, now a shining blond, make enough of a difference?
The gown was comfortable. It was swathed across the bosom and fell in heavy folds down the right side, all the way to the floor, and then moved very slightly when she walked. One shoulder was bare. It was rather striking, except for the color. She walked out of the cubicle and then slowly across the open space toward Mrs. Smithers.
Mrs. Smithers stared at her.
“We have something similar, not quite as well cut, in green,” the saleswoman suggested.
“No, thank you,” Mrs. Smithers replied politely, then turned to Elena. “You will wear a brighter lipstick, much brighter, and pin your hair up in a classical fashion. Add a little color to your cheeks. You have excellent bones. The men will look at you and wonder if your composure hides passion or not. The women will resent the fact that you need no help to be striking and can get away with wearing such an exquisite but trying shade.”
Elena did not argue. Mrs. Smithers had chosen clothes for her before, especially for Berlin, which had been just a few months ago, and she knew better than to protest.
They selected a pair of pale-gray silk chiffon trousers and several blouses to go with them in shades of gray, cream, and black. One blouse had lace inserts, and another a big bow at the neck, as might have been expected more at the waist. It was a magnificent mixture of femininity and ease.
The women left the shop laden with bags. Elena was filled with confidence, as well as gratitude for Mrs. Smithers, which she did not forget to express. What remained was to justify all the cost of this, which meant that she must wear the clothes with grace and confidence.
There was no time to waste. At home, Elena packed one case. It was larger than she had intended, but she knew she must get everything in without crushing it. She gave the contents a quick once-over and then grabbed the case and headed to her car.
It was a considerable distance to the Cotswolds and Wyndham Hall, which gave her time to think. She was relieved that she was not expected to use a different name this weekend, or some profession that she had to remember. This meant no false passport, no new identity. And as far as she knew, there was no danger to her personally. What counted most was that she did not embarrass Margot, or in any way let her down.
She was also comforted knowing that she would not be alone in the task. James Allenby would be there. She had not been in touch with him since that terrible occasion in Washington, D.C. One did not “keep in touch” with other agents. And between then and now, there had been her trip to Berlin and its tragedies, including the terrible violence of the Night of the Long Knives. It had been so recent, yet here in England it seemed to her as if it could have been another age, even another world.
As she approached the village nearest to Wyndham Hall, which was named Wyndham Magna, Elena thought that the Cotswolds must rank among the most peaceful, and certainly the most beautiful, of all the places in the world. What was lovelier than old hamlets basking in the sun and the gold fields, many still dotted with harvested stooks of wheat? The trees, ancient oaks, leaning to touch the ground; cows standing in the sun, motionless except for the occasional flick of the tail. Like nearly every village she had passed, this one seemed huddled around an old church built of honey-colored stone. Many of the houses had thatched roofs, where the upper windows were half under the eaves, reminding her of hair that had fallen over the eyes. Flowers around the church, as well as the houses, were glowing in a last glorious burst of color.
Wyndham Hall itself was easy to find. It was a mile or two beyond the village, and the grounds must have been twenty acres at least, including the thick woodlands that surrounded it and stretched into the distance. The drystone wall, about four feet high, was recognizable by its conformity and its excellent state of repair.
The wrought-iron gates were wide open. Elena was able to drive straight in without having to wait for someone to grant her entrance. She parked on the gravel driveway near the front door of the house, got out of the car, and stretched. Taking her case from the trunk, she walked toward the ten-foot-high carved oak door.
It was opened by a butler in uniform black, who inclined his head as if in inquiry. He must have been told who to expect, because he asked politely, “Miss Standish?” Upon seeing her nod and smile, he said, “May I take you inside, and have the footman bring up your case?”
“Thank you,” she accepted, as if this were how she was always greeted. She left the case and followed him across the wide steps and into the house. From the outside it had looked large, as big as four houses put together, but she was still unprepared for what awaited her inside: the magnificence of the hall, with its marble tessellated floor, paneled walls, and great arched ceiling with hanging chandeliers, four of them altogether. They were not yet lit, since sunlight streamed through several tall windows.
“It is beautiful,” she said in awe.
“Yes, madam, it is,” he agreed quietly.
She realized she had been staring and was about to apologize when she understood that her appreciation pleased him. “Yes, and it must surely be unique.”
“We like to think so, madam.”
Before she could think of anything else to add, she became aware of a man descending the left side of a double staircase, which had marble steps and carved oak handrails on both sides curving upward to the first-floor landing. He was a little over average height and, at first glance, fairly ordinary looking. That was, until a warmth lit his face.
He approached Elena, holding out his hand. “David Wyndham,” he said. “And you must be Margot’s sister, Elena. How do you do, Miss Standish? Welcome to Wyndham Hall. I hope you will find it comfortable. Have you driven far? Would you like tea? Or something like lemonade? Isn’t it wonderful weather?”
He phrased each sentence as a question, but Elena heard it as an invitation to enjoy it all.
“How do you do, Sir David?” she replied politely, taking his hand lightly and only for a moment. “Margot said it was beautiful, but she hardly did it justice.” She gestured around the hall. “And you’re right,” she added, “I can’t imagine anything lovelier than the Cotswolds on a late summer’s day.”
David Wyndham smiled, meeting her eyes. “That is indeed a compliment, since Margot tells me you are widely traveled and take quite magical photographs all over the place. I recall seeing some exquisite pictures of early light on a bridge in Trieste, but that was six or eight months ago, in a magazine. And the Standish name comes to mind. Are they some of yours? And I do apologize for my clumsiness if they are not.”
She found herself blushing at the compliment and the fact that he had remembered the photographs. She could feel the heat in her face. Had he looked them up, knowing she was coming? No, that was absurd. Where would he begin? At some library?
“Thank you,” she said, flushing. “Yes, I admit that I’m partial to light in any form: candlelight, lamplight, moonlight. And any form of water, whether it’s snow, mist, or breaking waves. All are wonderful to me.”
“Then I hope you never run out of film,” he answered. “How about sunlight in the sitting room and a glass of cold lemonade? And perhaps a piece of sponge cake?”
“Perfect,” she accepted. “Oh, and is my car all right where I left it?”
“If you give your keys to Burns,” he said, nodding toward the butler, “he will see that it is put away in the garage. Now, let’s show you to your room. One of the maids will unpack your case and have everything pressed that might need it.”
“Thank you,” she said again. “Thank you very much.” She handed over the car keys to the butler and followed a footman up the high, carved staircase. She told herself that she must get over being awed by this and act as if she were used to it. Actually, she had grown up in British embassies in Europe and had visited many fine homes, some of them the size of castles, so she should be able to take it all in stride. Or at least look as if she were.
The bedroom was in the west wing, with tall windows overlooking the garden. At first glance Elena was a little disappointed by the pale-gray walls. Then she realized how soothing the color was, and the white woodwork and white curtains gave the room a light and airy look. There was a large bed made up with crisp white linen, and there were pictures with white mounts on the walls.
She was pleased to see that she had a private bathroom. She freshened up a little, washed her face, and brushed her hair, then left the maid to finish unpacking her things and went downstairs to the sitting room, as indicated by Sir David.
It was a large room, unusually big and bright. One wall was nearly all windows, with large glass double doors leading into the garden. Elena could see the magnificent lawn, bordered by flowerbeds and shaded in places by huge trees. She guessed they were, at the very least, a century old, probably more. In the room, a woman was seated in one of the large easy chairs, its linen upholstery a pale, soft green, a shade or two darker than the walls. Elena assumed her to be Lady Wyndham.
Margot was sitting in a chair that matched the other. Her face lit with pleasure when she saw Elena. She rose to her feet and came forward, arms wide.
Elena hugged her and felt a wave of warmth engulf her. Yes, she had a job to do, and Margot could never know about it, but her sister’s happiness was what fully occupied her heart. Now she stepped back and met Margot’s eyes, which were shining with joy.
Margot made the introductions. The woman smiled at Elena and stood up.
“Lady Wyndham, thank you so much for inviting me to your beautiful home, and I’m so looking forward to meeting your brother.” Elena held out her hand.
“Call me Griselda, and may we call you Elena?” the woman said with a charming smile, taking Elena’s hand in hers.
There was no possible answer but to thank her, using her name with equal warmth.
They sat down. Margot poured the lemonade, and Griselda offered Elena a slice of sponge cake already on a plate. The cake was covered with whipped cream.
Elena took it with thanks and found it so light that she barely felt the weight of it. When she cut into it with the small silver cake fork, she discovered that it was filled with crushed raspberries.
The lemonade was refreshing and the cake delicious. The three women spoke naturally and easily about general subjects, such as books they had read, plays that would be part of the coming season in London, and people they all knew, or at least had heard of.
As they spoke, Elena looked across at Margot. They were so different, the Standish sisters, and yet they shared so much history and emotion. Margot moved with the grace of a dancer, even though she had always believed herself too tall for classical ballet. With her dark hair swept back in a fashionable chignon, she managed to make the popular bobbed haircut look like the easy way out of being willing to style it. Elena remembered how, for evening, Margot often wore a jeweled comb with pride, as if it were a tiara. Today, she was wearing an afternoon dress in dark-red silk. It wasn’t scarlet, like the dress she had worn in the early morning light of Amalfi well over a year ago, when Elena had photographed her dancing alone in the village square, but it was lovely.
At the time, in Italy, her sister’s dance had seemed to Elena the epitome of courage, of life, in spite of all the darkness behind them. As the shadows of Nazism deepened, threatening what lay ahead, that was when Elena had promised herself: I, too, will dance in a red dress, and dare the darkness to stop me!
But it had stopped her, albeit only briefly.
She smiled at Margot now with pure happiness for her.
It was early evening, and the world was still bathed in sunlight. Elena was upstairs in her room, trying to decide what to wear for dinner, when there was a knock on her bedroom door.
“Coming,” she called, expecting Margot.
The handle turned and the door opened, but it was James Allenby who stood there, glancing to either side before he came in and closed the door behind him. He was taller than she had remembered, and there was more wry humor in his face.
“How are you?” he asked quietly. He looked grave, as if it were not just the usual greeting, but a serious question to which he wished an answer.
“Peter told you about Munich?” she asked.
“Only a little,” he replied. “But secondhand information about what happened is not the same as firsthand on how you are. I know about the history, but what about you?” He spoke softly, as if making certain that no one outside, either on the landing or in the hallway, could hear him.
Elena noticed that he had locked the door upon entering, perhaps in case a maid arrived to turn down the bed. She thought this was unlikely, since the staff would assume she was changing for dinner.
She felt a sudden moment of apprehension, a heaviness from the past. They had last met in Washington, when there had been death and the shadow of betrayal. It had been intensely personal, being involved in a murder and what could have been a scandal grave enough to destroy her family name.
For this visit, she had told Margot that she and Allenby were a couple. She hoped profoundly that the attention would be entirely on Margot. The memory of all the past weight of emotion was too heavy to carry.
“It was horrible,” she replied. “Sometimes I dream of it, and I’m grateful to wake up in my own room, in England.”
“It’s not over,” he said with a sharp edge to his voice. “That is, we have another situation and it’s only beginning. Did Peter Howard tell you anything?”
“Actually, Grandfather Lucas told me more,” she answered, trying to iron all emotion out of her voice. Whatever memories Allenby awakened in her, good or bad, this was not the time for them. And yet, all her jobs for MI6, the real ones—not the filling-in-time-with-paperwork jobs—had been fraught with emotion, drowning in it. But this was no time to remember. She could keep only so many things at the top of her mind at the same time. She needed to focus on the here and now.
Allenby crossed the room until he was standing close to her. “You know much of this, but let me boil it down.” When she said nothing, he continued, “John Repton has been murdered and left in a ditch near here. We need to find out who killed him. Even more than that, we need to know what Repton had uncovered that was so important that he had to be silenced. The most likely reason for his death seems to be somehow connected to people of influence.” He lowered his voice. “British sympathizers with Hitler. Idealists who can’t bear the thought of another war—and we can hardly blame them. So many people don’t believe what they read about Hitler and his storm troopers and, God help us, see no harm in the rising anti-Semitism.”
Elena took a long, deep breath and then let it out slowly.
“All the signs seem to be pointing to David Wyndham,” Allenby went on. “At least this appears to be where Repton’s attention was directed.”
She felt her stomach tighten. Was it possible? And if someone in this house were to blame, what might it do to Margot and any possible future with Wyndham’s brother-in-law and Griselda’s brother, Geoffrey Baden?
“It may not involve everybody in this house,” Allenby said, as if reading her mind. His voice was surprisingly gentle.
“Geoffrey?”
“He has influence, certainly, and so does Landon Rees, married to Wyndham’s sister, involved as he is in the steel industry and the production of armaments. But it’s the Wyndhams themselves who seem to have considerable wealth. Have you any idea what this place is worth?”
“I can’t begin to guess. Does that matter?”
“It might well be that such wealth gives him power. David Wyndham has a lot of people listening to him and taking his advice, which, up until now, has been pretty sound.”
“Advice about what?” She was questioning him because she did not want him to be right.
“If I knew that for certain we wouldn’t need to be here,” he replied. “I realize this is hard, and I’m sorry. But if you have to get Margot out, better now than when the damage is irreparable. On the other hand, if you find the truth, it may prove Wyndham innocent.”
Elena saw that his expression was rueful, as if he was remembering other tragedies that had seemed to unravel, then suddenly revealed one fact that shattered everything, turned it all inside out.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated gently. “I hate this. Not as much as you do, but a lot.”
“Did you know John Repton?” she asked. It was not avoiding the subject. In fact, this was perhaps going to the heart of it.
“Yes, but I hadn’t seen him lately,” Allenby replied. “This was to have been his last case, and—”
“How do you know?” she interrupted.
“Peter told me. He liked him. I think Repton was something of a mentor in Peter’s early days.”
“I thought my grandfather was Peter’s mentor.”
“Your grandfather was the master of them all, but Repton was nearer Peter’s age. Fifteen years older, perhaps a little more, and now he was about to retire. As I said, this was meant to be his last case for MI6.”
Elena observed Allenby’s emotions with surprise, and then a sudden empathy. He rarely showed his feelings, so this must cut deeply. To be killed at the end of a career, with all those days, months, years ahead to do what he’d always dreamed of doing. “Do you know anything about what he was investigating, or who?”
“I have to be careful about asking. I can’t ruin my cover.”
“What is your cover?”
He gave a slight shrug, quite an elegant gesture for a large man. “I’m supposed to be here courting you! Or at least considering it.”
He was looking at her quizzically. She had forgotten how easily he could make her feel self-conscious. She wanted to say something defensive, which would give her away completely. She felt like such a novice! Instead, she lifted her shoulder casually. “I shall have to remember to behave as if I, too, am considering it. I don’t want to discourage you.”
For a moment he looked taken aback, then he burst into laughter. “Very nice.” He applauded. “It won’t be so difficult after all!”
Elena’s mood shifted to somber. “How do we want to proceed?”
“Finding the weapon that killed Repton would be a good start,” Allenby said. “And the place where he was killed.”
Elena nodded but said nothing. Strategizing was Allenby’s strong suit, and they rarely disagreed on the steps they needed to take.
“We need to check out Repton’s house,” he continued. “It’s a few hours from here. I’m not sure what the local police know, but they definitely don’t have him pegged as MI6.”
The way he paused and the expression on his face caused a red flag to wave in Elena’s mind. “What?”
“We need to keep a close eye on the Wyndham family.” Before she could respond, he added, “And yes, that includes your sister. Not that she’s involved. But because she might find herself in the middle of a very nasty situation.”
Elena thought about this conversation after Allenby left, checking the landing and hallway to be sure he would not be seen.
She knew she needed to dress carefully for dinner, having been warned that it was quite a formal affair. Margot had also told her that there were to be other guests, including Prudence Rees, who was David Wyndham’s sister, and her husband, Landon Rees. Allenby had told her that he was a man of far more power than was generally known.
Elena did not have jewelry to wear, but she had one of the best black silk gowns she had ever seen. Thanks to Mrs. Smithers, she also had plain black shoes with diamanté buckles—detachable, of course, so as to go with other things less formal.
She applied mascara on her lashes, wishing they were darker. But then, even without help, her hair was naturally fair, like silk when the light flashed on it. Now that she colored it, it glowed. She wore it shoulder length and coiled up loosely, leaving it in a soft, rich curve.
She put on the gown and slipped into her shoes. One long glance in the mirror confirmed that she would definitely not embarrass Margot.
Elena took a deep breath. Now it was time to stop thinking about the evening ahead. As long as she looked natural, and a little excited for Margot, she would have to play anything else as it occurred.
She left her room and descended the magnificent staircase. Any woman who could not make a dramatic entrance, considering these splendid surroundings, wasn’t trying!
Sir David Wyndham was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for someone, but surely not her. Thank heaven this gown was not long enough to trip over. She must walk slowly, absolutely straight-backed, and not look down. She could hear the voice of her mother in the back of her mind: Walk slowly, don’t hurry, and above all, don’t trip. She found herself smiling at the memory.
Sir David looked up at her, smiling quite candidly with pleasure. “Marvelous,” he said when she reached the bottom. “You are every bit as lovely as your sister. And every bit as glamorous, and yet utterly different. Mr. Allenby is a lucky man.”
She smiled back at him, meeting his eyes. “Not yet,” she corrected rather coquettishly. “He needs to try a little harder.” The minute the words were out, she could have bitten her tongue. She should have let it go with a “Thank you.”
Wyndham laughed quite openly. It was a wonderfully happy sound. He offered his arm. “My sister, Prudence, is here. I haven’t seen her yet. She and her husband, Landon, are off somewhere deep in conversation with Geoffrey. If you will allow me, I should be delighted to escort you to the withdrawing room. We are all being terribly formal tonight, although I have no idea why. But any excuse to dress up is good enough.”
“Thank you.” Elena accepted his arm lightly and walked beside him.
They moved across the hall, along the broad corridor toward the west wing of the house, and then into the huge withdrawing room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto the more formal part of the garden. The curtains around these windows were a floral design with roses against green leaves, and they were tied back with silk ropes to show the view. She was sure that sometime around October they would be exchanged for velvet, something darker, richer, and far warmer.
The moment she had a full view of the garden, she declared, “Oh!” She stopped and forced David Wyndham to stop beside her.
“You like it?” he asked, amused.
“It’s wonderful,” she said honestly. “I hardly know where the flowers in the curtains end and the garden begins!”
“Brava,” he exclaimed. “Margot said you quite often come up with the unexpected, but she made it sound like a warning. I disagree: That was lovely. I still have a renewed pleasure every time I see it.”
They stepped farther into the room, which was so large it looked half empty. Her eyes fell first on Griselda, who was dressed in rich pink lace. It was a beautiful dress, but somehow it did not flatter her. Her coloring was not delicate enough for something so overtly feminine. Elena reminded herself that she must compliment her on it if she could think of the right words.
Margot stood beside Griselda, her gown burgundy silk, the perfect color to flatter her black hair and wide, dark eyes. The cut of the gown was daring, but she was so slender that it was not in any way revealing. Elena could never get away with such a line! And she would be forever wondering if it was too loud, too low, or if she might have an accident, such as stumbling over the flowing fabric. But Margot was far too elegant to do such a thing.
Margot spotted Elena and smiled broadly. That was all Elena needed, the comfort of knowing that she had dressed in a way that pleased her sister. She returned the smile and was about to join Margot when Geoffrey came forward, looking first at David Wyndham and then at Elena.
“Wonderful!” he said warmly. “The perfect black dress. Nothing overdone, and yet everything filled with grace. You succeed effortlessly. At least, I choose to think that it is so.” He gave her a little nod. “You are, of course, Elena. I’m Geoffrey Baden,” he added, and then turned his head slightly. “Ah, and here’s Pru.” He looked beyond Wyndham and Elena to the couple who had come in just behind them.
Elena turned. She guessed the woman had grown up in this house, which explained why she seemed in no way overwhelmed by it.
Prudence was a couple of inches shorter than Elena, but she held herself like a woman of height and stature. She was superbly dressed in a gown of pale lilac, with almost-bare shoulders and a long train at the back, very simple and very flattering. She resembled her brother, David, in coloring, with brown hair, brown eyes, and pleasant features. And she wore a diamond necklace that must have cost more than a medium-sized house.
How wise of Mrs. Smithers to suggest that Elena take no jewelry at all. Anything she might have worn would have looked sadly modest compared to the necklace worn by Prudence Rees.
The man with Prudence, her husband, Landon Rees, was slender and elegant. His face was strong, with a dramatic nose, and he had thick, wavy hair. Elena noticed that he was barely of average height when he stood in front of her and shook her hand. He had wide, hazel eyes and, when he smiled, perfect teeth.
They fell into polite, easy conversation, such as any group of people of reasonably similar background might. Elena would have liked to talk with Margot, but she could only do so as part of the group. Margot never seemed to be more than a few feet away from either Geoffrey or his sister, Griselda.
Elena looked around the room. Where was Allenby? He was the only one missing. Surely he wasn’t investigating something already? Had something happened to him? Could the same person who had killed Repton be here, in this room, and have put Allenby’s body somewhere in the garden? Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’re losing your grip! Besides, she had seen Allenby only a short time ago.
“…don’t you think?” said a man’s voice from nearby.
She turned to face him. It was Landon Rees. She had no idea what he had said, so she looked into his bemused eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. I don’t know what you said, so I have no idea what I think.”
He smiled back charmingly. “What an unusual woman you are,” he mused. “You look marvelous! Black makes you look as if there’s a flame inside. And then, instead of being polite, predictable, you admit quite candidly that you were not listening to a word I said!”
She could feel heat burning up her face. She wanted to respond with something clever and charming, but no answer sprang to mind.
“I see that I’ve got you on the wrong foot,” he said with another broad smile. “A beautiful woman who is self-assured is most attractive, but one who is vulnerable is irresistible. Do you do it on purpose?”
“Actually, I rather fall into it. Not planned, you know, impromptu!”
For a moment he was the one who looked wrong-footed, as if this was not at all what he had expected her to say. Then he recovered and asked, “You are here alone?”
“No, she isn’t,” a voice cut in.
Elena turned around to see Allenby approaching them. When he arrived at her side, he put his arm around her lightly. “James Allenby,” he said to Landon Rees, extending his hand. “How do you do?”
“You’re a brave man,” Rees said with a smile, shaking Allenby’s hand. Then he turned away and went over to his wife, who was talking to Griselda.
“Where have you been?” Elena asked quietly as they stood apart from the others. “You haven’t been questioning people, have you?” She quickly looked him up and down. He was immaculately dressed in a black dinner suit, like all the other men. He looked good, smooth, effortlessly charming. She reminded herself to do the same. That is, to be effortlessly charming! The last thing she wanted was to cause curiosity.
“Yes,” he replied. “I started with the boot boy, asking him to clean my shoes. I tipped him generously, and he was very pleased to do it. You look wonderful.”
She felt heat climb up her cheeks yet again.
“And you, have you learned anything?”
“No conclusions yet,” she replied quietly. “I haven’t spoken alone with Margot. And I admit, I don’t know what to say to her, except that I want her to be happy.”
“But?” He asked this so quietly that the word was little more than a sigh.
“But…I wish we could find who killed Repton and why, and that it has nothing to do with anyone here.”
He took a breath and then said nothing, but Elena could see in his face that he felt Repton’s death deeply, and that he possibly knew more about it than she did.
The conversation in the room went on comfortably. Griselda was an excellent hostess and, apart from Elena and Allenby, they were all family, or connected, and so knew each other well. Elena felt as if Margot was already included in the Wyndham family. She noted how Griselda laughed with Margot and seemed to turn to her even more naturally than to her husband’s sister, Prudence.
Landon Rees also fell into easy conversation, discussing business with Geoffrey.
Elena watched her sister. Margot seemed happier than Elena could remember her being in years. Everyone spoke to her and included her in conversation. She, in turn, included Elena. There was plenty of laughter and spontaneous joking.
Allenby looked at ease and treated Elena as if they had known each other for some time in a relationship that was not a burning romance. Elena thought of a marriage grown familiar, where there was no longer the need for fear or the heat of emotion. But that was not what either of them was here for. They were looking to flush out the secret that had cost John Repton his life and could cost them theirs, if they were clumsy.
The meal was delicious and more than Elena or the others could eat. No doubt the servants would prepare and finish off what was left, if not tonight, then tomorrow.
After dinner they moved from the table back into the withdrawing room. It was beautiful, lush with comfort. There were two Adam fireplaces, one at either end, made from carved white marble of magnificently simple beauty. There were also a half-dozen large oil paintings, mercifully not portraits, but Constable landscapes. Elena guessed that the locations pictured were close to Wyndham Hall.
They sat with whomever they had been speaking to at the table: Allenby with Landon Rees, Elena with David Wyndham. She was giving only half of her attention to Wyndham, with the rest going to Margot and Geoffrey, but they soon excused themselves to walk outside in the warm late-summer evening.
Conversations were broken up and then re-formed again. Over time, Elena made her way toward Allenby. It did not matter if anyone watching thought she was being a little possessive. She had only just sat on the arm of his chair when the garden door opened again and Geoffrey and Margot came in. They were both smiling, their faces so filled with emotion that all conversation faded for a moment and glances went across the room. Then conversation resumed again as if nothing had changed except the smile on Margot’s face and the ease in her shoulders.
When the evening came to an end, there was a palpable sense of joy surrounding Margot and Geoffrey. Elena climbed the stairs to her room. Before she could undress, there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Allenby standing there. He slipped quickly inside and closed the door behind him.
“I’m going out to look for the rifle,” he said.
“It’s dark!” Elena protested. “You couldn’t find a cannon, much less a rifle, in this light.” Before he could argue, she said, “And I’m coming with you, if you’ll just wait while I put on some suitable clothes! With the two of us working together, at least one of us might fall over it.”
The smile on his face was brief, there and then gone again. “Take a cardigan; it’s chilly outside.”
“That’s because it’s the middle of the night!” she said tartly. “How are we going to explain ourselves if we’re caught?”
“Anybody else creeping around at this time of night has to explain themselves, too,” he pointed out. “You’ll think of something.”
While she pulled on her socks and shoes, he went to the door and opened it noiselessly. After checking the hallway, he signaled for her to follow him.
She felt ridiculous. What on earth could she say to explain this? They already thought she was eccentric. Now they would add “immoral” to the description. Margot would never get over the embarrassment.
Allenby moved silently. Elena did her best to do the same, and she said a silent prayer of gratitude when they descended the stairs and reached the side door that led outside and directly onto a paved path rather than one composed of noisy gravel.
They had moved about thirty feet from the house before she spoke, and then it was in a whisper. “How will we know if it’s the right rifle?”
“I’m hoping they won’t have all that many,” Allenby said, inching his way forward. “I know what I’m looking for. And so do you, if you think about it.”
“What if they have got rid of it?”
“If one gun is missing, that would rather give it away. They are cleverer than that. And what we’re really looking for is the place where Repton was shot. I doubt we’ll find it. His killer will certainly have tried to mask it somehow. If the police had done their job, they might have found it.”
“Perhaps they didn’t really want to find it?” she said miserably. “Then they can say this proves that Repton wasn’t killed here.” She hated sounding so negative, so complaining, but it was a reasonable question.
“I’m sure Chief Constable Miller would not press them to search too diligently,” Allenby said. “Miller is known to be ambitious, and he’ll be reluctant to connect this death with the influential Wyndhams. Whoever killed Repton probably got rid of the body first and then disposed of the rifle.”
She heard the ring of desperation in his voice and regretted being so critical. “We’re looking for somewhere away from the house, so the shot would not have been heard easily, if at all. And not near the stables, because sometimes the grooms sleep there, and the horses would have been spooked.”
“What other buildings are there?” Allenby asked, guiding her through a heavily planted area, although in the dark she could not tell with what. Probably vegetables.
“Why buildings at all?” she asked reasonably. “You think they were wandering around aimlessly, Repton and his killer, and just happened to bump into each other in the dark?”
“No, of course not, that’s absurd,” Allenby said. “We can be sure that the one with the rifle meant to find Repton. What we don’t know is whether Repton meant to find the killer…or not.”
“Then why was Repton here at all?” she asked, and then thought for a moment. “Perhaps he was following someone here—a stranger, or more likely someone who lives here, coming back from going to meet someone else? An ally?”
They were far enough from the house that Allenby could reach into his pocket and pull out two small flashlights and hand one to Elena. He shone it on the ground, first near their feet and then across the expanse of land. In the distance was a large, whitewashed shed that he guessed housed gardening tools.
“These buildings often have a room for everything relating to the hunt: tack, spare riding boots, and rifles.”
The door to the shed was locked, but Allenby was able to open it quite easily with a small tool he took from his pocket.
Inside, it was musty, the earthen floor damp. Hanging from hooks on the walls were scythes and assorted ropes and wires. There was a long rack on which nearly a dozen saddles rested. Shelves lining the walls held bridles, boots, hard hats, and assorted items. There was even a large brass hunting horn.
“Over here,” Allenby called and walked to a locked cabinet that was fastened to the wall with metal brackets. He opened the lock, using the same tool. Inside was a gun wall with hangers for eight rifles.
“They’re all here,” Elena noted.
Allenby leaned closer and examined each weapon. “Wiped clean, all of them. No way to tell which one was used, if any.”
Elena did a quick inspection, sniffing for any hint of gunpowder. “I agree. Now what?”
Allenby closed the cabinet and pushed the lock together, leaving no sign that it had been compromised.
“Let’s look around outside.”
“Can we expect to find anything, even using our torches? It’s jet black out there.”
They left the shed and walked its perimeter. Suddenly, at the back of the building, Elena stopped.
“What is it?” Allenby asked.
“Here.” She pointed to a place on the wall only a few feet above the ground.
They leaned closer, illuminating the area with their flashlights, making visible against the whitewashed surface a spray of what could only have been blood.
Elena looked at Allenby. His face was dimly lit, but there was enough light to read the emotion in it, the same mixture of anger and grief she could feel welling up inside herself. Slowly, she straightened up, and they began to walk toward the house.
“But there’s no way to confirm that it’s Repton’s blood,” she reminded him.
The sky was already paling over the eastern horizon, and a few lights were visible inside Wyndham Hall. They turned their flashlights toward the Hall and retraced their steps.
They had not covered more than a short distance when Elena’s flashlight picked up a reflection. Before she could point it out, Allenby was already moving toward it.
It was a camera, its lens acting as a reflector in the dark night. Elena pulled a tissue from her pocket and lifted it from the earth. “It has to be his.”
“No doubt,” agreed Allenby. “We know Repton never went out without his camera.” As he spoke, he turned it over. The camera had been tampered with. “No film.”
“Which only proves it’s Repton’s,” Elena thought aloud. “Why else remove the film?”
“I’ll go and find the nearest telephone,” Allenby told her. “There’s one on the road leading into the village.”
“Who will you call?” she asked. “Can we trust the local police? Perhaps it’s Peter who should be called.”
As she spoke, a fear took over. If Repton had been killed here, what did that mean for Margot and her future with the Wyndham family?