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“ M iss! Stay back! This isn’t a sight for a young lady to witness.” The bespectacled man dressed in black spoke quickly and with authority. I realized with a start that he wore a clerical collar, so he was probably the local vicar, come to call on the landed gentry of his parish.

Even though he was first on the scene, I dismissed him as a suspect. It was several minutes since I’d heard the gunshot. If he were the gunman, surely he would have fled. Besides, he looked very pale. He was more likely to faint than kill me next.

I bent to take a closer look at the body. Despite the horrid scene, I did my best to focus on the details. They might be important.

The bullet had entered Mr. Shepherd’s chest, so if he’d been walking toward the house, the shot had been fired from there. If away, then the gunman had fired from the garden or one of the trees lining the long drive. I was no expert on bullet wounds, so I couldn’t be sure what type of gun had been used.

I tucked my hand into Mr. Shepherd’s outer jacket pocket.

“Miss! What are you doing?” the vicar cried. “That’s sacrilege!”

“A clue to his murder could be in his pockets.”

“M-murder! Good lord, I doubt it. It must have been an accident. This is Hambledon Hall!”

I wasn’t sure what the house had to do with anything. Finding nothing in the pocket, I went to search another, but the vicar caught my wrist.

“I insist you step back, Miss. You’re violating a dead man.”

Others were coming now, so I obeyed. I didn’t want to embarrass my uncle and aunt by being seen rummaging through a dead man’s pockets.

Uncle Ronald was in the party of men approaching. Lord Kershaw was with him, as was Mr. Browning. The butler brought up the rear.

My gaze connected with my uncle’s. His bullish features folded into a frown at the sight of me. He gave his head a slight shake, and I stepped back, a hand to my chest, pretending to be overwhelmed by my exposure to the gruesome sight. No one else seemed to be paying me any attention, however, so I dropped the act.

Lord Kershaw stood over the body. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Dear God, no. Shepherd.”

“I’m afraid he’s dead,” the vicar announced.

His lordship continued to stare down at the face of the gamekeeper. His own face gave no hint of his thoughts. Perhaps he was too shocked to feel anything yet.

“I heard a gunshot,” Mr. Browning said. “I was in my room at the time and didn’t see anything.”

“Did you see anyone fleeing the scene, Reverend?” Uncle Ronald asked the vicar.

“No.”

“You were here quickly,” I pointed out.

The vicar stilled. It wasn’t until that moment I realized how constant his movements had been. His thumb had rubbed across his gloved knuckles, over and over, and a muscle in his left cheek twitched, tugging the corner of his beard upward as if it were on a puppet string. The neatly trimmed beard made it difficult to guess his age, but I doubted he was older than mid-thirties. He was still extraordinarily pale, so perhaps that was his usual appearance and had nothing to do with what he’d witnessed.

“I was on the driveway,” he said. “I assure you, I saw no one. I assume the gunman disappeared into the woods.”

“I came from the woods,” I said. “I didn’t see or hear anyone running away. The only people I saw the entire time was Mr. Shepherd and another man, arguing.”

The men peppered me with questions all at once.

I answered them one at a time. “I didn’t see his face so I can’t give a description of his appearance. All I can tell you is that he wore a gray cap.” I’d never again disparage a witness for giving a poor account of what they’d seen. It was more difficult to recall details than I had realized.

“Must be a poacher,” Lord Kershaw declared. “Shepherd had run-ins with them from time to time.”

“Don’t poachers usually operate at night?”

Uncle Ronald cleared his throat. “Cleopatra, perhaps you should check on your aunt. You know how delicate her nerves are.”

I turned my attention to the house, but didn’t leave the scene. I might not recall many details prior to the shooting, but I could take in as much as possible now. Given the position of the body—feet pointed toward the house—it was most likely the shot had been fired from there. Unless Mr. Shepherd had spun around after being hit and before falling to the ground, in which case the shot could have come from any direction.

Floyd approached, along with the other two gentlemen guests, plus Lady Kershaw and Mrs. Browning. The men mentioned hearing a gunshot and were full of questions. Uncle Ronald took it upon himself to intercept them before they got too close, but they all spotted the body despite his efforts. His tone was calm, but it didn’t reassure Lady Kershaw and Mrs. Browning. They brushed past him.

Lady Kershaw gasped. “Is that…?”

Mrs. Browning pressed her fingers to her lips. After a moment, she walked away, back toward the house. Her husband’s narrowed gaze tracked her.

“Is the local sergeant a good man?” Uncle Ronald asked.

Lord Kershaw circled an arm around his wife’s waist and angled himself so that he blocked her view of the body. “Er, uh, yes, good enough.” He directed the butler to send for the police.

I followed Mrs. Browning. Behind me, I heard Uncle Ronald sending the others on their way, too.

Floyd suddenly appeared at my side. “Don’t, Cleo.”

“Don’t what?”

“I know that look. You’re determined to find out who fired the fatal shot.”

“I’m a detective, Floyd. It would be unprofessional to do nothing.”

“There’s no point. You heard them asking about the local plod. He’s a good man, so Kershaw says. That’s code for he’ll do what he’s told. Kershaw won’t want a fuss made. He’ll want this swept under the carpet as quickly and quietly as possible, and that means no one will be arrested. No doubt he’ll convince everyone that it was simply a terrible accident.”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages. He can’t dictate a police investigation.”

Floyd snorted. “I didn’t peg you as the na?ve sort, Cousin.”

I stopped and rounded on him. “Where were you when the shot was fired?”

“Excuse me?”

I arched my brows, waiting.

“Don’t be petty, Cleo. Why would I shoot the gamekeeper? Anyway, I was playing tennis.” He indicated his sporting outfit of white pin-striped knickerbockers buttoned below the knees with high socks and a boater. He’d dispensed with the jacket, but his waistcoat matched the knickerbockers.

“Who was with you?” I asked.

“I’m not telling you that, because you’re not investigating.”

The others joined us, so I didn’t have the opportunity to press him. The two gentlemen also wore sporting clothes, as did Flossy, Lady Kershaw and Janet Browning. Mrs. Browning and Aunt Lilian wore elegant daytime outfits, suitable for taking tea, but not for playing tennis. I’d question Flossy later about the other players, if Floyd remained obstinate. Hopefully I could eliminate them all as suspects if they were with her on the tennis court when the incident occurred. There were more staff than guests and family, however. If any of them had access to a gun, the list of suspects would be long.

Speaking of access to guns, my first task would be to check the armory.

Inside the house, we were met by Lady Elizabeth, cautiously making her way down the staircase. “Why all the commotion?”

Janet assisted her great-aunt down the final step. “It’s the gamekeeper. He was shot.”

Lady Elizabeth’s breath hitched. “I heard the gunshot, but I presumed it was simply Mr. Shepherd shooting at a rabbit. Did he…? Was it…an accident?”

“Of course it was. It must have been.” Janet patted her aunt’s hand. “What else could it be?”

“I overheard them say a poacher was in the vicinity,” Flossy said.

One of the gentlemen claimed a witness had seen blows exchanged between the gamekeeper and a trespasser. I didn’t bother to tell them I was the witness and only one punch had been thrown.

“What happens now?” Lady Kershaw appealed to her sister-in-law. “Do we wait for the police to interview us?”

Mrs. Browning was quite composed by comparison, and looked comfortable taking charge. “We carry on as we were. It’s an unfortunate incident, but we mustn’t let it ruin the weekend. It’s the final day, after all. The family and staff can mourn and pay their respects tomorrow. Perhaps you can have luncheon brought forward, Marion. That’ll take everyone’s mind off it. In the meantime, anyone for bridge?”

A look of relief passed over Lady Kershaw’s face. “An excellent idea. I’ll send word to the kitchen.” She made eye contact with a footman who stepped forward to receive instructions.

Some of the party followed Mrs. Browning into the West Gallery and principal drawing room beyond, while others headed upstairs to change for lunch. I broke away while no one was looking and turned into the East Gallery. Thanks to the tour of Hambledon Hall by Lady Kershaw, I remembered the armory was located on the first floor of the bachelor’s wing, accessed via a spiral staircase in the East Gallery.

I fished my lockpicking tool kit out of my pocket as I passed another set of stairs, then the smoking room and billiard room. To my surprise, Harmony stood outside the armory, a feather duster in hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw me. “It’s you, Cleo. I thought you’d come up here.”

I indicated the feather duster. “You’re a lady’s maid, not a parlor maid. No one will believe you’re up here dusting.”

“One maid looks a lot like any other to most.” She tucked the duster under her arm. “I heard you were first at the scene.”

“Second. The vicar claims he was walking toward the house when he heard the gunshot. I’m glad you’re here. You can keep watch while I pick the armory door lock.”

“You fetched your tools already?”

I unfolded the tool kit and removed a pair of slender picks. “I carry them with me everywhere, nowadays.” I crouched and set to the task. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

Harmony checked the watch she kept in the pocket of her skirt. “Seven minutes. The shot was fired ten minutes ago, and no one passed me while I waited here.”

“So the murderer had three minutes in which to return a gun after firing it from a window, assuming it is in here. That’s not long in a house this size. This wing is quite separate.”

“Are you sure it’s murder?”

“Unless I hear a good explanation for why it’s not, I’m treating it as suspicious.”

“Was the shot fired from the direction of the house?”

“I can’t be certain. The body was in front of the house, at the point where the long drive opens up. It’s an exposed area.” The lock clicked and I pushed the door open. “If someone took a gun from here, it’s my guess they still have it and will return it later, when things have settled down, mostly likely during the night.”

The armory housed new guns as well as antiques, including shotguns that were used for hunting and by the previous day’s shooting party. There was other military paraphernalia, too, including dozens of swords and knives displayed on the wall, and a shirt of chain mail that an ancestor had worn in battle. The more decorative pieces were on display either on the wall, or behind glass in cabinets.

“There are so many,” Harmony said, wonder in her voice.

“Lord Kershaw is a collector, as was his father and grandfather before him. He inherited most of these. When Lady Kershaw gave me a tour of the house, he was already in here with all the gentlemen.”

“I don’t understand why all the guns are stored here,” Harmony said. “Even the ones used for hunting.”

“They’re safer in the house than an outbuilding.”

Harmony studied a pair of dueling pistols, their bone handles etched with the Kershaw crest. She opened the glass door of the display cabinet and picked one up. “Do these old ones still work?”

“I don’t know.” I was more interested in the modern guns, stored in two cupboards. Neither cupboard door was locked, but none of the guns were missing. Drat . I’d been so sure the murder weapon had been taken from the armory.

“Cleo.” Harmony sounded ominous. “Was that space empty when you came in here on your tour?”

I followed her gaze to the wooden display pegs sticking out from the wall. “No. Those were holding an antique rifle.”

“It must be the murder weapon. Now all we have to do is wait and watch to see who returns it.”

That would have been a good plan, except we’d stand out like elephants. While the bachelor’s wing wasn’t strictly off-limits to women, there was no reason for us to be there. We’d look suspicious.

“I have another task for you,” I told her. “Find out where the servants were when the shot was fired and who was with them. Take a note of any who can’t be accounted for or were alone at that time.”

“What will you do?”

“The same thing, but with the guests and family.”

We ate a light luncheon on the terrace. The casual arrangement allowed me to move among the other guests and listen in to conversations. Lady Kershaw put an end to my endeavors before I’d truly begun, however. She made a point of introducing me to the vicar, Reverend Pritchard.

“I know you have already met, but I don’t think that should count,” she said, smiling. “This is a more appropriate place to make new acquaintances. Or, if I may be forward, new friends .”

I caught her exchanging a sly look with Aunt Lilian and inwardly groaned.

If Reverend Pritchard noticed, he was polite enough not to say. “I want to apologize for earlier, Miss Fox. I don’t think we started on the right foot.”

“I agree with Lady Kershaw. That encounter should be set aside. The circumstances were…extenuating.”

“Reverend Pritchard was invited to join us for shooting and dinner yesterday,” Lady Kershaw went on, “but unfortunately, he was detained elsewhere.”

“Duty called.” The vicar pressed one finger to the bridge of his glasses as he glanced around at the party. His gaze settled on one of the gentlemen chatting to Floyd.

Lady Kershaw encouraged me with a nod then excused herself, leaving me alone with someone who may or may not have killed the gamekeeper. “Did you know Mr. Shepherd?” I asked.

“Who? Oh. Yes, the er… No, not really. I met him only once.”

“He wasn’t a regular churchgoer?”

“Not in my time, but I’ve only served this parish for six months.”

“Where were you before that?”

“Cornwall.”

“You don’t have a Cornish accent.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Whereabouts in Cornwall?”

“A small village. A mere speck on the map.” He gave me the sort of smile I suspected he gave an annoying parishioner he was forced to converse with after a service. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Fox. You’re the niece of Lady Bainbridge, I hear.”

Despite giving me his undivided attention, I got the distinct impression he wasn’t interested in a word I said. I was relieved when Floyd joined us.

“Excuse me, Reverend, do you mind if I borrow my cousin for a moment?” Floyd asked.

The vicar stepped away with a bow and sipped from his wineglass. He was alone for barely a moment before Lady Kershaw swooped in. She seemed to have recovered from her earlier uncertainty over the correct protocol following the untimely death of one’s gamekeeper, and was once again immersing herself in her hostess duties.

“I thought you might need rescuing,” Floyd said to me.

“You thought correctly, although you do surprise me. I was sure you’d want me to become good friends with him by the end of luncheon.”

“The vicar?” He snorted. “He’s not your type. If that’s my mother’s reason for forcing an introduction, then I apologize. She’s not in her right mind at the moment.”

I saw an opening for a deeper conversation about his mother’s health. “You need to do something about that.”

“Me?”

“Talk to her. Tell her to get a new doctor, at the very least.”

He shook his head. “It’s up to my father to talk to her, not me.” He eyed the table of food. “Do you think it’s too soon for a second helping?”

We both added cucumber sandwiches to our plates. “Do you find this all very odd?” I whispered. “A man has died and everyone is carrying on as normal. Not only that, but I believe the police have already left.”

“They have.”

“Why didn’t the sergeant speak to me about the argument I overheard in the woods? I gather Lord Kershaw will try to place the blame on that man, so I expected to be questioned about it, if only to add weight to his theory.”

“His lordship passed on your account. You didn’t see his face, he wore a cap, you couldn’t hear their words, but you sensed they were heated…” He waved a sandwich in the air before taking a bite. “There’s nothing more to it, is there?”

He was right, there wasn’t, but I would have liked the opportunity to give my version.

Through a combination of eavesdropping and asking discreet questions, by the time the servants came to clear away the plates and glasses, I’d learned that the only people unaccounted for at the time of the gunshot were Lord and Lady Kershaw, Mr. and Mrs. Browning, Janet Browning, and Lady Elizabeth. The rest were either playing tennis or walking in the garden with one or more witnesses. Hopefully Harmony had similar success with the staff, which would leave us with a limited pool of suspects.

Despite Lady Kershaw’s efforts, the mood at Hambledon Hall was strange. It didn’t feel right to continue as we were. Playing sports and parlor games required a liveliness that no one felt comfortable expressing, even those of us who didn’t know Mr. Shepherd. Yet the air was not heavy with mourning, either. Lord and Lady Kershaw seemed unaffected by the gamekeeper’s passing, and the footmen and butler maintained typically blank expressions as they carried out their duties.

It wasn’t until most of the guests had dispersed to their rooms after lunch finished that I saw Lord and Lady Kershaw having a terse discussion at the end of the terrace. I couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but it was obvious from their faces and the way they held themselves that all wasn’t well. Her lips formed a thin line, while he scrubbed one forefinger so vigorously, I worried he’d remove skin.

When we met in my bedroom, Harmony reported the mood was similar below stairs. “The only person mourning him is one of the young maids. The housekeeper sent her to her room, because she won’t stop crying. The rest seem unaffected.”

“Are they pleased, do you think? Relieved?”

“It’s difficult to say. They’re not giving much away in front of the visiting maids and valets. They exchange glances with each other from time to time, but it’s not clear what message they’re conveying among themselves. I think they’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s actually gone. I got the impression Mr. Shepherd was quite the fixture at Hambledon.”

“He has worked here for years, apparently. His father was the gamekeeper before him, so he grew up on the estate.”

“Lord Kershaw would have known him since childhood,” she pointed out.

“As would his sister, Mrs. Browning. His aunt, Lady Elizabeth, would have known him since he was born. If Shepherd’s murder is the result of a long-held grudge, then they should be our prime suspects.”

Harmony arched her brows at me. “Lady Elizabeth seems rather doddery. I doubt she could hold a gun steady.”

I agreed it wasn’t likely. “The shot was spot on. It probably killed him instantly. Such accuracy requires a steady hand and good eye.”

“And experience. I suspect it would require years of practice.”

She had a point. While the women hadn’t participated in the shooting the day before, it didn’t rule them out. I’d have to discover whether Lady Kershaw, Mrs. Browning and Janet had any skill with firearms.

We spent some time searching the woods for the missing antique rifle. Finding it before it was returned to the armory would be a great help in narrowing down the list of suspects. Most had come from the house after hearing the gunshot, but the Reverend Pritchard had approached from along the driveway. There was also the fellow in the gray cap we’d seen earlier. If the rifle had been stashed behind a bush or tree, either one must surely be the murderer.

While we searched, Harmony informed me that the only staff member unaccounted for at the time of the gunshot was the butler. “Everyone else was with at least one other member of staff who can vouch for them. The butler was in his room, napping, according to gossip. His room is on the top floor.”

“The top floor? He descended quickly to be among the first group to emerge from the house. And napping in the middle of the day you say?”

“I gather he likes a nip of his lordship’s brandy, and its effects catch up to him. He’s getting on a bit.”

I poked at a bush with a stick, but there was nothing hidden beneath it. “How long has he worked at Hambledon Hall?”

“More than thirty years. He started here as a footman and worked his way up. He’s certainly a suspect, although I don’t know why he would want to kill the gamekeeper.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked around at all the trees. “There’s too much ground to cover, and you have to return to the house to change for the excursion to the river.”

Lady Kershaw had decided we ladies should go for a drive while the gentlemen played billiards. Aunt Lilian had already declined, claiming she had a raging headache. “I’m not going. I’ll say I want to stay with my aunt.”

Harmony’s eyes brightened. “You have a plan, don’t you? Are you going to watch the armory to see who returns the missing rifle? That’ll be difficult with the men in the billiard room nearby.”

“I’ll ask Floyd to keep one eye on the armory door while he’s playing. I’ll do something else. Something that involves you.”

“Then I like your idea already. Where are we going?”

“To the gamekeeper’s cottage. He lived alone, so it should be empty. I doubt the police will have bothered looking there, if the sergeant has already made up his mind about the culprit.”

Harmony and I were prepared to climb through a window at the gamekeeper’s cottage if necessary, however the lock on the door gave me no trouble. Surrounded by the woods on the Hambledon estate, it was cool inside. Built from the same grim, dark stone as the main house, the cottage would be a miserable place in the depths of winter.

Harmony picked up a photograph from a side table. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything that gives us a sense of the man, and why someone wanted him dead.”

She showed me the photograph. “I presume the couple in this are his parents.”

It would seem so, going by the way he rested his hand on the seated woman’s shoulder. At her other side stood an older man dressed in his Sunday best. “Shepherd appears to be aged in his mid-twenties when this was taken.”

Harmony returned the photograph to the table. Beside it was another photograph of Shepherd’s parents, taken many years before the other. He wasn’t in it, and I guessed they were aged in their thirties. A teenage girl stood between them, her fair hair tied in ribbons.

“I wonder who she is,” Harmony said.

She went to pick up the framed photograph, but I caught her hand. “Someone has studied it recently and placed it back down, but they didn’t place it precisely in the same spot.” I pointed out the dust pattern. There was a clean space where the frame had been previously positioned.

Had they studied it before or after Shepherd’s death?

We walked around the ground floor of the cottage. The parlor was neat, with nothing out of place, but it needed a thorough clean. The novels hadn’t been removed from the bookshelf for some time, if the layer of undisturbed dust was anything to go by, and a mustiness wafted from the carpet.

In stark contrast to the parlor, the kitchen lacked dust, but the gamekeeper wasn’t one for cleaning his dirty dishes. Flies buzzed around plates and cups piled up in the tub.

I pinched my nose and inspected the food scraps. “There’s mold on some of these. He hasn’t washed up for days.”

“Pig,” Harmony said with a wrinkle of her nose. “How can anyone live like this?”

“I think he lived in this room, and rarely ventured into the parlor except to pass through. There are signs of habitation in here and none in there.”

“Signs of a putrid life.”

She walked out of the kitchen, but I took my time looking around. I found a used train ticket from London that had fallen on the floor under the table, and a newspaper opened to the racing pages. A bunch of keys on an iron ring sat amidst odds and ends in a drawer. Another drawer was used for paperwork, including correspondence from a bank, betting slips, and some private correspondence addressed to Mrs. Mabel Shepherd, the last of which was dated a month earlier. It wasn’t much, but I did learn his first name was Esmond. If this was the sum of Esmond Shepherd’s life, it was rather sad. As far as I could tell, he didn’t have any hobbies except horseracing, and he had no friends or family who wrote to him. Perhaps Harmony found more belongings upstairs.

I joined her in one of the two bedrooms. “Anything?”

She dangled a gold watch from its chain. “This was in the bedside drawer.”

“It looks expensive.”

“And new. It’s in pristine condition. There are no engraved initials or other identifying markings, but there’s also no reason to assume it didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t hidden.”

“What else have you found?” I asked.

She returned the watch to the drawer. “There are some good clothes in the trunk. They also look new, and they’re not the sort of suits worn by a gamekeeper.”

The trunk was the only storage for clothing in the room. Two well-made jackets lay flat on top of folded trousers, waistcoats and shirts underneath. One of the jackets was made from dark gray wool, the other cotton, suitable for summer. I checked pockets as I inspected each item but found nothing. Not even a ball of lint. He may not have even worn them yet.

“They’re more suited for a city gentleman,” I said. “There’s no tweed, nothing sturdy for a winter spent outdoors. These are the sorts of suits Floyd would wear day to day.”

“Precisely. Why would a gamekeeper purchase them? And where did he get the money?”

“He likes to bet on horses, so perhaps he had a good win.” I closed the trunk lid. “No new hats?”

“Under the bed in hatboxes, along with a great deal of dust.”

I knelt and peered under the bed. The dust had been disturbed where Harmony had pulled each hatbox out to inspect the contents. “Is there any sign he brought women up here?”

“It’s cleaner than the kitchen, so he may have. I didn’t find anything pointing to a specific woman, though.”

I stood and dusted off my gloved hands. “You said one of the maids was upset by his death. Just the one?”

Harmony nodded. “According to Lady Kershaw’s maid, the girl was Shepherd’s latest. She was new, the previous girl having left when she was set aside by Shepherd.”

“So he went straight from one to the other. Charming.”

“Lady Kershaw’s maid rolled her eyes when she told me. I got the impression she thought the previous girl was pathetic, or perhaps stupid for letting her feelings for Shepherd ruin a perfectly good position here.”

“You sound as though you do, too.”

Harmony gave it some thought before answering. “Not pathetic, but I do think she shouldn’t have become so upset when he moved on to another. Lady Kershaw’s maid says she warns all the new girls about him, but some just don’t listen. They only have themselves to blame when he tires of them, if you ask me.”

“He’s a cad. Or was . It’s not the fault of the girls for being na?ve. Some are quite young, and not as worldly as you or I.”

To my surprise, Harmony chuckled. “You’re not worldly, Cleo. You’re wise and sensible, but that’s not the same thing.”

I supposed she was right. I’d always lived a comfortable life, protected by people who loved me, although I was cautious by nature when it came to trusting strangers, something that saved me from men like Shepherd. An innocent country girl who’d been thrust into the world too soon might not have any defenses against charming rogues.

“I may not be worldly,” I said, “but I wouldn’t fall for Shepherd any more than you would.”

“That we can agree on.” Harmony wiped her hand down my skirt. “You’re covered in dust.”

“Shepherd didn’t like doing housework.”

I continued to look around the rather bare bedroom, but found nothing that pointed to a reason why he would have been killed.

We left the cottage and locked the door. Before returning to the house, we walked around the perimeter of the building. We’d found no sign that he kept guns on the premises, or evidence of secrets buried beneath mounds of earth that had been recently turned over.

“What now?” Harmony asked as we headed back through the woods to the main house.

We emerged onto the driveway where the long shadows cast by the trees lining it hinted at the lateness of the hour. “The ladies will be back soon. I have to change for afternoon tea. Then we both need to talk to as many witnesses as possible, as subtly as possible. We leave tomorrow morning, so this could be our last opportunity to find the killer.”

“You could ask to extend your stay. I’m sure Lady Kershaw wouldn’t mind. She seems to like you.”

“I’d rather return to London.”

She smiled silkily.

“Why are you smiling like that? Never mind. I don’t want to know.” I lengthened my strides.

Harmony easily caught up. “I think you want to return to London as soon as possible because you miss a certain tall, dark and handsome private detective.”

“I don’t miss Harry. I miss London. It’s galleries and museums, the parks, my friends and the hotel. Anyway, I’m not the only one who wants to return. I believe you want to return because you miss a certain cook.”

“I do miss Victor and, yes, I would like to see him.” Her ready agreement rather took the wind out of my sails. She couldn’t be teased. “Just like I know you miss Harry. The sooner you admit you like him, the happier you’ll be, Cleo.”

We parted ways so that she could enter the house via the service entrance while I went through the front door. Her words left me reeling. Was I unhappy? I didn’t think so. Not when I was in London, anyway. But I hadn’t been completely happy here in Berkshire. Despite all the distractions the country house party had to offer, I’d felt somewhat lackluster since leaving London. I was mature enough to admit that it was because Harry wasn’t here, too.

Tomorrow, I could see him again. The question was, should I?