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A s an only child, I’d been spared the teasing and competitiveness of siblings, but I’d also missed out on the special bond unique to brothers and sisters. Moving into the same building with my two cousins as adults had been a little like having siblings, although I could never attain the deep understanding Floyd and Flossy shared. It placed our relationship into a different category altogether. I was neither sibling nor friend, yet they respected me more than they respected each other, and when they teased me it lacked the bitterness that edged their own interactions.

Floyd still found it necessary to treat me as if I needed protecting, however. I put that down to his upbringing, in a family where men ruled and women were raised to be decorative. It was quite different to how I was brought up. Different, too, to how Harry was raised, first by an independent mother who worked as a teacher at an all-girls school, and then by a couple who were a team of equals. Based on what I’d observed, the behaviors of adults laid the foundations for the lifelong values of the children they raised.

Floyd’s protectiveness came to the fore when I asked him if he’d seen anyone return a rifle to the armory. He flatly refused to answer the question. “The police know who fired the fatal shot, so you can stop investigating, Cleo.” He strode along the corridor toward his room.

I picked up my skirts and followed. “Who is it?”

“A poacher. Apparently, you saw him arguing with Shepherd in the woods.”

“I never saw that man’s face, and there was no indication he was a poacher. Besides, the police haven’t spoken to me directly. How can they arrest someone based on a complete lack of evidence?”

Floyd stopped at his bedroom door. “They didn’t arrest him. He stayed at an inn in the village last night, but has already fled. He must have scarpered after shooting Shepherd. Before you ask, he didn’t leave a home address. The inn doesn’t note that information when their guests check in.”

He went to open the door, but I placed a hand to it, keeping it shut. “A poacher stayed at a village inn,” I said flatly. “Really, Floyd? You believe any of this?”

He shrugged. “It’s none of my business, and none of yours, Cleo. If they want to blame an anonymous fellow nobody can locate, what does it matter to me?”

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “It matters if the murderer is under the same roof as you.”

He barked a laugh. “He’s not coming for me next. Or you.”

“He? So you saw a man return the rifle to the armory?”

He sighed before finally giving in. “I didn’t see anyone. Nobody came or went from the armory while we played billiards. I asked Kershaw if I could take another look at some old pistols in his collection and he obliged. The empty space on the wall was still empty—much to Kershaw’s consternation, I might add.”

“He didn’t know the gun was missing until that moment?”

“It seems not, going by his reaction. He quickly covered up his shock, however, and didn’t mention it to me.”

“That’s odd.”

Floyd opened the door and entered.

I followed. “Lord Kershaw’s shock would imply he didn’t take it. If only we’d found it when we searched the woods.”

“We?”

“Harmony and I.”

“Don’t drag her into this. Father won’t think twice about dismissing her if she causes trouble with the Kershaws, and I don’t want to lose her. I’ll never find another assistant who makes me look so good.” He removed his tie and undid his collar. “You’re wasting your time, anyway. If you do find the missing rifle, the police won’t test it if they want to continue to blame the poacher.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It would mean the poacher got into the locked armory on the first floor of the house without being seen, and that’s impossible. It doesn’t fit with the theory they’re pushing.” He scrunched up the tie and tossed it onto the bed. “I’m sure the rifle will be returned to its place on the wall quietly, before anyone else discovers it went missing.”

“Yes, I understand that, but what do you mean by test it? I didn’t think bullets could be matched to a gun anymore, not since they began making them by machine.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a ballistics expert.” He suddenly rounded on me. “No, Cleo.”

“No what?”

“You’re thinking about a gun expert, and that’s leading you to consider calling on Armitage. Well, don’t. He might be magnificent in your view, and the view of every woman under the sun, but he can’t be an expert on everything.”

“His father would know about matching bullets to guns.”

Floyd sighed.

“Thank you for the information, but I must dash. I need to dress for dinner. I don’t want to be late. I have suspects to observe.”

I closed the door on his protests that the Kershaw family and guests weren’t suspects.

We dined on more partridge from the shoot at the final dinner of the weekend party. I was pleased to be seated beside Mr. Browning. Of all the guests, I knew him the least, having had few opportunities to speak to him. It wasn’t that I’d avoided him, or he me, it was more that we found ourselves in different conversations with different people. I doubted we had much in common.

By the time the soup course finished, I knew that to be correct. He enjoyed blood sports—the literal ones, like shooting and boxing, and the metaphorical one of politics. None of those interested me.

I thought a bloody murder might be up his alley, so asked him for his opinion of Esmond Shepherd’s death. “It looked to me like a rifle bullet must have done it. It certainly wasn’t a shotgun. Do you agree?”

His thick gray moustache and beard moved rather vigorously, but they almost covered his lips, so I wasn’t sure if he was disgusted, horrified or trying not to laugh. “I’d heard you were…unconventional, Miss Fox, but that is a more unconventional topic of conversation than I’m used to having with a young lady at dinner.”

His response didn’t shed any more light on his opinion of my question, so I decided to take a different path. “I heard you bagged quite a number of birds yesterday. How impressive.”

“I’ve always been a good shot, even though I came to the sport later in life.”

“Oh?”

“I’d never shot a bird until I married into this family.”

“Remarkable. I suppose it does help to practice from a young age. I presume his lordship is very good.”

Mr. Browning had shoveled a forkful of partridge between the moustache and beard so could only nod in answer.

“Does Mrs. Browning usually join the shooting? And Lady Kershaw?”

He dabbed at his moustache with a napkin, wiping off the gravy stuck to it. “My brother-in-law indulges them, but they didn’t want your cousin and aunt to feel left out this time. They each would have bagged more than Floyd if they’d participated.” He grunted a laugh. “It’s a miracle he didn’t shoot himself in the foot.”

“He hasn’t had much practice. If he did, I’m sure he’d be as excellent a shot as you. He enjoys all sports.”

He glared at Floyd, chatting to Mrs. Browning on the other side of the table. “Seems to me his favorite sport is flirting with the ladies.” He stabbed his fork into the partridge and sawed off a slice with his knife.

At that moment, Mrs. Browning said something to Floyd then pointedly turned away. The look of disdain on her face made her seem even more regal. Floyd suddenly glanced in her husband’s direction, then swallowed heavily.

Mr. Browning grunted again, this time in satisfaction. “Looks like he’s not as good at flirting as I thought.” He forked the partridge into his mouth. Before he swallowed, he turned away from me just as pointedly as his wife had turned away from Floyd.

My gaze connected with Floyd’s across the table. I arched my brows. He merely shrugged, and struck up a conversation with Janet Browning, seated on his other side.

I hoped he wasn’t trying to flirt with the daughter after failing with the mother.

I was about to engage Lord Kershaw in conversation when I noticed Lady Kershaw’s gaze lingering on the mantelpiece. I frowned. Something about the mantel’s decorations was amiss, but it took me a moment to realize the two ornate silver candlesticks that had stood at either end were missing. Their absence left two rather large empty spaces. I tried to think when I’d last seen them. They were there the previous night, I was sure.

I asked Lord Kershaw about the candlesticks.

He glanced at the mantelpiece, then at his wife. “I presume Renton was polishing them and forgot to put them back.”

“That seems careless,” I said.

He tucked into his food. With the mention of Renton, I hoped to draw out Lord Kershaw’s opinion on the butler, but he didn’t nibble at the bait I dangled.

“I’m sorry if our lack of shooting skill stopped your wife and sister from joining your party yesterday,” I said. “I hear they’re quite good shots.”

His lordship glanced past me to his brother-in-law. “They’re probably a little relieved they had an excuse not to participate, to be honest. My wife loathes the sport, and my sister would prefer to gossip. She admires your aunt greatly.”

I doubted that. While they interacted politely enough, it was clear that Aunt Lilian’s true friend was Lady Kershaw. Even though she was closer in age to Mrs. Browning, she seemed to prefer the younger woman’s company.

I decided to ask his lordship about Esmond Shepherd. Although I’d been shut down by Mr. Browning, I hoped Lord Kershaw would indulge me, even if he found my topic of conversation vulgar. “I know it’s not the done thing to bring it up, but I wanted to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am about your gamekeeper.”

Lord Kershaw’s knife and fork stilled before he continued cutting a boiled potato. “Thank you, Miss Fox. That’s kind of you. It’s been a shock. Sergeant Honeyman assures me the poacher has left the area, so you don’t need to worry. The man’s argument was with Shepherd, and Shepherd alone.”

I decided not to poke that particular hive. Lord Kershaw wouldn’t deviate from the official line. Instead, I poured on more sympathy in an attempt to lull him into lowering his defenses. “It’s no wonder Mr. Shepherd’s death has hit you so hard. He’s been with you a long time, I believe.”

“Forever, and his father before him and his grandfather before that. Not that I ever knew his grandfather, mind. I’m not that old.” He chuckled.

I pretended not to find it odd that he was chuckling after his long-term employee had been killed that very day. “Did he have any family who’ll mourn him?”

“We were his family. The other staff, too.”

“No parents still living? Siblings?”

“His mother died not long ago, but her death was to be expected. She was older than my aunt.” He nodded at Lady Elizabeth. “Mrs. Shepherd was proof that clean country air is good for the constitution.”

“Indeed. What about siblings? Did Mr. Shepherd have any? It’s just that I thought I overheard one of the servants say there was a sister.”

“There was, but she died before he was even born.”

That must be the young girl in the second photograph, the one that had been moved. “Did the police look through Mr. Shepherd’s cottage?”

He picked up his wine. “I suppose.” He sipped.

He may be trying to shut down my questions, but I wasn’t giving up yet. “You must have had a special rapport with the outdoor staff, as you’re clearly a man who enjoys nature.”

He looked up sharply. “What?”

I indicated the greenish tinge on his finger. Without his gloves, I’d spotted it immediately.

He placed his knife and fork together on the plate and tucked his finger under his thumb. “I picked up a leaf and crushed it to release the lovely smell. Lemon, I think it was. Or perhaps peppery. Anyway, the thing stained my skin, and no amount of scrubbing gets rid of it.”

I didn’t know of any plant or leaf that could stain skin that exact shade of green, but I was no botanist.

"I'm surprised the vicar didn’t see the poacher leave the vicinity,” I said. “He was quite close by when it happened.”

“Reverend Pritchard can be somewhat vague. Always losing his place in the sermon. It wouldn’t surprise me if the poacher ran right past him and he took no notice, but it’s more likely the man escaped through the woods. Not past you, of course, Miss Fox. I doubt you are vague.” He chuckled again.

“I believe Reverend Pritchard is new to your parish.”

“Previous vicar died. Heart gave out. We’re fortunate Pritchard could come so quickly.”

“Why did he want to leave his position in Cornwall?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.” He went to sip his wine, only to pause and lower the glass without drinking. “Do you know, that’s a good question. It’s unusual for a vicar to be available immediately to move to another parish. Usually, the church’s administrative wheels move slowly. I wonder if he left under a cloud and had to be moved on in a hurry.”

Now, that was interesting. “Do you know what parish he moved from in Cornwall?”

“He has never mentioned it. Whenever the topic comes up, he says the place is so small we would never have heard of it, then he changes the subject. Odd.”

Indeed.

I asked Lady Kershaw about the silver candlesticks when we ladies left the men in the dining room to smoke their cigars and drink port. “They’re such fine pieces,” I said. “I hope one of the maids didn’t damage them while dusting.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” She smiled brightly. “Renton took them away to polish and forgot to put them back.”

It was the same answer Lord Kershaw had given me, however in her case, I felt as though it were a lie. I’d hoped to question her about Renton’s penchant for sipping his lordship’s brandy when no one was looking, and perhaps she’d then inform me that Mr. Shepherd had discovered the butler’s secret, thereby giving him a motive to murder the gamekeeper. Now I was having second thoughts. There was no diplomatic way to ask such a thing.

I considered how best to phrase it for so long that Lady Elizabeth filled the void by suggesting we play bridge. “Come and join my table, Miss Fox. You seem sharp, and I do enjoy a good game.”

Lady Kershaw was eager to oblige, as were my aunt and the younger ladies. Mrs. Browning also agreed to join in. “You’re very persuasive, Aunt Elizabeth,” she said.

“If I don’t do something, I’m in danger of nodding off in the corner.” Lady Elizabeth laughed, having done exactly that after dinner the night before.

Lady Kershaw instructed the footmen to set up the card tables and arrange the chairs. “This is just the distraction we all need after such a trying day.”

Mrs. Browning looked askance at her sister-in-law. “Do you mean from that episode on the drive? Good lord, Marion, he may have been here for as long as the dirt, but we hardly knew him. We don’t need to be distracted from anything.”

Janet Browning looked like she’d jump out of her skin if she didn’t impart her gossip soon. “I heard he was quite the favorite among the maids, if you know what I mean.” She giggled.

Lady Kershaw smothered a gasp, and Lady Elizabeth frowned at her great-niece. Janet’s giggles died. She looked like she’d burst into tears, but managed to mumble an apology as she sat down heavily.

Her mother briskly accepted a deck of cards from the footman. If it weren’t for the extra firm jut of her chin, I’d say she looked as composed as ever. Like many ladies born into nobility, she oozed confidence even in prickly social situations. Her daughter hadn’t yet acquired the skill, but I suspected she would with her mother as teacher. Lady Kershaw also wasn’t quite as adept at brushing over a faux pas. She had a good pedigree, but she wasn’t of the same class as Lord Kershaw and his family. She’d risen quite high when she married him.

His sister’s marriage had not been as beneficial, but she’d lost none of her noble bearing because of it. According to Aunt Lilian, Mrs. Browning had fallen in love and married young. Having got to know Mr. Browning a little better, I presumed a handsome man had once existed beneath all that grizzly facial hair, and his character hadn’t been quite so bullish in his youth in order to attract a young wellborn bride.

I felt sorry for Lady Kershaw, having the stiff and judgmental Mrs. Browning as her sister-in-law, but at least her husband’s aunt was kind to her. The two women exchanged little smiles across the card table.

After exchanging farewells and promises to write, we were driven away from Hambledon Hall in Lord Kershaw’s carriages. The rail journey to London was mercifully quick, and not long after the locomotive steamed out of the station, Frank, the doorman of the Mayfair Hotel, welcomed us home as we alighted from carriages in front of the hotel.

He was all smiles for the Bainbridge family, who greeted him warmly. Even Aunt Lilian managed a polite smile, even though she’d been morosely silent since leaving Hambledon Hall.

I stopped to speak to him. “You’ll never believe what happened, Frank.”

Once the door closed behind my family, Frank abandoned his attempt at cheerfulness. His features settled into their regular downturned pattern. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what happened here.”

My heart dropped. “Is everyone all right?”

“A maid has been dismissed, Goliath feels responsible, and several other staff are upset.”

“What did she do?”

“She was caught sneaking around the male staff quarters at the residence hall.”

“It is a dismissible offence,” I reminded him. “I’m quite sure the rule has existed since the hotel began.”

“It’s never been enforced before. No one has ever been let go for breaking it.”

Most of the younger staff lived nearby in a lodging house owned by the hotel. Without the accommodation, they wouldn’t have been able to afford to live so close to their place of work. London’s rents were unaffordable for workers on a low wage. The rent may be free, but it still came with a price. They had to maintain what my uncle deemed ‘a respectable character’ even after their shifts ended. For most, the rule didn’t pose a problem.

“I presume Goliath feels responsible because the dismissed maid was visiting his room,” I said.

Frank stepped away as the door opened and a guest emerged. He wished the gentleman a pleasant day by name.

Once he was out of earshot, I asked, “Are the other staff upset because they liked the maid?”

“She was liked well enough, but the reason they’re upset is because Mrs. Short has forbidden all staff from relationship entanglements, even respectable ones. Do you know how many couples there are? I can name at least seven, all of them serious. One couple is even married! What are they supposed to do? Get a divorce so they can keep their jobs?”

“Now you’re being silly.”

“There’s Harmony and Victor, Donny and the tall redheaded maid, Felicity and that waiter?—”

I put up my hand to stop him rattling off every couple. “Does Mrs. Short have the authority to make that decision?” As housekeeper, she managed the maids, but waitstaff were under the jurisdiction of Mr. Chapman, the steward, and the cooks were under the chef de cuisine , Mrs. Poole. Front of house staff reported directly to the assistant manager, Peter Leyland, while Mr. Hobart, the hotel manager, oversaw the entire cohort. Surely it was his decision to make a blanket rule of no fraternizing, not Mrs. Short’s.

Frank shrugged. “Mr. Hobart hasn’t overruled her yet. I reckon he was waiting for Sir Ronald to return to gauge his thoughts. If you ask me, Miss Fox, it’s bad. This is a new century, and the young folk don’t want to be restricted by old rules set by old people. We’ll lose staff over this, you just watch.”

I ventured inside, a little concerned that Frank might not be overreacting, for once.

The foyer was an inviting place, with its large displays of flowers filling enormous vases, and the potted palm trees adding a hint of the tropics. While not as densely packed as the fernery at Hambledon Hall, the greenery provided an exotic touch to an otherwise very English hotel.

There was no sign of Frank’s doom and gloom in the foyer. It was peaceful. September in London was empty of the sort of people who could afford a room at the Mayfair. According to Flossy, September was the month for spending time with family and friends at country manors. According to Floyd, it was when those who didn’t own a country estate took themselves off to Germany, Austria, or France for a rejuvenating holiday at a health spa. Apparently, Monaco was popular for those who liked to gamble, as well as for husband-hunting ladies whose reputations weren’t pristine enough for the ever-vigilant mothers of eligible bachelors back in England.

Mr. Hobart walked beside Uncle Ronald, heading to the corridor that housed the senior staff offices. Aunt Lilian and my cousins had already disappeared into the lift. I joined Peter at the check-in desk. He and the clerk appeared to be going over the reservations book, but I caught a snippet of their conversation, and it wasn’t about the guests.

“Frank tells me the sky is falling,” I said. “I hoped you could give me the more accurate picture.”

Peter smiled. “Welcome back, Miss Fox. How was Berkshire?”

“Lovely, until the…” I glanced at the check-in clerk. “Never mind. Is the situation here causing a problem?”

Peter rounded the counter and invited me to walk with him. “Frank isn’t overstating the tension for once. Mrs. Short’s new rule of no fraternizing is causing problems with some of the staff.”

“For just the seven couples already in relationships, or everyone?”

“All of the staff are agitated. They think the rule is grossly unfair.”

“Are they agitating to the point of going on strike?”

“Not yet.”

We’d recently had trouble with the mews staff striking when a motorized vehicle took up space in the coach house. No one wanted to endure that again. If the entire staff went on strike, it would be disastrous.

I’d not taken much notice of our direction, until we found ourselves in the staff parlor, tucked away behind the lift and stairs, with access from the service rooms at the rear of the hotel. It was late morning, a time when most of the maids were cleaning rooms, but the waiters had little to do. The cooks would be preparing for lunch in the kitchen, so I was surprised to see Victor there with Goliath, the hotel’s porter. Victor wasn’t dressed in chef’s whites however, so he mustn’t be on duty.

“I’m on the dinner shift,” he told me when I asked. “I organized with Harmony to meet in here when she returned. How was the three-day-long party? How many birds died for the gentlemen’s sport?”

Goliath frowned at him. “I didn’t know you were anti-shooting.”

“Only when it’s for the amusement of toffs. Sorry, Miss Fox, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”

I assured him he didn’t offend me. “I agree with you, although I should point out that everything that was shot was eaten by our party or given to the villagers. Every bird , that is.”

Only Victor noticed my clarification. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and opened his mouth to speak. Harmony’s arrival had him forgetting all about me, however. He rose and smiled at her. Victor rarely smiled, so it was rather lovely to see. It wasn’t lost on Harmony, either, who smiled sweetly back at him.

He offered her a chair. “Welcome home. Tea? Biscuit?”

“Yes, please, to both,” she said as she sat. “I came here directly and was stopped at least a half dozen times by someone wanting to tell me about Mrs. Short’s new rule. Can someone elaborate?”

Peter told her what he’d told me. Goliath grunted at several points, letting everyone know his thoughts. Harmony, however, kept hers to herself. She accepted the teacup from Victor, eyeing him the entire time from beneath her dark lashes.

I accepted a teacup, too. “I’m sure Uncle Ronald will overrule Mrs. Short. Perhaps your sweetheart will even be allowed to return to work, Goliath. Don’t worry yet.”

Goliath’s boulder-sized shoulders slumped as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s not talking to me anymore, and I really liked her.”

“I’m sure she’ll talk to you again if she really likes you, too,” I said gently.

Peter hadn’t sat, and he now headed for the door. He paused before opening it and pointed at Harmony and Victor. “You two need to be careful.”

Victor shook his head. “Some rules are meant to be broken. This is one of them.”

Harmony stayed quiet. While she wasn’t necessarily a stickler for rules to the point of following foolish ones, she didn’t like rocking boats. It was even more important for her to follow the rules now, with the promotion carrot dangling in front of her.

Victor noticed her silence. “Harmony? Is something wrong?”

“Hmmm? Ah, yes. In a way. The gamekeeper at Hambledon Hall was shot dead. Cleo saw the body and has begun an investigation.”

They all stared at me, open-mouthed. Peter returned and sat down. “Were you first on the scene, Miss Fox?”

“Second,” I said. “The vicar was first. He’d been walking toward the house along the drive when he heard the gunshot. I was emerging from the woods nearby.”

“Is he a suspect?”

“He has to be,” Victor said, matter of fact. “Being first on the scene places him in the vicinity. What type of gun did the killer use?”

“A rifle,” I said. “It hasn’t been found, but there is one missing from the armory. And yes, Reverend Pritchard is a suspect.”

Goliath looked at each of us in turn, a frown of incredulity scoring his forehead. “But he’s a man of the cloth! Vicars don’t kill people. They save their souls.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “And fairies exist, as do unicorns and pots of gold at the end of rainbows.”

Goliath gave him a withering glare. “If Frank were here, he’d agree with me. We might not agree on much, but he’s a churchgoer, like myself.”

“I hope the vicar isn’t guilty,” I reassured him before they started an ecclesiastical argument. “But he must be considered, until he’s ruled out altogether.”

I told them how Reverend Pritchard had avoided giving proper answers to my questions about his former parish, then moved on to describe the other suspects. The butler was the only member of staff on the list. Everyone else who couldn’t be accounted for at the time of the murder were members of Lord Kershaw’s family.

“Of course, the shot could have come from outside the house,” I said. “The police believe a poacher did it. A poacher who has since disappeared.”

“I hear doubt in your voice,” Peter said.

“There’s no evidence pointing to the poacher’s guilt.”

“And the local sergeant is in Lord Kershaw’s pocket,” Harmony added. “He won’t investigate further.”

Victor agreed that seemed unlikely. “So, Kershaw is making the sergeant sweep it under the carpet to protect himself or one of his family. His lordship sounds guilty to me.”

“He could simply be attempting to suppress scandal,” I pointed out. “He won’t want word reaching his friends or important people.”

“You sound like you’re defending him.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Good men have secrets to hide, too.”

He was right. I needed to keep an open mind, or I’d find myself making poor judgments. It was good having outside opinions to keep me focused. There was one other person who could give an outsider’s opinion of the facts. Someone whose opinion I valued and had relied upon while conducting numerous investigations.

Someone I’d already decided to consult when I realized I needed to understand the science of ballistics.