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T he office of Harry Armitage’s private detective agency was located in a narrow Soho street among an eclectic array of shops and flats. Compared to the busier thoroughfares nearby, it felt somewhat eerie with its ramshackle buildings and sheets of newspaper drifting in the breeze. I’d been there so often, however, that I wasn’t worried to walk down it. In fact, I rather liked its ambience.

The door painted with the sign ARMITAGE AND ASSOCIATES: PRIVATE DETECTIVES was squeezed between a barber and the Roma Café, the latter owned by Luigi, a man of Italian descent who served excellent coffee and pasta. The door led to a set of stairs, at the top of which was another door that opened up to Harry’s office. When I found the lower door locked, I ventured into the café.

The two leathery old men occupying stools at the counter looked up from their cups. Each bobbed their head in a nod before turning back to their coffees and resuming their conversation in rapid Italian.

Luigi flipped a green, white and red striped cloth over his shoulder and welcomed me with a smile. “Harry thought you would stop by today.” He reached under the counter and removed a key. “He left this for you and said to wait for him. He won’t be long.”

It was rather presumptuous of Harry to assume I’d visit on the very day I returned from my long weekend away.

Luigi’s smile widened as he dangled the key in front of me. “I’ll make a coffee to take with you. Or do you want muddy English water?”

“No to tea, yes to coffee, thank you.”

I took the cup upstairs and sat on Harry’s chair behind his desk. It was the perfect opportunity to take a peek at his papers and see what cases he had. It was easy to work out his system since he was very organized. There were three ongoing investigations—a missing pet, a missing wife, and missing money. His handwritten notes summarized his initial thoughts then went on to detail his progress. It was clear that his limited time and resources were directed at the latter two cases, not the first.

A confident knock on the door preceded the entry of an elegant middle-aged woman, dressed in black lace and wearing a large hat decorated with enough black feathers to cover an entire crow.

She strode up to the desk, looked down her beaked nose at me, then sat on the chair. “I’d like to leave a message for Mr. Armitage.” When I didn’t pick up a pen to write, she added, “Please.”

“I’m not his assistant, but I’ll pass on your message.” To appease her, I took a pen from the inkstand and opened the inkpot lid.

“Please advise Mr. Armitage that my Percy returned home this morning.”

“You must be the owner of the missing Pekingese.” According to Harry’s notes on the file, he hadn’t yet begun his investigation into the dog’s disappearance, but he’d made a number of suggestions to the owner, Mrs. Grantley-Owen, including simply to wait and see if her pet returned home of its own accord. “I’ll let Mr. Armitage know. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”

“Tell him that I’d like to know which one of my neighbors seemed the most likely dognapper, in his opinion.”

I scanned Harry’s notes again, but there was nothing about speaking to neighbors, although it was on Harry’s list of things to do. “Are you sure one of the neighbors took your dog?”

“Who else could have?”

“Perhaps Percy ran away, and returned when he got hungry.”

She shot to her feet. “Nonsense! My Percy would never leave me. He was dognapped by a neighbor, I’m sure of it. It was they who complained about Percy’s barking, so one of them must have taken him. Mr. Armitage told me he would threaten them all to shake out the truth.”

That didn’t sound like Harry.

Mrs. Grantley-Owen removed a banknote from her bag and placed it on the desk. “His fee. Tell Mr. Armitage I’ll inform all of my friends what an excellent investigator he is.” She marched out of the office and closed the door.

I sat back with a laugh. Harry’s instincts had been right. The dog had simply returned home when he was hungry, but if Mrs. Grantley-Owen thought Harry had something to do with it, then it wasn’t my place to disabuse her of the notion.

A few minutes later, Harry arrived. He didn’t look surprised to see me, so must have been warned by Luigi. “Hello, Cleo. I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

The sight of him always affected me in some way, usually good, but this time my heart quickened out of all proportion to the length of our absence. I’d seen him a mere week ago, when we finished our investigation into the murder on the Brighton Express.

“Hello, Harry.” I rose and rounded the desk. “It was rather arrogant of you to presume I’d visit today.”

He smiled as he removed his hat and hung it on the stand near the door. “You call it arrogance, I call it knowing you very well.”

“Are you suggesting that I can’t stay away after a short absence?”

His smile widened. It was all the answer I required.

“As I said, arrogant since you couldn’t possibly have predicted there’d be a murder and I’d need?—”

“Murder!” His smile vanished. He lifted his hands, as if to place them on my shoulders, but he lowered them to his sides and settled for frowning fiercely instead. “Cleo, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. The gamekeeper, however, was shot on the driveway; the murder weapon hasn’t been found. I thought you might know about the science of ballistics.”

“I don’t know much. Not enough to pay me for my knowledge.” He picked up the banknote Mrs. Grantley-Owen had placed on the desk. “I’ll always help you for free anyway, Cleo. You’ve supported me enough by allowing me to take the glory when you solve a case.” The more he spoke, the more his voice softened. By the end, I was left in no doubt of his feelings for me, simply by the velvety purr.

I tried very hard not to let his tone affect me, but I found I couldn’t meet his gaze, not if I wanted to keep the meeting on a professional footing. Something I’d planned to do, but my resolve was cracking with every thud of my heart. “That arrangement suits me, too, since the journalists won’t give up without a name and my uncle would explode if my name was mentioned as the investigating detective. Anyway, that’s not from me. Percy the Pekingese returned home. Mrs. Grantley-Owen dropped by to pay you.”

He opened the file and picked up the pen, only to put it back. “I see you’ve already made the required note, but I’d like to point out that I didn’t threaten anyone. I hadn’t got around to beginning the investigation properly.”

“I thought so, but couldn’t be sure. I know how much you care about animals, and I have seen you be rather threatening when you’re angry.”

He tucked the money into his pocket and closed the file. “Tell me about the murder.”

I began with the moment I heard the gunshot, then told him everything I’d discovered since Esmond Shepherd’s murder and finished with a list of my suspects. “So you see, I need to know what sort of gun fired the bullet that killed him, and if there is a way to know if the bullet was fired from a specific gun.”

“I can’t answer that, but my father probably could. As for the type of gun that was used, was there an exit wound?”

“There wasn’t any blood pooling underneath the body, so I assume not.”

“Then the bullet is still inside. What did the entry wound look like?”

“Neat and rather small.”

“Shotguns produce irregular entries, so we can rule that out. I’d also rule out pistols if you’re sure the shot was fired from a distance. That leaves a rifle.” He reached for the telephone on the desk. “Nothing I just said seems to be news to you.”

“I was reasonably sure it would be a rifle, but I wanted another opinion. I’d still like you to check with your father about ballistics.”

“Do you want Scotland Yard to advise the local sergeant on testing? You made it sound like he’ll follow Lord Kershaw’s wishes and blame the missing man who may or may not be a poacher.”

“He’ll most likely continue to push that angle, so I doubt he’d tell me anything about the bullet, but even so, I’d like to know more about ballistics.”

His eyes gleamed. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“That I was right, and you came here to see me, not discuss your case. None of this is news to you and knowing about ballistics won’t help if you can’t get access to the bullet or potential murder weapons to perform comparison tests. So, I stand by my initial opinion. You can’t stay away from me, Cleo. You’re thinking up excuses just to visit.”

I folded my arms. “And I stand by my initial opinion that you’re arrogant.”

He suddenly grinned, reminding me in a most delightful way that he had the loveliest dimples. “Whatever your reason for coming, I’m glad you did. Even without a murder to discuss, your company is very welcome.”

He picked up the telephone receiver and asked the operator to put him through to his father’s number. After a brief conversation with the former Scotland Yard detective inspector, Harry hung up.

“My parents have invited you to dinner.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Tonight? Oh, I…uh…I’m not sure…”

“Stop panicking, Cleo. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to.”

I liked his father and, after a rocky start, his mother had been much nicer on my last visit. It was her change of tune that worried me. When she resented me for getting Harry dismissed from his position at the hotel, it was another reason why Harry and I couldn’t be together. But with that barrier removed, the only remaining reason for us not to act on our feelings was my conviction that I’d never marry. Yet my resolve was being whittled away little by little as I came to understand what Harry meant to me, and how much I missed him when we were apart.

He was right about everything—I came to his office because I wanted to see him; I’d missed him in the week since last seeing him; and I was panicking about all of it.

“Good,” he said. “Fortunately, the invitation wasn’t for tonight. It was for any night of your choosing.” He tossed me a triumphant look.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in touch about a date. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Any time.” He opened the door for me. “How will you proceed?”

“I’ll find out more about my suspects. I only knew them for three days, but my family have known them for years. I’ll ask for their opinions, without rousing their suspicions, of course. This is definitely not the sort of case Uncle Ronald would approve of me taking.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” He hesitated, only continuing after I prompted him. His next words came out in a rush, as if he wanted to get them out before he changed his mind. “Perhaps you should let him know you’re investigating murders. It’s not fair that you have to hide the excellent work you do.”

I thought about it for a moment before dismissing it. “He’s too unpredictable. He might throw me out. I have no doubt that he loves me and would regret his decision once he calmed down, but he’d be too proud to retract it. Of all people, you know that.”

Harry’s gaze turned smoky. “You wouldn’t be alone, Cleo. I’d take care of you.”

It no longer seemed like such a terrible notion to be taken care of by Harry if my relationship with my family broke down. Indeed, the idea of moving into Harry’s flat thrilled me.

With that realization came another—I didn’t want my relationship with my family to break down. The Bainbridges were important to me. I didn’t want to lose a single family member, including my stubborn, overbearing uncle.

“Thank you, Harry, but I enjoy living in a luxury hotel.”

He grunted. I wasn’t sure if he took my words as the joke they were intended to be, or if he felt offended.

“Speaking of my uncle, do you think he’d overrule any of the senior staff if they did something he disagreed with?”

“He wouldn’t hesitate.”

It was the same opinion I held, but it was good to get Harry’s thoughts.

“I assume Uncle Alfred hasn’t done anything controversial,” he said, referring to Mr. Hobart, his father’s brother. “Controversy is not his style. And Chapman has been employed long enough to know not to implement changes without Sir Ronald’s approval first. So that leaves Mrs. Poole or Mrs. Short. I don’t know either woman, since both were employed after I left, but based on your past assessments, my guess is the housekeeper waded into waters she shouldn’t have.”

“Now you’re just showing off. You are correct, Detective Armitage. She dismissed one of the maids after the girl was seen in the men’s quarters at the residence hall.”

“That rule has been in place as long as I can recall. It’s not new. All staff are aware of it and have been taking the necessary precautions for as long as I can remember.”

I arched my brows. “Necessary precautions?”

“They’re always careful not to be caught. It’s only when they’re caught that action has to be taken. I’m afraid the maid wasn’t careful enough.”

“I presume you knew how to avoid being caught sneaking into or out of a room?”

He crossed his arms. “I never had a relationship with a maid. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Even when I started at the bottom, I was aware that my uncle was the manager.”

“I never said you were visiting a maid’s room in the residence hall. I was referring to the merry widows staying at the hotel.”

His lips curved with his mischievous smile.

My face heated, which he found amusing, going by the widening smile. The devil.

I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Short has forbidden the staff from having any kind of relationship, even those being conducted properly and openly.”

“That’s an overreaction. The maid’s dismissal should have been enough. I imagine the staff are upset.”

“Furious. That’s why I’m hoping Uncle Ronald will retract her rule.”

“He might not realize how upset they are, but I’m sure you can diplomatically inform him. If anyone can handle him, it’s you.”

Once upon a time, that wasn’t the case at all, but I’d grown used to my uncle’s moods these last few months. I think he even respected my opinion, more than he respected the opinions of his own children. I thanked Harry, feeling confident about both the investigation and my relationship with Uncle Ronald.

He opened the door wider. “Let me know when you’re free and I’ll arrange dinner with my parents.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“If not before.”

I couldn’t come up with a witty response, so I left him sporting a mysterious smile that I couldn’t decipher.

I took afternoon tea with Flossy and Floyd in Flossy’s sitting room. My cousins and I each had our own suite on the hotel’s fourth floor. The suites each comprised a bedroom, sitting room and bathroom. Although not as large as my uncle and aunt’s suite, they provided ample space for one person living alone. With the staff at my beck and call, and a speaking tube through which I could order whatever I wanted from the kitchen, I was fortunate indeed to be living in a luxury hotel. My good fortune meant I could take on investigations where I knew I wouldn’t receive a fee. Few other investigators were in a position to forgo a fee for the sake of seeing justice served. Like Harry, they had to put food on the table and pay rent. I could afford to take cases gratis .

The investigation into the murder of Esmond Shepherd would be one such case. Lord Kershaw wouldn’t pay me to poke my nose into his family’s affairs. My nosiness began with asking my cousins for their opinion of the extended Kershaw family.

“Wentworth,” Floyd corrected me. “The family name is Wentworth. Kershaw is the title.”

Seated beside his sister on the sofa, it was quite obvious they didn’t resemble each other. I was often mistaken for Floyd’s sister and Flossy our cousin. He and I had the same shade of light brown hair and green eyes with a slender build, whereas Flossy was all luscious curves, with strawberry-blonde hair, and a pug nose sprinkled with freckles. Despite their many differences, they did have one thing in common. They were both dreadful snobs.

Floyd had already realized why I’d asked him to join us in Flossy’s suite. I expected him to thwart all my attempts at getting answers, but I tried anyway. “So Lady Elizabeth Wentworth is the previous Lord Kershaw’s sister. Her father was the current lord’s grandfather. She must know all the family secrets.”

“She’s elderly,” he snapped. “Leave her alone, Cleo. She didn’t murder the gamekeeper.”

Flossy gasped. “Why would anyone think that sweet old lady is a murderer! Honestly, Floyd, you do say the vilest things sometimes. Cleo simply wants to get to know our parents’ friends better.”

“If that were true, she’d ask these questions before visiting them, not after.” He pointed his teacup at me. “Our dear cousin is investigating the murder of the gamekeeper, and she thinks one of the Wentworths did it.”

Flossy gasped. “Cleo!”

“Hopefully I can prove they didn’t do it,” I said.

Floyd looked skeptical.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Flossy said. “To prove they didn’t do it, I mean. It won’t be long before news of the gamekeeper’s death reaches London, and some cruel people will blame the family, particularly if they learn Lord Kershaw influenced the police investigation. I think Cleo should get involved to prove the family is innocent.”

“Thank you, Flossy. In that case, may I have your opinions on the family members? With a view to eliminating them, you understand.”

I saw Floyd’s lips pinch out of the corner of my eye. Unlike his sister, he was worried I might discover that one of Lord Kershaw’s family was a murderer. Flossy was under the impression they were all innocent. Did he know something that she didn’t?

“Let me see.” Flossy put down her teacup and got up to pace the floor. “As I said, Lady Elizabeth is a sweet old thing and quite doddery. Her hands shake, so she can’t have shot anyone, even if she knew how to handle a gun. Her nephew, Lord Kershaw is the true embodiment of a gentleman. He’s kind to everyone. I can’t imagine he had a bad thought about his gamekeeper. If he did, he’d just dismiss him. He wouldn’t need to kill him.”

It was a good point. Even Floyd seemed to think so. He no longer looked annoyed, but nodded along.

“His wife is also very sweet. I know there’s a large age gap between Lord and Lady Kershaw, but neither seems to mind. They married for love.”

“They may be in love now ,” Floyd countered, “but I think it was arranged, so I remember Mother once saying.”

“What about Lord Kershaw’s sister and brother-in-law, the Brownings?” I asked.

Flossy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like either of them. He ignored me most of the weekend, and I overheard her call me fat.”

Poor Flossy. That must have been awful to hear. I wasn’t surprised at Mrs. Browning’s rudeness. I’d seen her cast a disgusted look at Flossy when she placed a second slice of cake on her plate one afternoon tea. Her standoffishness toward me didn’t bother me in the least, but Flossy’s skin wasn’t as thick as mine.

“I like their daughter, though,” she went on. “Janet’s marvelous company. We’ve always gotten along well when we’ve met at Hambledon Hall.”

“Is she excited to marry?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. She’ll be coming to London soon for her next dress fitting, and to select decorations and have invitations made… It’s all such fun.”

“And her future husband?” I prompted.

Flossy shrugged. “She didn’t say much about him.”

“What do you know about Esmond Shepherd?” I asked.

“Nothing, other than he was the gamekeeper,” Flossy said. “I never met him.”

“I spoke to him at the shoot,” Floyd said. “He was capable, which is understandable considering he learned everything from his father, the previous gamekeeper.”

“How were the family’s interactions with him?” At their blank looks, I added, “Were they formal? Friendly? Tense?”

Floyd shrugged, which could have meant he knew something and wasn’t going to tell me, or he’d noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

“I never saw him interact with the family,” Flossy said.

“Did Janet Browning mention him?”

Flossy wrinkled her nose again. “No. Why would she?”

My gaze connected with Floyd’s. He gave a slight shake of his head. I decided to ignore him. While Flossy could be silly at times, she wasn’t na?ve. She was aware that not all men were gentlemen. Besides, awareness would give her a measure of protection against such men, too.

“Esmond Shepherd was a terrible scoundrel,” I told her. “He made a habit of seducing the young housemaids, then discarding them when he grew tired of them. I wondered if he ever looked beyond the staff and at the family for his…diversion.”

Flossy’s gasp filled the room. “Cleo! How could you suggest such a thing?”

“I’m sorry, but I had to ask. To eliminate Janet and her parents as suspects, you understand.”

My explanation appeased her a little. “I see. I suppose. Well, you can strike them off your list if that’s the reason for his murder. I never once saw Janet look at him, look for him, nor mention his name. She didn’t seem particularly upset after he died, either.”

I could vouch for that last observation myself. In the hours after the murder, I’d watched everyone closely. No one had been distressed. No one had acted happy or relieved, either. It was possible most were pretending, but not Janet. Like Flossy, Janet seemed to be the sort of girl who wore her emotions for everyone to see. If Shepherd had seduced her, and her father had shot him in retaliation, she would have displayed something . Yet she’d been indifferent.

I asked a few more questions about the gamekeeper, but neither could offer any insights about Esmond Shepherd and his history with the Wentworth family. If I wanted to know more, I needed to ask someone who’d been visiting Hambledon Hall for decades.

I finished my tea and thanked my cousins for their help.

Floyd followed me to the door. He opened it for me. “What will you do if you discover the murderer is one of Lord Kershaw’s family?”

“Do you think one of them did it?”

“No.”

“Then the question is moot, isn’t it?”

Not satisfied with my answer, he followed me all the way to Uncle Ronald’s office. “He won’t like that you’re investigating a murder, let alone adding the entire Wentworth family to your list of suspects.”

“I’ll interrogate him so subtly he won’t realize he’s being interrogated.”

“Like you did with Flossy and me? Ha! Good luck, Cleo. You’re going to need it.”

I hesitated, my fist poised to knock. How could I phrase my questions so as not to raise Uncle Ronald’s suspicions, let alone his ire?

The door suddenly opened from the other side, and my uncle almost walked into my fist. “Cleopatra, I was just on my way to find you. I want to talk to you.”

I froze. How did he know I was investigating? Had I not been discreet enough?

Floyd sidled closer to me. For all his teasing, he could be supportive when he wanted to be. I knew he’d always be there for me when I needed him most. But if I wanted my uncle to respect my decision to be a private detective, I had to stand on my own two feet.