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I put on a smile and brightly asked my uncle what he wanted to talk to me about. Perhaps a little charm would disarm him enough to soften that stern expression on his face.

“I want to discuss business with you,” he barked.

I released a pent-up breath. That was an unexpected answer. He must be referring to the current staffing problem.

It was a welcome topic for me, but not Floyd. He stiffened. He was keenly aware that his father sometimes listened to my opinions about the hotel more than his own. Although my connection to the staff probably made me a better choice to help resolve the fraternization issue, I didn’t want to step on my cousin’s toes.

“I’m sure Floyd has some good ideas for calming the situation down.” I tried to encourage Floyd to step in without saying anything, but he gave me a vacant look.

I sighed. It seemed he didn’t know anything about the dismissed maid.

Uncle Ronald moved aside and indicated I should enter his office. “It’s not hotel business. It’s detective business.”

Floyd looked sharply at his father. “Are you going to engage her to investigate the incident at Hambledon? Why?”

“Kershaw is an old friend. He doesn’t deserve to have his name dragged through the mud simply because the fellow was an employee and he died on the estate. But you know how cruel gossip can be. Until the murderer is found, a cloud will hang over Kershaw’s head. I know the local sergeant is placing the blame on a poacher, but rumors will continue to swirl. That’s where Cleopatra comes in. Find the murderer, ensure there’s enough evidence to convict him, and work with the authorities to see that he’s arrested.”

“Is that all?” Floyd said lightly. “Should be a doddle, Cleo. I’ll leave you to it.” He sauntered off down the corridor.

Uncle Ronald closed the door and sat in his chair behind the desk, while I sat opposite.

“Perhaps you could employ Harry Armitage,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ve read the newspapers lately, but he has solved a number of high-profile murders. He’s very good.”

Uncle Ronald gathered a stack of papers from his desk and shuffled them. “He’s too expensive.”

“I wasn’t aware his fees had gone up.”

“I don’t know what his fees are, but they’re more than yours. You’re free.” He returned the papers to the same position they’d occupied before he moved them. “Besides, I don’t want to encourage Armitage’s detective endeavors.”

“Why not?”

He waved off my question. Before I could ask again, he said, “I want you to investigate discreetly , Cleopatra. I don’t want anyone thinking you’ve got mannish tendencies.”

“Mannish?”

“Investigating murders is hardly a feminine pastime.”

“It’s not a pastime, and perhaps it’s not seen as feminine because women are discouraged from doing it.”

He dismissed my protest with another casual wave, as if it were of no more concern to him than an irritating fly at a picnic. “Before you begin, there are some things you should know.”

I’d been prepared to continue my protests, but the prospect of learning something pertinent this early in the investigation had me leaning forward instead. “Any information you can provide about Esmond Shepherd will be welcome.”

“I don’t know much about him. He’s always been there, every time I’ve visited Hambledon Hall, which is almost every year since I can remember. I never liked him, even when we were children.”

“Why not?”

“He looked down on me, because he was always a better shot, a better rider, a better hunter, even though he was younger than me by a few years. Naturally, he was better at sports. His father was the bloody gamekeeper! He lived and breathed the outdoors since he was a baby. Damned fellow liked to rub my nose in it. Sorry for the language, but Shepherd riles me, even in death. At least he didn’t die on Kershaw’s driveway on purpose.”

Considerate of him. “I heard he was a bit of a bounder, breaking hearts without a care. Did you see evidence of that?”

“The women always liked him. They thought he was handsome. He knew it, too. That was partly why he was so unbearable, if you ask me.”

“Was Lord Kershaw jealous of Shepherd when they were younger?”

Uncle Ronald made a throaty scoffing sound that made his jowls wobble. “Of course not. Shepherd is—was—older, but Kershaw didn’t look up to the fellow. He was just the gamekeeper’s son.”

“Could Cicely Browning have lost her heart to Esmond Shepherd before she married Mr. Browning?”

He snorted. “Don’t be absurd.” But even as he said it, I could see him trying to recall. “She may have found him handsome, but that’s all. She wouldn’t… They never…” He cleared his throat. “Hambledon Hall was burgled recently. A number of items were stolen. Did you know that, Cleopatra?”

“I was aware of silver candlesticks missing from the dining room mantelpiece.”

“A number of other items were taken, not just candlesticks.”

“All silver?”

“I believe so. Shepherd may have taken them.”

“Wouldn’t it be more likely that a member of the indoor staff stole them, not the gamekeeper?”

Uncle Ronald settled back in his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. “Shepherd could come and go from the house. He may have entered while no one was looking and squirreled the candlesticks and other things away.”

I recalled seeing Esmond Shepherd in Lord Kershaw’s office, reading a book. None of the staff had told him he couldn’t be there, so I assumed he had full access, as Uncle Ronald said. “I’ll see if I can link Shepherd to the thefts.”

He looked pleased with my answer. “My theory is that he and his partner in crime had a disagreement, which would be the argument you saw in the woods. Then the partner killed Shepherd in anger and disappeared with the stolen goods.”

“It sounds plausible.”

“Good. Good.” He twiddled his thumbs.

“Is there something else, Uncle? Do you have other suspicions?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

I waited.

He finally gave in. “You may have noticed we didn’t go into the village during our stay.”

I had, but I didn’t know that was unusual. “Were Lord and Lady Kershaw deliberately avoiding it?”

“I believe so. The villagers have been somewhat restless lately, and our hosts wouldn’t want their guests to witness that. The villagers aren’t happy with Kershaw, you see. Apparently it has something to do with blocking a path they’ve always used. It’s on his land, so he has every right, but it’s been available for the public’s use for centuries.”

“Why did Kershaw block it now?”

“I don’t know. The thing is, it was the gamekeeper’s job to keep trespassers off the land. That’s interesting, don’t you agree?”

What I found interesting was the timing. The path that was open for centuries closes recently, items that have been in the house for years were stolen recently, and the gamekeeper who worked there for decades was murdered recently. Perhaps I didn’t need to dig into the gamekeeper’s past for answers.

Uncle Ronald checked the time on his pocket watch. “I’ll let you get on with it, Cleopatra.” He opened a leather-bound ledger and ran his finger down one of the columns. “If you need to visit the village, take Floyd with you, or Miss Cotton. Not Florence, and your aunt isn’t up to it. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to be discreet.”

“I’ll be as subtle as possible.” I stood, only to sit again. “Uncle, are you aware of the rule Mrs. Short initiated during our absence?”

“She mentioned she has forbidden the staff from fraternizing after catching one of the maids in the male dormitory,” he said without looking up from the ledger. “I’m in full agreement. We can’t have girls like that working here.”

I bit down on my rising temper and bit back the first retort that sprang to mind. Uncle Ronald required delicate managing, or he was likely to close his mind to other possibilities altogether. “I quite agree. We want respectable women and men representing the hotel. But the maid in question was in a relationship with one of the male staff members.”

“That’s irrelevant. If her beau had been caught in the female quarters, then he would have been dismissed instead. Don’t accuse me of treating the women differently to the men, Cleopatra.”

“I wasn’t. My point is that Mrs. Short may have gone too far. She has forbidden more than fraternizing. She has put a stop to relationships between staff members altogether, whether they reside in the residence hall or not. There are a number of couples who are romantically involved. One couple is even married.”

“That’s different, naturally. I’ve decided that Mrs. Short’s rule may be a good idea. Relationships between young people often come to nothing, and when they do, it leads to tension. I don’t want that here. I want a harmonious environment for all employees.”

“It’s good of you to care for your staff.”

“A harmonious workplace leads to better efficiency,” he clarified.

I should have known that was where his priorities lay. “And the couples already in relationships?”

“You’re right, Cleopatra. That must be addressed. I’ll let Mrs. Short sort it out.”

“Are you sure she’s the right person to do that, Uncle?” I was afraid the housekeeper would ruffle more feathers, not smooth them.

“She can be rather heavy-handed, but there’s no one else. Hobart is busy with more important tasks, and Leyland doesn’t yet have the respect of the staff who’ve been here longer than him.”

He was right about Peter. He’d been employed at the front desk for a few years before becoming assistant manager, but his promotion to that role was relatively recent, and he was still considered more of an equal by the staff, not their superior.

“The task would have been handled by Armitage.” My uncle’s lips flattened, not in anger but disappointment. It seemed his opinion of Harry was softening as more time passed since he dismissed him. Given the angry words exchanged at the time, it was pleasing—albeit unexpected—to see my uncle’s change of heart. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Cleopatra. Now, if you don’t mind…”

There was a knock at the door, and my uncle’s assistant arrived, armed with more ledgers.

I saw myself out and headed back to my suite. Somehow, I’d made the situation with the staff worse.

There was one other person I could ask for an opinion about the residents of Hambledon Hall, past and present, but avoiding Aunt Lilian had become necessary of late. Her addiction to the cocaine in her tonic made her unbearable. She was snappy and irritable, and sometimes even cruel. I’d seen her maid leave the suite in tears, and waiters hurriedly close the door after delivering food from the kitchen. Her husband and children kept their distance, when possible, and tiptoed around her when not.

I felt guilty for avoiding her. She needed help, particularly from those who loved her and wanted the kindhearted woman she used to be to return. The problem was, until she admitted she needed help, she wouldn’t seek it out, or accept it when it was offered.

Before he left for the day, Mr. Hobart sent a note to my suite to say that Harry had telephoned and invited me to afternoon tea the following day at his parents’ house. The message didn’t ask for me to return the call. Harry assumed I’d go.

He knew me well.

Over breakfast the following morning, Harmony and I drew up a list of suspects and planned our trip to Morcombe, the village near Hambledon Hall. I then spent the morning at the British Library, reading as much as I could find on the history of the Kershaw family and the estate. The story of King Henry the Eighth hunting there appeared to be true, although the title of Kershaw hadn’t been created then. Indeed, the Wentworth family at the time were minor lords and quite insignificant, but the king coveted their woods for hunting. It wasn’t until the mid-eighteenth century that the first earl of Kershaw was created, but he and his descendants continued to live in the drafty old building, as Lady Elizabeth called it, until her father replaced the small manor with the current grand Gothic revival one.

I wished the old Hall still stood, so I could imagine what it would have been like to tread the same floorboards as one of the most famous monarchs. The newer house didn’t have the history behind it, but it had certainly been comfortable with its modern layout and amenities.

I also learned how the estate had changed over the centuries. The woods used to cover three-quarters of it but many stands of trees had been cut down to allow more space for the farming of sheep. When wool prices plummeted, crops were planted instead. I suspected a path at the estate’s northern edge that was marked as a bridleway in a seventeenth century map was the contentious one my uncle mentioned. It was located nearer the village and provided access between Hambledon Hall and the neighboring estate to the north. It was the fastest route between the two grand houses on the estates without making it necessary to return to the village. If a shopkeeper from Morcombe had to deliver goods to both estates, he could make one delivery after the other in short order. However, without access to that path, he had to return to the village in between, adding a considerable amount of time to the journey. From what I could find or, rather, couldn’t find, the bridleway was never legally made a public right of way. Did that mean Lord Kershaw was within his rights to stop the villagers using it? Or did the centuries of use by the villagers give them some legal standing to keep accessing it?

I skipped luncheon altogether, then took the train to Ealing in the mid-afternoon. Harry had lived in the semi-detached house with the Hobarts, the couple who adopted him aged thirteen, until he moved into the Mayfair Hotel when he became assistant manager several years later. He briefly moved in with his parents again after his dismissal from that job, until he got back on his feet. He lived in a flat in Soho now, but still visited them often.

Both of Harry’s parents welcomed me, although Mrs. Hobart’s reception was a little stiffer than her husband’s. At least she wasn’t as outwardly rude as she had been in our early encounters, after she’d learned of my role in Harry’s dismissal.

This time, they weren’t alone in the parlor. Harry introduced me to his aunt, Mrs. Ann Hobart. Married to Alfred Hobart, the hotel manager, she lived next door to her brother-in-law and his wife.

She greeted me with eyes that twinkled with her smile and patted the seat beside her on the sofa. “Come sit with me, Miss Fox. I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time. My Alfred mentions you quite often.”

“Oh dear,” I said, smiling back. “Should I be worried?”

She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Not at all. He says you’re great company for Miss Bainbridge, and have been a good influence on Mr. Bainbridge. Apparently, he was quite wild last year, but seems to have settled down lately.”

My gaze flicked to Harry as he sat opposite. He’d been a better influence on Floyd than I had. He’d extracted Floyd from a sticky situation some months back. Floyd’s behavior had improved since then, although he would never be an angel.

The two Mrs. Hobarts excused themselves to make the tea. I offered to help, but Harry’s aunt said I should stay in the parlor. She said it with a light tone then followed it with a speaking glance at Harry.

His cheeks pinked ever so slightly. “Ballistics,” he blurted out.

I cleared my throat as I felt a blush coming on. “Yes. The science of matching bullets to guns. Obviously you know what it is, Inspector, but perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Detective Inspector Hobart—as I still called him, despite his retirement from Scotland Yard—waited until the two sisters-in-law had left before telling me about the advancements in ballistics since the advent of machine-made guns. After he waded through the science, he concluded that although small differences in bullet markings probably existed, not even the most powerful microscopes could detect them.

“No expert is prepared to swear in court that a particular bullet came from a particular gun,” he said. “They used to, when bullets and gun barrels were handmade, but it’s an area of manufacturing that has actually set the science back.”

“The science will catch up when microscopes become more sophisticated,” Harry said. “One day.”

It was a long way to come to hear a few short sentences that could have been told to me over the telephone, but I didn’t mind. There was one more thing I wanted to ask D.I. Hobart. I told him about the bridleway marked on the old map.

“I believe the current Lord Kershaw has revoked the right for the public to use it,” I said. “If the right was never actually given, can he simply do as he pleases? It doesn’t seem fair if the villagers have been using it for centuries.”

“I don’t know a lot about country laws. Not a lot of need for that kind of knowledge at Scotland Yard. But I think that if the villagers can prove they’ve been using the path for a long period of time without interruption, there’d be a case to have Lord Kershaw’s decision overturned by the courts.”

“The proof would have to be documented,” Harry added. “No judge will overrule a landowner of Kershaw’s caliber based on the testimony of a few elderly locals who’ve lived in the area all their lives.”

I refrained from discussing it further as the two Mrs. Hobarts returned. I didn’t want to talk about the rather upsetting topic of murder in front of Ann Hobart. While I knew Harry’s mother didn’t mind, having been married to a policeman for so long, I didn’t want the twinkle in his aunt’s eye to disappear.

We talked about other topics while they poured tea and sliced up the lemon cake. It gave me an opportunity to get to know them all better. Usually, our conversations were of a gruesome nature, but now I got to see how they interacted as a family. They were clearly all fond of Harry. If he accepted every slice of cake and refill of his cup offered to him, he would have to be rolled out of the house, but he politely declined with his usual charm. It seemed the two childless couples had raised him together. As a lonely thirteen-year-old who’d spent some time living on the streets, they’d given him just what he needed.

I wasn’t sure why the conversation turned to gardening, but when it did, it triggered a memory of something Lord Kershaw had said. That led to further questions I needed to add to my list.

I hadn’t realized my concentration drifted until Harry spoke up. “Go on, Cleo. Out with it.”

“Out with what?”

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

“That’s because you were talking about how the Eiffel Tower was made.”

“I was talking about Philadelphia City Hall’s tower.”

I glanced around at the three Hobarts, hoping I hadn’t offended any of them by suggesting Harry’s conversation was dull. While his mother scrutinized me over the rim of her teacup, and his father looked oblivious, his aunt smiled at me.

“I found myself drifting off, too, Miss Fox,” she said. “I don’t share Harry’s enthusiasm for science and mathematics. Sorry, Harry dear.”

That gave me the opening I needed to broach the topic that was occupying my mind. “I was thinking about science just now, actually. Forgive me, but my current case is somewhat complicated and there’s a particular point I wanted Harry’s expertise on.”

His aunt’s smile brightened even more. “I’m not surprised. He is very clever.”

His mother’s gaze softened a little, and his father stopped giving his cake so much attention and regarded me with interest. It seemed I’d said the perfect thing.

“You read a great deal of science books when you were young,” I began. “What do you know of botany?”

Harry laughed softly. “I’ve lived in the city my entire life, so very little. My interest has always been in engineering. Mother and Aunt both like gardening, though.”

“We do!” Ann Hobart declared. “We would love to be able to assist you in your investigation, Miss Fox.”

Harry’s mother put down her cup. All vestiges of stern scrutiny and stiffness were gone. She was as eager to help me as her sister-in-law. “What would you like to know?”

“The leaf or stem of a plant can stain the gardener’s skin, I presume.”

“If the gardener is foolish enough not to wear gloves.”

I indicated the side of my right forefinger where Lord Kershaw had tried and failed to rub off the discoloration. “One of the suspects had a stain here, but it was an unusual shade of green.”

“Unusual how?” Harry’s aunt asked.

I looked around the room in an attempt to find a match but couldn’t. “It was similar to teal, but softer.”

“The leaves of many succulents are teal.”

“She said it was softer,” the other Mrs. Hobart pointed out.

“I’ve seen succulents,” I said. “That’s not the right color.”

“Was there a hint of mint?”

“Not quite.”

“Aqua?”

D.I. Hobart pulled out a handkerchief on which his initials were stitched in the corner. “Is this it?”

His wife rolled her eyes. “That’s olive green. It’s very different to teal.”

D.I. Hobart looked to Harry. Harry shrugged. His father shrugged, too, and pocketed the handkerchief.

“I can picture it, but I can’t describe it,” I said. “It’s not the color of any plant I’ve seen before.”

“Is there a greenhouse on the estate?” D.I. Hobart asked.

“There’s a fernery filled with interesting plants, most of which I’d not seen before. The stain must have come from one of them. I’ll try to take another look, although I’m not sure how. I’m making some inquiries in the village tomorrow, but didn’t have plans to call at the house. I don’t want anyone from Hambledon Hall to know I’m in the area.”

Ann Hobart suddenly brightened. “You should take Harry with you. For protection against the murderer, obviously, as well as his help.”

“Aunt,” Harry chided. “Cleo doesn’t need my help. Although you do have a point about protection.” He arched his brows at me. “I can be free tomorrow, if I move a few appointments around.”

“It’s not appropriate,” his mother said tightly. “She’s a young, unwed lady.”

Her sister-in-law rolled her eyes. “Pishposh. No one concerns themselves with that these days, as long as they stay in public areas.”

“They do when the young lady in question is a Bainbridge.”

“I’m a Fox,” I stated. “And Harry’s company would be welcome.” It just slipped out before I could stop myself. “Although Harmony has already agreed to join me.”

“Then I’m superfluous,” Harry said with a smile that had begun when I said his company would be welcome.

I quickly turned to his father, catching D.I. Hobart unawares. He’d been watching his son with the sort of scrutiny I’d seen him give witnesses. “I have one more question before I go. How difficult is it for a thief to sell stolen silverware? Distinctive silverware, I should add.”

“Not easy for an opportunistic amateur. The thief would have to know a fence connected to an underground criminal network, or someone local who knows how to melt it down.”

That’s what I’d thought. “Do you think D.S. Forrester could make inquiries with the Morcombe police about known thieves in the area?”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to lift a finger. I don’t want to put you out. I can call on Monty at Scotland Yard.”

“Monty!” Harry’s aunt cried. When she realized how loud she sounded, she softened her voice. “You must be great friends to be on a first name basis, Miss Fox.”

I wasn’t, but D.S. Forrester had asked me to call him that, and he called me Cleo. It was quite obvious to me why he insisted, although I’d never given him reason to hope there could be anything other than friendship between us, and nor would I.

“Stephen?” Harry’s aunt prompted. “Could you speak to your contacts at the Yard? Miss Fox has enough to do already.”

“Hmmm?” At his sister-in-law’s glare, D.I. Hobart added, “Yes, of course.”

I knew what they were doing, and why. I expected Harry’s mother to overrule them, or at least attempt to encourage me in the direction of Monty and therefore away from her son, but she sat in silence. It was both unsettling and pleasing. I wasn’t sure whether it made me happy or worried. It certainly twisted my insides into knots.

When I made a move to leave, Harry’s aunt suggested he return on the train with me for company. We said our goodbyes, and I thanked them all for the afternoon tea and assistance. As I left, I realized I’d quite enjoyed myself. It was nice to call on Harry’s parents and not have his mother glare at me for the duration, and his aunt was very amiable.

“Do you think the thefts are related to the murder?” Harry asked as we walked to the station.

“It’s too soon to tell. Hopefully my visit to the village tomorrow will provide answers, although I doubt it. If I do find a suspect for the thefts, they’re unlikely to admit they stole the Kershaws’ candlesticks simply because I ask nicely.”

We fell into a comfortable silence. My thoughts were occupied with potential questions to ask in Morcombe and I thought Harry’s mind was similarly engaged. I was wrong.

“You’ll be gone all day,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What excuse did you give your family this time?”

“None. Uncle Ronald not only approves of me investigating the murder, he’s actively encouraging me. He’s convinced Lord Kershaw and his family are innocent and wants me to prove it.”

“That’s a nice change from his previous attitude to your investigating. But what happens if you discover one of them is a murderer?”

“I’ll cross that hurdle when I come to it.”

He opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again. He adjusted his hat in an attempt to cover his change of mind.

“Go on, Harry. You know you can be honest with me, even if it’s something you think I won’t want to hear. I want your honesty. Always.”

His pace slowed, then he finally stopped. “It’s not your reaction that concerns me. I’m a little ashamed to be thinking it, let alone saying it.”

“I don’t understand.”

He tapped the toe of his shoe against an uneven section of pavement. “I was going to tell you to be careful, and not upset Sir Ronald.”

“You mean, if I do find out Lord Kershaw or one of his family murdered the gamekeeper, you want me to keep it to myself?”

His lips flattened. “Ordinarily, I want justice to be served, no matter who the guilty party is. Highborn or low, it’s all the same to me. Perpetrators of crime should pay.” He drew in a breath and released it slowly. “It pains me that I even want to warn you. But, Cleo, I really don’t want you to upset your uncle. I know how vindictive he can be when he thinks someone has disobeyed him.”

I lifted my hand to reach for his, but let it fall to my side again before we touched. I didn’t know what to say. Harry had a strong sense of justice, so to even think of letting a murderer go meant he felt strongly that it was the right thing to do. “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “If it comes to it, I’ll manage Uncle Ronald. He can’t blame me altogether if it turns out his friend is guilty.”

“It’s not just you. I’ve somehow found myself back in his good books—well, almost—and I’d like to stay there.”

This time I did reach out and take his hand. “It’s not your investigation, so you wouldn’t be tainted by my decision. Anyway, I’m quite sure you are back in his good books, Harry, and I’m quite sure the reason is because he wants to re-hire you at some point.”

His eyes widened. “I miss the hotel sometimes, but I’d never consider working there again. Never.” He squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry on my account. If you need my help, I’ll give it. If Harmony has to work tomorrow, then telephone me. I’ll come with you to the village. If you’re placed in Sir Ronald’s bad books, then I’ll be there with you.”

“Let’s hope the entire Wentworth family is innocent.” I released his hand and we continued on. “You can’t come tomorrow. You have a lot of work to do on your own cases.”

“Nothing urgent. It can all be rearranged with a few telephone calls.”

“You need an assistant.”

“Want to apply for the position?”

I laughed, but sobered when he didn’t join in. “I can’t be your assistant, Harry. You’d be my superior and you know that arrangement won’t work.”

“You would never be inferior to anyone, Cleo. If you came to work with me, you’d be running the entire operation within weeks, and I’d be the one answering the telephone for you.”

“Now there’s an interesting thought. Will it get my name on the door? Fox and Armitage: Private Detectives.”

“Sounds awful. It doesn’t have a good ring to it at all.”

“All right, I concede. Armitage and Fox, since that’s alphabetical order.”

He continued on, a crooked tilt of his lips his only response.