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I walk into the house and nearly collide with Alistair. I flinch back in alarm, and he grins. “Sorry about that, Mary. We were wondering where you were. Out for a stroll?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Yes. And where were you? Where are Oliver and Lucas?”

“Oliver’s still out. He ran into some friends from school while we were out and decided to go on with them. They invited us to join, but seeing as how I stole Lucas away from his schooling, I brought him back to catch up.” He smiles again, and there’s a hint of reproach in his expression. “I’m not a complete flake. Well, I am , but I want better for my little cousin.”

“That’s good to hear,” I say. “So he’s in the study?”

“He is. Hard at work on science problems. Don’t really see the point to be honest. He’s probably smarter than most of his teachers. But he needs these marks to get into Oxford, so study he must! Care to walk with me? I know you’ve just returned, but I could use the company. Never was much good at being alone.”

Half of me wants to refuse and run to safety. I have an excellent excuse, of course. I really should be supervising Lucas. But Lucas has done an excellent job of self-managing so far, and in any case, this is only the first week. It will be no trouble at all to catch up.

I wonder how long I’ll keep telling myself that.

The other half of me is still aflame with the fires of justice. I have Minnie’s possible murderer right in front of me, and if not her murderer, then someone who could shed more light on the circumstances surrounding her death. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.

And let’s face it. If Alistair wants me dead, there’s precious little I can do to stop him no matter where I am.

“Very well,” I reply. “Lead the way.”

“Oh, nonsense,” he says, putting his arm in mine and propelling me back down the stairs. “We journey together, Mary! I suggest the east garden. Prettier flowers and fewer trees to spoil the sun. I never understood Sebastian for growing so many trees on the property. Sun is such a rare occurrence in central England—well, any part of England. Why hide from it?”

I extend my first feeler. “Perhaps it’s to hide what happens underneath the canopy.”

He laughs, and I’m struck by how alike his laugh is to Niall in every aspect but its hoarseness. “Yes, indeed; the secret lives of the rich and famous. Who knows what mysteries lurk in these walls?”

“I imagine you have a few tales to tell,” I say, probing a little further.

“Fewer than you might think. I only act like I own the place. In reality, I visit only rarely.”

“Yes. This is your first in three years, right?”

He laughs. “You’ve caught me. That was a lie when I said it over dinner. To tell the truth, I just wasn’t sure if I should speak of what happened when I was here last year.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you know Sebastian’s touchy over the whole Minerva Montclair scandal. I happened to be here when it occurred—only for a few days, mind you—and I’m afraid I got embroiled in the whole affair. You figured out the truth when I mentioned the letter, right?”

There’s no real point in lying, I suppose. “Yes. I thought the timing was odd.”

He gives me a sly look. “So that means that you’ve seen the letter.”

Again, there’s no point in lying. I’ve already told Veronica about them anyway. “Yes. I was cleaning his room while Hazel had the day off, and I discovered a box of letters between him and Minnie.”

“Ah, but did you see the one he wrote Minnie when he discovered she was cheating?”

“I did. He was quite angry.”

Alistair laughs. “He was quite broken-hearted. And quite young and quite foolish.”

We are in the east garden now. I am keenly aware of how close Alistair is to me and how strong his arm is over mine. I begin to regret my decision to come out with him alone. Still, I am out here. I might as well see this through.

“You mentioned you advised him not to send the letter. Is that why you flew all this way?”

“Ah… no. No, I…” He sighs. “Well, I might as well say it. I’m afraid I’m a failure, Mary.”

He gives me a jaunty grin as he says it, but I see the pain of that failure in his eyes. I also see crow’s feet at the corners of those eyes. I’ve thought him around the same age as Oliver and Eliza, but now that I pay closer attention, I would guess him to be ten years older at least.

“I don’t mean to be,” he continues. “I had high hopes for myself, nearly as high as those my parents held for me. I planned to be a successful investor and use my wealth to explore the world and learn all there is to know about its wonders. I’ve accomplished one of those things.”

“You’re not alone,” I say. “Quite a few people fail to live to their own expectations.”

“Quite true,” he agrees. “If only I had a better head on my shoulders. In any case, I was here for a reason I’m sure you can deduce but I’m equally sure you’re too polite to say. I was asking for money.”

“I see.”

He laughs. “Ever the polite one. There’s no need to mince words between us. I think we understand each other very well.”

An alarm goes off in my head. God, I wish he would release my arm. “Oh?”

“Yes. We’re both dissatisfied. Opposite ends of the spectrum, of course. You have money. Not as much as my cousin, of course, but you don’t behave as if you struggle financially.”

“And how does one behave if they struggle financially?”

“Desperately.” He gives me another slightly forlorn grin. “Like me. No, I think what you lack is purpose.”

I’m taken aback, and I flinch instinctively. “I lack purpose?”

“Yes. I don’t mean in some esoteric philosophical way. I don’t really put any faith in philosophy to begin with. But I think you lack a driving force to your actions, a reason that keeps you coming back day after day after day.”

Oh, how wrong you are . “And what gives you that impression?”

“You’re here in the Cotswolds just a few months after you were in a small town in New York, USA, just a few months after you were a teacher at an elementary school in New York City for twenty-five years. No one picks up and changes their routine after twenty-five years for no reason. You’re missing something, and if you’ll forgive me for the most horrible rudeness, I think you turned fifty and realized that your time to find that something is running out.”

“That is a little rude,” I say, not too angrily.

That alarm still rings in my head, and I don’t want to antagonize him. I do , however, want to hear what he has to say about Minerva’s disappearance.

My reproof has the effect I hope. “Quite right, quite right. I mean no offense, but my tongue does waggle. Well, it was waggling about Minnie and Oliver, yes? So I was here asking for money, and it was profoundly the worst time. Oliver was whining about a girl who turned out to be nothing more than a vapid society wench who latched onto our family because she saw a chance to advance her status. If only she had been a little more prudent, she might have latched onto Oliver. But she went ahead and got pregnant by another man. Then her vapid little brain thought it would be a good idea to confide in Eliza.”

“So she was pregnant.” He gives me a searching look, and I realize my mistake. “I mean… that’s usually what these scandals are, right?”

He chuckles. “Hardly. Illegitimate children are the norm in families like ours. It’s almost fashionable. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered why Lucas looks so different from the other two.”

I have wondered, but I keep my mouth shut this time. He stops and examines a row of brilliant purple foxgloves. “So since I was here,” he says, “I advised Oliver not to give Minnie the letter. I told him to cut off contact with Minnie, and I told the family the same. I never understood why they tolerated her anyway. Not that I’m one to speak, but…” He lifts his hands and lets them drop.

In the process, he releases mine, and I step away so he can’t grab it again.

“Well, Minnie wouldn’t let it go. She kept coming by, pleading with Eliza to help her do something about the baby, pleading with Oliver to forgive her, pleading with the Carltons to protect her from her parents.”

“Her parents?”

“Well, they weren’t happy, were they? Honestly, if it had been Oliver who ‘did the deed,’ they probably would have been over the moon. A whole family of leeches, the Montclairs. But since it was… well, I don’t know who it was. Not Oliver. Anyway, it got to the point where I felt I had to intervene.”

My heart begins to pound. I take another step away from him. “How so?”

He notices the step and smiles at me. There’s some mirth in that smile, but mostly anguish laced liberally with affront. “I didn’t kill her, Mary,” he says softly. “I was gone home the day before she disappeared. You can check my plane ticket if you like. I still have it somewhere in my luggage. I went to her and told her that she needed to stop coming around and inciting the family. She made her mistake, and she needed to accept it.”

“How did she respond?”

“She asked me if I knew what my cousin was doing.”

“Which one?”

“She didn’t say. I assume Veronica, though, because she called her an unrepentant whore.”

I stiffen a little. “That’s a rather unkind thing to say about Veronica.”

“Unkind, yes. Unfortunately, also accurate. You know that she fled to South Africa with some man, and that’s how we have Lucas. Who I love, by the way, and who I hope is better than any of us. He has a real chance if the aforementioned unrepentant whore ever releases him from her clutches. But that’s not all Veronica’s done. Sebastian, for all his cunning in business, is a fool in love. She has cheated with numerous men, including, it seems, the father of Minnie’s child.”

“Goodness!” I exclaim.

I want to tell him that’s not possible, but the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fit. The fighting that occurred right before Minnie’s disappearance, Sebastian’s refusal to acknowledge the event, everyone’s dismissal of Minnie’s very existence, Dr. Chalmers’s decision to cover up the pregnancy and likely decision not to report his suspicions.

Suspicions of Alistair. But he has an alibi. I suppose I could insist on confirming it, but why would Alistair mention an alibi if he wasn’t certain it could be proven?

I still don’t have all the answers, but once more, I’m closer. I just need the answer to one more question. That answer should give me the final answer to the final question: Who killed Minerva Montclair?

“Who was the father?”

Alistair meets my eyes. He’s still smiling, but his gaze is hard. “It’s in my best interests not to say exactly who I think it was. But I can tell you that Veronica keeps her correspondence in her dresser drawer upstairs. If you can stomach digging through the disorganized pile of lace panties she keeps in that particular drawer, you might find some interesting information. You may even find an answer to your question.”

He offers his arm, and this time, I take it willingly. As we walk back to the house, he says, “I would appreciate it if you kept what I’ve said to yourself. Say that you were cleaning and came across the letters if you should feel a need to go to the police. I am a worthless waste of a man for saying this, but it would be nice to obtain at least a small sum before the Carltons are ruined. Just enough for me to have one last go at being worth something before I sink to despair and die in a third-rate bar somewhere far from home.”

We reach the house, and before I can think of a response, he pulls his arm away and bows. “Thank you for a lovely walk, Miss Mary. If it means anything at all coming from me, I hope you find your purpose.”

He walks away, leaving me alone on the porch. I wait until he disappears around the corner, this time heading toward the west garden. Then I whisper, “I believe I have, Mr. Finchley.”