At last, and with the reverence of an archaeologist opening a long-sealed tomb, Will opened the file. Lou didn’t need a dusty old sarcophagus or a room full of gold and gems to experience a rush of delight. All it took was Will’s colourful dividers splitting the pages into meticulous sections with the tabs neatly marked as Sir Charles Mandeville, Sir Edward Mandeville, Sale of Hill House, Lord George Caxton. She sat on her hands. She couldn’t trust herself not to rip the file from Will to find out what had happened to Sir Charles.

‘We may as well start at the beginning,’ Will said, opening the first tab. ‘Sir Charles Mandeville. You remember him don’t you, the father of the young woman you were researching yesterday? You read the newspaper report on the inquest into her death, and we found that her father, Sir Charles, had come to a sticky end too. Stop me if I go too fast, or you don’t understand anything.’ He smiled, and Lou smiled back, all the while willing him to get a move on.

‘So,’ Will said, ‘I found evidence that it was under Sir Charles’ watch that things took a nasty turn for the Mandevilles. Before his tenure, they had been a reasonably successful family, with a history stretching back a couple of hundred years, making money from the rents of tenant farmers and other businesses. Sir Charles inherited the baronetcy when his father died in 1890, and in the same year, Sir Charles was voted in as MP to represent the seat left vacant by his father’s death.’

Yes, yes, yes! I know. ‘Oh, really,’ Lou said sweetly. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. And from what I’ve read, it’s clear that Sir Charles was liked and respected by his political colleagues and constituents, even his adversaries. I read some of his speeches, he was a fantastic orator and had some quite fiery debates across the despatch box! He had incredibly forward-thinking views on the rights of the workingman – and woman – and sailed about as close to being a socialist as it was possible for a Tory to. It seems the only criticism that could be levelled against him was that he was a bit too liberal for those on the right of his own party. Are you following?’

YES! Lou nodded politely.

‘It was in 1919 that things took a nose dive for Sir Charles,’ Will said. ‘It would be unfair to lay all the blame at his door – the early twentieth century wasn’t an easy time for any titled family. It’s a popular misconception that the landed gentry were rolling in pots of cash, but that simply wasn’t so – unless your name was Caxton, in which case, money sprouted money while you slept!’

Lou curled her hands into fists. Her knuckles dug into her backside.

‘The Mandevilles were on the very lowest rung of the gentry,’ Will said, ‘It was hardly a hand to mouth existence, but it was hard work to make money from land and keep it. Many, including Sir Charles, relied on investments. And it was with one of these investments that he made an epic error of judgement.’