‘There’s some suggestion that George’s father – the previous Lord Caxton – had coerced certain quarters of the press not to print stories about Sir Charles’ investment back in 1914. They were distant relatives and in protecting the Mandevilles, he was protecting his own name, not that George seemed to give two hoots for that. He threw poor Sir Charles to the lions and let them tear him apart. Then, he had the gall to marry the man’s daughter, knowing all the while that it was him who had brought that family to their knees! There’s nothing here to explain why he did it, whether he had a grudge or whether Sir Charles was a poor misfortunate caught up in Caxton’s twisted power games.’

Will pulled out some more articles to demonstrate how the history of the Mandevilles went quiet after Sir Charles’ death – a few reports in the local press about Edward’s gradual sale of Hill House land following its use as a hospital in the Second World War and a brief obituary in The Times announcing Edward’s death.

‘Sir Charles’ heir, Sir Edward Mandeville, died a sad and lonely recluse in a flat in London, saddled with a financial albatross. After the First World War, income tax skyrocketed, and men like Edward Mandeville were just not able to manage that increase. Add to that inheritance taxes, and Edward stood no chance.’

‘Edward buckled while George Caxton, and men like him, lived the high life,’ Lou said.

‘Spot on. It’s a miracle Hill House wasn’t demolished years ago. Not much to show for the end of a dynasty, is it?’ Will paused. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Sorry, what? Yes, I’m fine.’ Lou pulled the cuff of her jumper over her hand and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve got a cold coming, that’s all.’

‘There’s a lot of it going around,’ Will smiled sympathetically. ‘So, how did I do?’

‘What? Oh, it’s a lot to take in,’ Lou said. ‘Fascinating, though.’

‘Isn’t it. Are you sure you’re ok? Why don’t I pop out and get you a hot drink?’ Will grabbed his coat. ‘I’ll be back in ten. You’ve got that lot to keep you entertained while I’m gone.’

The moment she was alone, Lou wiped her eyes and grabbed the file. Her inner-historian kicked in. She turned to the section containing the information on George and made straight for the article from the eighties. THE TEFLON LORD, the headline screamed. Lou read quickly, taking in the details of the shady associates of George, who had been only too keen to roll over and reveal all of his secrets to the journalist back in the sixties. His criminal activities had extended to property fraud and embezzlement and had seen many men end up in jail. He had hung his various partners in crime out to dry. After a brief first marriage to the unnamed daughter of a minor peer – Lou bit her lip and continued to read – George had been linked to a string of society women and actresses in London until he finally married an heiress in the 1940s. He had bolstered the Caxton coffers through lucrative munitions contracts in the Second World War; contracts that the journalist claimed were secured by coercion and bribery.