The afternoon seemed to drag on. Now that I was here I was itching to do something useful. I sat with a notebook on my knee and jotted down all the thoughts that were going through my mind. Inherit fortune? Next of kin? Visitors to the castle? Who might have seen? Question valet? It didn’t seem to be much but at least it would be a start and I’ve always found that one small clue or fact often leads to another.

We all waited expectantly that evening for the sound of a motorcar. At last it came but only Darcy got out. He ran to the front door, as it was now raining heavily again.

“He wouldn’t come,” Darcy said. “Absolutely refused, whatever I said to him.”

“How annoying,” Oona said. “What a waste of a good duck.”

“Georgie and I are here,” Darcy replied. “I hope you don’t think it’s a waste to feed us.”

“Of course not. But I was hoping . . . Oh, never mind. The man is his own worst enemy. How does he expect help if he rejects every olive branch extended to him?”

“That’s the point,” Darcy said, taking off his wet raincoat. “He doesn’t expect help. He doesn’t want help. He seems to me quite resigned to his fate. He babbled some nonsense about joining his dear Mary.”

“Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Oona said. “He must think that that sweet soul is in heaven, so he must expect to be headed in that direction himself. If he’d actually committed murder he would be going to t’other place.”

We went through into a vast dining room. Places had been laid at one end of a long mahogany table that would easily seat thirty. Only that one end had been dusted, and candlelight twinkled on the polished wood. Treadwell came in with a tureen of thick vegetable soup, then served the roast duck, accompanied by roast potatoes and tiny Brussels sprouts.

“Did you actually cook this, Treadwell?” Darcy asked as he was served.

“Lady Whyte does most of the cooking these days,” Treadwell replied. “She has become rather proficient at it.”

“Well, there’s a rare compliment,” Oona commented as the butler left us. “Usually he lets us know how inferior this household is to his usual standards.”

The meal was rounded off with an apple pie and custard. Then a good cheddar and biscuits.

“I’m sorry we’re down to so few courses these days,” Oona said. “We’re living the life of peasants.”

“It was all quite delicious, Lady Whyte,” I said.

“Please, call me Aunt Oona. Everyone else does.” She gave Darcy a knowing look.