The Sarjeant’s mouth twitched briefly in something that might almost have been a smile. “I had the honour of meeting that lady on a few occasions. A most remarkable personage.”

I waited, but that was all he had to say. I nodded to the Sarjeant, and he turned and walked briskly away. I shrugged and made my way through the winding corridors of the west wing to what used to be Uncle James’s room. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger, enjoying his company when he was resting at home, in between assignments. In many ways, he was the father I never had. I was like a son to him, so why did he never talk to me about his real son, Harry?

I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn’t think to knock, just opened the door and barged right in, like I used to when it was Uncle James’s room. And then I crashed to a halt as I saw Harry Drood and Roger Morningstar. They were together, in each other’s arms. They were kissing. They broke apart immediately and stared coldly at me, standing shoulder to shoulder. I turned unhurriedly and closed the door carefully behind me.

“You really should learn to lock your door around here,” I said.

“You saw,” said Harry.

“Yes,” I said. “I saw.”

“Are you going to tell everyone?”

“Why should I?” I said. “It’s no one’s business but your own.”

“If you were to inform the Matriarch,” Harry said slowly, “and the family . . . You know they’d never accept me as their leader. The family is still very old-fashioned about some things.”

“That’s their problem,” I said. “I don’t give a damn. Is this . . . why you never came home?”

Harry and Roger looked at each other, and relaxed slightly. Harry took Roger’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“This . . . is why my father never spoke to you about me,” said Harry. “Though he often spoke to me about you. He had great faith in you, Eddie. Said you had it in you to be as great a field agent as him. He never said that about me, even though I tried so hard to impress him. He was everything I ever wanted to be . . . But he could never come to terms with the fact that his only legitimate son was gay. It meant so much to him, you see, to continue his line within the family. And for that he needed a legitimate child . . . The Droods have always been very big on bloodlines. The Matriarch gave him hell for marrying my mother; you can image what she would have said if she’d ever found out about me . . .