“Really, Charlotte. Don’t you think we’re going through enough without bringing farce into it?” Edwina snapped. “This is no time for your strange fancies.”

“My last séance prophesied death, did it not?” Charlotte said frostily. “And it would be so much nicer for all of us if Cedric’s killer were found and apprehended. And who better to tell us than Cedric himself?”

“Cedric was never particularly helpful in life. I don’t see his being so in death,” Irene said, putting down her tea cup firmly on the table.

“Really, Irene,” Edwina said. “I find it most uncharitable to speak in this way of your departed brother. You two never got along, even when you were children.”

“He was always a bossy little prig,” Irene said. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t bring myself to weep for him. And don’t forget, he was prepared to cast us all out. He thought of nobody but himself.”

“Nevertheless, I was brought up with the maxim that one did not speak ill of the dead,” Edwina said. “And however badly he behaved, I still mourn the loss of my son.”

We sat in awkward silence, each of us wishing we were somewhere else. It had begun to rain heavily again so we couldn’t even escape by taking a turn around the grounds.

“Perhaps we should go up and see how the children are faring,” I said. “They are no doubt dying of curiosity about what has been happening downstairs.”

“Poor little things. I expect they find it all quite disturbing,” Irene said. “The less they know about it, the better.”

“Nonsense, Irene. They are relishing every moment of it,” Edwina said. “By all means go up to them, Georgiana.”

“I’ll come with you,” Darcy said.

“I just had to escape from that room,” I said. “So much tension.”

“I’d say the dowager duchess is holding up remarkably well,” Darcy said as we climbed the first flight of stairs. “One would hardly think that she’d lost her only remaining son today, and almost her daughter too.”

“I wonder if Fairbotham is really looking into what happened to Irene,” I said, pausing to stare down the hallway toward Irene’s bedroom. “His men have taken fingerprints now. They should be checking the glass that Irene used last night to see if there are any strange fingerprints on it. And I wonder if they ever did count the number of sleeping powders still remaining.”

“If she has a semi-efficient maid, the glass will have been washed,” Darcy said.

“Perhaps I should remind the inspector . . .” I began, turning back.