I followed him out into the hall and introduced myself to the architect. The man didn’t look too cheerful about an expedition onto the grounds in this weather. I put on my own coat, tied a scarf around my head then off we went. It certainly was as miserable as any day in Scotland, and as we crossed the forecourt, we got the full force of the wind in our faces.

“Is it far? Should we take the motor?” he asked. “My umbrella would be useless in this wind.”

“There’s only a footpath, I’m afraid,” I said.

“Maybe this may make the duke change his mind about having an open amphitheater,” the architect shouted against the force of the wind. “I did suggest that we incorporate the possibility of inclement weather into our design, but he’s got this idea of a classical Greek amphitheater in his head.”

We skirted the lake and followed the stream downward. The path narrowed as we came into the glen where the stream, swollen with the current downpour, swirled and foamed and splashed over its banks as impressively as any burn at home in Scotland. The architect tried to tread daintily beside me to avoid stepping in puddles, and I noticed that he was wearing highly polished city shoes. I wondered if Cedric had picked the right man for the job.

Then the path turned a corner and the architect stopped short. “What’s that?” he said.

Something was lying amid the bushes beside the stream. We made our way toward it, and Mr. Smedley gave a little yelp and exclaimed, “Oh my God.”

Someone was lying beside the path, his head and torso half covered with a tweed jacket, while water from the swollen stream splashed up against him as against a large rock. I went up to him, my heart racing, and lifted off the jacket. Cedric was lying sprawled on his face, his white shirt spattered with mud, with what looked like Jack’s knife sticking from the middle of his back.

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mr. Smedley grabbed me and tried to turn me away. “Please, avert your face. Do not look, my lady. It’s too horrible for words,” he said.

I didn’t like to tell him that I had seen dead bodies before. Not that one ever gets used to the sight of gray, lifeless flesh or sightless eyes open wide in surprise. Knives sticking out of backs take a bit of getting used to as well.

“If you feel as if you’re going to faint, my lady, do hang on to me,” he said, but he was actually clinging on to me and even through my thick, tweed coat I could feel his hands shaking.

“It’s all right. I’m not going to faint,” I said.

“Is it—is it the duke?” Smedley asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “It was.” I couldn’t take my eyes off that knife.