“That is for Her Grace to decide,” he said. “She must be notified first. Oh, dear. The poor lady. She’s with the doctor, trying to save the life of Lady Irene. Both of her children in one morning—it is too much. Too much.” He fought to keep his own voice steady then regained his composure as we entered the foyer and stood, dripping onto the marble floor. “If you will, please wait here. I will go up to inform Her Grace immediately.”

“It had to be some kind of deranged tramp,” Mr. Smedley said. “So many men have gone funny since the war. Gassed, you know, or shell-shocked. And now there is no work for them—well, I suppose one can understand. He probably asked the duke for money or food or even a light, and the duke ordered him off his property and something snapped.”

I decided to stay silent. A deranged tramp would suit the family perfectly, I thought. And of course it was possible. Jack’s knife might well have been lying around quite visible in the tack room. Maybe a tramp had managed to sneak in and spend the night in the stables, and had taken the knife. That explanation rather pleased me.

Because of the luxuriously thick carpets at Kingsdowne, we didn’t hear Edwina coming until she was halfway down the stairs. “Oh, Georgiana, my dear,” she said, holding out her hands to me as if she was graciously greeting a new visitor. “I’m so sorry you had to witness . . . It’s true what Huxstep says then? You found my son’s body?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”

“It was definitely he?”

“It was. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment before she composed herself. “What an awful shock for you, my dear. Some brandy, do you think?” For a moment I thought she was about to embrace me, but she stopped short when she saw my sodden outer garments.

“I’m really quite all right, thank you,” I said.

“Where is he?” she asked. “I must go to him. Do you think you could take me to him, please?”

“He’s in the glen,” I said.

“That stupid theater project of his. I knew it would lead to disaster, but I never imagined anything like this. Huxstep said he was murdered, but that can’t be right. Not on our own grounds. Perhaps he had a heart attack?”

“I’m afraid there’s no doubt. He was stabbed,” I said. “May I suggest you summon the police at once?”

“Huxstep is already doing so,” she said. “Although who knows how long before they’ll get here. I expect it will only be Constable Barber on his bike, but no doubt he can put through a telephone call to Sevenoaks for someone a little more senior.”