“Cedric,” she whispered. “My son. This is an outrage. Nobody should have to end up like this.” She took a step closer to the body. Then she said, “But surely that is John’s knife.”

“Yes,” I said. “It certainly looks like it.”

She stared at me in horror. “You don’t think . . . Do you?”

But that was exactly what I was thinking. I was also thinking that something wasn’t right about that body. Something I was seeing did not make sense. I tried to work out what it was.

“Why on earth would he have removed his jacket in this weather?” the duchess asked.

That was something else that had troubled me. It did cross my mind that he might have been killed elsewhere—inside a building warm enough to make him remove his outer garment—and then his body dumped here. But it would have taken strong men to carry him this far, and there was no sign of any wheeled conveyance. Besides, with this amount of rain any cart or wheelbarrow would have become bogged down in mud.

It wasn’t my problem, I told myself. The police would no doubt get to the bottom of things as soon as they got here.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” a voice called, and we saw a police constable hurrying toward us. “They were saying that there’s been a murder, and . . .” He broke off as he came in sight of the body with the knife still sticking from its back. “Ooh, heck,” he said. “It really is a murder.” From his face it was clear he had never seen a dead body before. He looked quite green. “Do you happen to recognize the deceased?”

“Of course I recognize him,” the dowager duchess snapped. “It’s my son the Duke of Eynsford.”

I think he murmured “bloody hell,” under his breath but he said out loud, “Nobody is to touch anything until my superiors get here.”

“And when will that be?” the duchess asked. “I do not like to think of my son lying here in the mud. It is not seemly.”

“It’s a crime scene now, Your Grace. The detective inspector who comes will want to see exactly how the body was lying and to see if there were any suspicious footprints around it.” He gave us a look, and I realized that both Frederick and I had gone up to the body.

“His coat was covering his head,” I said. “We had to remove it to see who it was and whether he was dead. So our footprints will be there.”

“Never mind, miss,” he said. “I don’t suppose your little footprints will have done too much harm.”

“We need to cover him with something,” the duchess said. “I hate to see him lying there with the water splashing all over him.” She looked at the constable. “You should stay here and guard the body until your inspector arrives.”