Luck was on his side. On rare occasions, Sophia Glanville had been left unguarded. Bartholomew had no doubt that Mrs Jack’s true identity was that of Lord Longbourne’s mistress; careless of him not to have made sure she was dead. Jack had unhitched himself from his wife and gone to the stables with the new groom. Luke, returning from somewhere in a violent mood, was now slumped on the dais at Beatrice’s feet, fast getting drunk.

Sophia, apparently, was taking a turn in the early evening air.

Thirty-Two

Alicia was in the apple orchard, grateful to be away from the noise, the overbearing heat and the activity, which to her standards bordered on the barbarian.

The apples on the trees were swollen in full fruit, windfalls lay on the ground. She was saddened to find her first memorial to Alex was impertinently encroached by long grass and weeds which stung her hands when she tried to uncover the pitiful circle of stones.

‘My favourite dog is buried hereabouts.’

The intrusion of the voice made her gasp and look up crossly. Bartholomew Drannock, whom she neither liked nor trusted, was offering his tanned hand to assist her to rise. Alicia allowed the mannerly act but made no comment. She felt the first prickings of apprehension, sure he was about to proposition her. He had made a practice of staring at her, had winked at her once or twice for no reason.

‘Her name was Sky, she died as a puppy, kicked by one of the horses. I hate it when something dies young and unnecessarily, don’t you?’

‘What do you want?’

‘An answer to a certain question will do for a start,’ he drawled, coming closer, leaning towards her.

‘It’s no! And if you bother me again I’ll tell my husband, Luke and Sir Oliver.’ She stepped back, turned on her heel but got nowhere. He wrenched her round then pushed her back against the apple tree.

‘You misunderstand me, Miss Glanville.’

Alicia felt her insides shrivel up with terror. She thrashed about trying to get free, but his grasp was too strong.

‘Oh, dear God. You’re a member of the Society!’

‘Intelligent and perceptive as well as lovely and good-natured. No wonder the mealy-mouthed Longbourne leaned on you and no wonder Jack adores you. Well, he did. Is he no longer interested in the cuckoo in the nest?’

‘If you’ve come to kill me, do it now. Don’t hurt Jack, he’s no threat to Soames’s clique,’ Alicia pleaded.

‘And brave. What a remarkable person you are.’ Bartholomew lowered his voice dangerously, ‘Unlike your lover was. He whimpered to be spared. A pathetic sight. So ungentlemanly.’

‘You murdered Alex?’ Alicia stopped struggling and glared at him with pure hatred.