“You think it might be foul play?”

“What else could it be?” he muttered, grunting with exertion as he dragged Godfrey’s body ashore.

“He was always creeping around at the water’s edge, trying to listen to other people’s conversation,” I said. “He could have slipped, fallen and knocked his head on a rock.”

“Possibly. But why was he spying on other people?”

“He’s Godfrey Beverley, the gossip columnist. Trying to find the next scoop.”

“Then I say he found it and paid for it with his life,” Darcy said grimly. “If there had been no other death around here, then I’d be prepared to call it an accident, but after what we are learning . . .”

He broke off as the boating party made their way down the jetty toward us and we heard a clear voice exclaiming, “Oh no. I simply can’t go past that thing! I can’t even look. Somebody come and give me a hand.”

It was, of course, my mother, looking ridiculous stage-nautical in a navy and white sailor suit and matching hat. Several male hands obliged to help her down from the jetty. She started tottering over the stony beach in high-heeled platform-soled shoes until she saw me.

“Darling,” she called, rushing to my arms, “isn’t it too, too terrible? It is Godfrey, isn’t it? That poor little man. I still can’t believe it.”

“You loathed him,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but I certainly didn’t push him into the water and drown him,” she said. “Much as I’d like to have done. He really does look more disgusting in death than in life, doesn’t he? Like a malformed balloon. Do you think he’d pop if one stuck a pin in him?”

“Mummy, don’t be awful,” I said.

“I’m just trying to make light of the situation because it’s so horrible,” she said. “God, I feel quite faint. I need a brandy. I do wish Max would leave that stupid boat alone and hurry up.”

“Come on, old girl. Come and sit in the car,” Granddad said, appearing suddenly from the motorcar.

“Good lord, Father—what on earth are you doing here?”

“What’s this with the ‘Father’ nonsense? I always used to be plain old Dad and that’s good enough for me. Always did give yourself airs and graces, didn’t you?”

“Don’t forget I used to be a duchess, Father,” Mummy said, glancing around in case this conversation was being overheard. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Keeping an eye on your daughter, which is more than you’ve ever done.”

“Now don’t start that again,” she said. “Some of us were just not cut out for motherhood. I did my best and she’s turned out all right, hasn’t she?”