‘Good riddance,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s try Jeremy again.’

As they entered the interview room, Harry was struck afresh by the difference in looks between Jeremy and his beautiful sister.

Jeremy looked at them with flat eyes, sitting hunched at a table. He had refused a lawyer, saying he was innocent.

‘I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation, Mr Tremaine,’ began Kerridge. He sat down opposite Jeremy; Judd joined him and Harry sat in the corner of the room beside a policeman with a shorthand pad.

‘I have done nothing wrong,’ said Jeremy. ‘God is my witness.’

‘Do you realize that because of your silence, you will all hang? Do you want to know that you sent your parents to a shameful death?’

‘There is no proof.’

‘Your servants are talking now. On the night Dolly was killed, they heard her screaming, ‘No! Don’t!’ We have the proof that you visited Reg Bolton in prison. He had money in his wallet. I am sure we can trace it to your bank. You killed the footman, Will Hubbard, or had Bolton do it for you. The police are interviewing everyone in Sweetwater Lane armed with photographs of you and of Bolton. But until there is actual proof that you yourself killed your sister, there will be enough circumstantial evidence to hang the lot of you.’

Jeremy buried his head in his hands.

Harry suddenly spoke from his corner. ‘Had she been your own sister, you would not have killed her. But she was not your real sister, was she? Out with it, man. Confession is good for the soul, and you will be double-damned if you let your parents hang.’

Jeremy began to sob. They waited patiently. At last he dried his eyes on his sleeve. ‘All right,’ he said in a weary voice. ‘All right. I’ll tell you.

‘It was Father’s fault to start with. He had a good parish in Oxfordshire. But he got one of our servant girls pregnant. He had the living from Lord Dyrecombe. The girl went to Lady Dyrecombe. My father said it was her word against his, but the girl was the daughter of one of the Dyrecombes’ respected tenants and they believed her. My father was told to look for another living. The bishop was angry with him and Apton Magna was all that was on offer. After the baby was born, the servant girl drowned herself and Lady Dyrecombe called on my father and said the least we could do was to bring the baby up as our own.

‘My father had little to do with her until he noticed that she had become a great beauty. We all saw a way to restore our prestige and fortunes through Dolly. My father had received an inheritance and we decided to give Dolly a Season in London. She said she was in love with the blacksmith’s son, but we told her she owed us everything.’

He spoke in a dull, flat monotone. For a moment the only sound was the policeman’s pencil catching up on his shorthand notes.