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10

‘Who do you think did it?’ Marta asked, pouring them each an early sherry in the welcome peace of her room. ‘My money was on one of the other guests at first, when we thought it was just the vicar, but after what Archie told us about the woman from the museum, I’m inclined to suspect someone closer to home.’

It sounded like they were discussing the plot of a crime novel, Josephine thought, struck by the peculiar situation in which they found themselves: the momentous sequence of events that had taken place since they got to Cornwall was as shocking as anything she had ever experienced, and yet – because the people who had died were strangers, and they were struck by sadness and injustice rather than grief – it was impossible not to speculate. ‘I can’t make my mind up, but I do know we should have told Archie about yesterday. I was so worried about him that I didn’t think to say anything, but we could have discovered Emily Soper’s body if the housekeeper hadn’t come between you and your enthusiasm for tin mining.’ She frowned, staring at the fire. ‘I know it’s ridiculous, but Mrs Pendean was very keen for us to stay out of that museum. She said it was closed because of family commitments, and that’s obviously not the case. Archie said Mrs Soper was spending Christmas alone.’

‘Didn’t you say she was nearly in tears in your room? Perhaps that’s connected.’ 257

‘I thought it was to do with her daughter, because she’d just mentioned her, but that could have been a coincidence.’

‘What about the vicar, though? Could he have seen something incriminating?’

‘So she forced him up the tower and slit his throat?’ Josephine shook her head. ‘It’s ridiculous that we’re even having this conversation.’

Marta drained her sherry. ‘I’m not sure I can face a cold table. Perhaps we should just go to bed and hope it’s all been a terrible dream.’

Josephine knew exactly how she felt. As a child, she had always dreaded the end of Christmas Day, clinging like Cinderella to every last bit of magic, as if that could somehow delay the stroke of midnight; now, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

There was a knock at the door, and Marta got up to see who it was. ‘Do you mind if I join you for a moment?’ Hilaria asked.

‘Of course not. Come in.’

‘Is there any news from Archie?’ Josephine asked.

‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’ Hilaria looked at the photograph albums that he had brought from the museum. ‘Have you been through those?’

‘With a fine-tooth comb, but we haven’t found anything.’ The albums had been meticulous in their recording of every significant moment in the Mount’s recent history – royal visits, family weddings, losses during the war – but they had given up no secrets relating to Richard Hartley or his death. ‘We know a lot more about the island,’ Marta added, ‘but that’s all.’