“Does the family still live there?”

“I’d imagine so.” Belinda peered through the gates. “They have done since the fourteen hundreds.”

“And what about your chum Jonquil?”

“I’ve no idea. I didn’t keep in touch with any of those people. I expect she married somebody equally rich and wonderful. Probably has two perfect children by now.”

“Did she have any brothers?”

“No, an only child.”

“So who will inherit?”

Belinda gave an exasperated laugh. “Georgie, how would I know? Certainly not me. Why this interest?”

“I’m always interested in inheritance, I suppose, since it’s so important to my own family.”

“Well, yes, it would be,” she agreed. “Your dear cousin David, the Prince of Wales, who will probably ruin the monarchy in a couple of years.”

“Don’t say that.” I gave an involuntary shiver. “I do hope he’ll do the right thing when his father dies. And I hope his father will live until he’s ninety-nine.”

“Not much hope of that, is there? He’s been quite ill.”

“Yes, he has. He didn’t look at all well when I last saw him.”

“When was that?”

“Before I went on my honeymoon to Kenya. I haven’t seen them since. I don’t suppose I shall any longer, since I had to renounce my place in the line of succession when I married Darcy.”

“That’s probably a relief, isn’t it? No more dos at Buck House?”

“In a way it is. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but I’ve grown quite fond of Queen Mary and I shall miss my chats with her, even if I was always terrified of knocking over a priceless vase or spilling my tea on the Persian carpet.”

Belinda laughed. “But she always made you do awkward and embarrassing things for her, like spying on your cousin.”

“She did, that’s true. Oh well. Perhaps I’m well away from the whole royal scene. Dealing with smugglers in the middle of the night is much more fun.”

We had left the impressive gates and continued to follow the estuary. We passed a cluster of cottages and the Smuggler’s Inn pub of the night before. Belinda identified this as the village of Polzeath. It boasted one small shop and two women stood outside it, baskets over their arms. They looked up as we passed, as if seeing a stranger was a novelty. After we had left the houses we moved into a gentler scene where the landscape was sheltered from the Atlantic gales. There were more trees here—I remembered this part of the road where the trees had dripped on us and provided a dark tunnel the night before.

“Oh look. Here we are,” Belinda said with excitement in her voice. “Trengilly. This was Granny’s house.”