He put the mobile back in his pocket and went in to his boys.

It was dark by the time Jazz arrived at the front door of Conaught Hall. There were no lights shining from any of the windows in the main house, though she could see a brightness coming from the smaller wing on the left-hand side. Getting no answer to her persistent ringing of the bell, she walked along the front of the house. Making her way round the side, she came to a door with a lamp lit above it, and rang the bell.

A few seconds later, she heard quiet footsteps on the other side of the door.

‘Who’s there?’ The voice sounded fearful.

‘Detective Inspector Hunter. And I’m looking for Lady Emily Conaught.’

There was a pause before the voice said, ‘Why?’

‘It’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I wondered if she could help me on some family history, that’s all. It’s to do with a case we’re investigating, involving a . . . friend of the family.’

The door was unlocked tentatively and Jazz saw a very elderly, but still beautiful, face appear behind it. ‘Do you have identification? I’m sure you are who you say, but one can never be too careful these days.’

‘Of course.’ Jazz showed the woman her card. ‘May I come in?’

‘Yes.’ The woman pulled back the door further, so Jazz could step inside.

‘Thank you. And you are?’

‘I am she. Emily Conaught. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’

Jazz noticed immediately the physical similarity between Adele Cavendish and her mother. They were both tall, elegant and handsome women. Emily was immaculately dressed in a tweed skirt and cashmere jumper, although Jazz noticed she was wearing slippers on her feet.

‘Do follow me. I have the fire going in the sitting room.’ Limping slightly, Emily led Jazz down a narrow corridor and into a cosy sitting room. The walls were hung with large oil paintings, which were too big in size to have been originally destined for this room. The television was on in one corner, and Emily immediately went to switch it off. ‘So sorry, I wasn’t expecting any visitors this evening. Do sit down,’ she offered. ‘Can I get you some tea?’

‘That’s very kind of you, but please, not on my account. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. But I need some help piecing together the past.’

‘My children are always commenting that’s where I live most of the time, so you’ve come to the right person.’ Emily smiled. ‘How can I help?’

This lucid, spritely woman did not fit the image Edward Conaught had conjured up when he’d described his mother.

‘As I’m sure you know by now, we don’t think your grandson Charlie died by accident,’ Jazz began.

Emily nodded slowly. ‘Edward did indicate that was probably the case, but he didn’t go into detail. He doesn’t like to upset me, thinks I’m a frail old lady who couldn’t possibly cope, when in fact I’ve suffered far more tragedy than he will ever know and I’m still here to tell the tale. Have you managed to discover who might have been the perpetrator of the crime?’