‘Okay, see you in fifteen.’

Jazz threw her mobile onto the seat and drove slowly along the tree-lined drive of the Conaught Estate.

She steeled herself to put aside the anger she felt at Patrick’s meddling and tried to concentrate on the new information.

So, there was a child. And the mother was Jenny Colman – yet another connection to St Stephen’s School.

Not Hugh Daneman’s child but, in fact, a direct Conaught heir.

Hugh must have believed Sebastian Frederiks was Corin’s child; it was the only explanation for the sudden volte face on his will. He would have regarded Corin’s son as the closest thing to a relative he had.

And what if Hugh Daneman had told Frederiks who he was? Jazz let her thoughts run on . . . Frederiks would then have known he had a direct claim to the Conaught Estate, whose value in acreage alone must run into millions.

But Charlie Cavendish, as next direct heir to the estate, had been in the way. And maybe, mused Jazz, to be sure he had a clear path, and to avoid spending years, plus tens of thousands of pounds, as a court decided who in fact was the legal heir – a nephew or an illegitimate son – Frederiks had needed Charlie to be removed.

As Jazz turned right out of the drive and onto the road that would take her either home, or to St Stephen’s, she realised how tired she was. The thought of bath and bed was hugely appealing. However, she would not be able to rest until she’d spoken to Frederiks. And double-checked, for her own satisfaction, the one thing Hugh Daneman had seen that had made him believe Sebastian was Corin’s son.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Having parked her car at St Stephen’s, and given the envelope and address to a rather embarrassed Miles, Jazz went in search of Sebastian Frederiks.

She found him in the refectory, having his supper with a couple of the boys, who were trying to pump him for information on the reason for Fleat House being shut off by the police.

‘Well, boys, here’s the woman to tell you, the inspector herself.’ Sebastian gave one of his best false smiles, as he picked up his empty plate and made to stand up.

In those few seconds, Jazz knew she had not been mistaken. The ring on his little finger was identical to Emily Conaught’s.

‘Actually, would you mind, boys?’ Jazz indicated they should move. ‘I’d like a few minutes to bring Mr Frederiks up to speed on what’s been happening.’

‘Have you found a dead body, Inspector? Was it the chap who hanged himself down there? That’s the rumour,’ said one of the boys.

‘Get on with you, James,’ Frederiks said amiably. ‘I’ll be over to Walsingham to tuck you all up in an hour.’

The boys moved away. Jazz was about to sit when Frederiks said, ‘Would you mind if we talked as we walked? I haven’t had time to pack my overnight bag. I’m going with the boys to Walsingham House and the police officer said he was about to lock up Fleat for the night.’