“Mr. Dunstan.” Gray shook his head in a mournful manner. “I’m afraid you misunderstand. This is not a negotiation. This is a one time offer. You may accept it and leave by morning, or . . .” He shrugged. “I will send for the local authorities.”

Dunstan frowned. “But it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Which, I imagine, would put them in a relatively foul mood.” He smiled and held out the envelope. “However, it is your choice.”

“Not much of a choice, really.” Dunstan rose to his feet and took the envelope. He opened it, flipped through the five-pound notes and glanced at the ticket. “First-class?”

Gray shrugged.

“Not at all bad for a few weeks’ work.” He cast Gray an unrepentant grin. “And it has been a grand stay here.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself,” Gray said in a wry manner. “I assume we will never see you again.”

“I think that would be best.” Dunstan sauntered to the door, then glanced back at Gray. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Elliott. Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He grinned and took his leave.

Gray blew a relieved breath. He had been fairly confident Dunstan would be easy to get rid of. His type was not usually dangerous. Still, one never knew.

Now that he had resolved one matter, it was past time to resolve another.

Camille returned to the parlor to see if Grayson was there. The man certainly wasn’t making this easy for her. He still hadn’t returned, and she had no idea where she might find him. She paused for a few minutes to watch her mother dance with Uncle Basil. They talked as they danced in a manner far more earnest than befit either the music or the evening. It seemed to her once again that there was something decidedly different about her uncle and now, as well, about the way her mother spoke to him. It wasn’t anything Camille could point to specifically, more a feeling than anything else that all was not as it appeared.

“Darling,” Mother said as soon as the music stopped, “it seems our numbers have dwindled substantially. So we are going to retire as well.”

“Good evening, Camille,” Uncle Basil said with an odd, poignant smile, as if there was more he wanted to say.

Only Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Mr. Henderson remained in the parlor. Mother said a few words to them and they, too, headed for their rooms. Grayson had obviously already retired for the night as well. There was nothing to be done about it then. Tonight she would have to pound on his door. She couldn’t recall ever having been both afraid and determined before but she was now.

“Beryl!”

Camille stopped short near the Christmas tree. Grayson appeared from the shadows at the end of the gallery, obviously thinking Camille was her twin. She should, of course, correct him immediately. Still . . . she adopted her sister’s slightly lower tone. “Yes?”