Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,10
I certainly was,” Jonty confessed. “I don’t believe we’ve been involved in anything precisely like that, although we’ve come close. Things that have apparently appeared out of nowhere that did no such thing.”
“If that’s what you’d like, I have to disappoint you. No locked room or the like, although…I get ahead of myself.” Their host wagged an admonitory finger. “Suffice to say, there is a priest hole, but the family have made no secret of it since it no longer had to be kept clandestine. I’ll show you it as we make our tour although it has no bearing on the matter at hand.”
The tour, which began swift on the heels of the last cup of tea being drained, did indeed feature an impressive priest hole, wonderfully concealed, and another family portrait, this depicting the previous generation. Lord Henry with his parents, Lord Michael and Lady Genevieve, and two brothers: Richard, who appeared to be within a few years of Henry and Edward, who was considerably younger than the other two. Jonty reserved any questions he had about them until the mystery had been revealed.
As a whole, the expedition taught him very little about the house and grounds he couldn’t have already guessed. An immaculately kept property and grounds, as immaculate as the fingernails of their chatelaine, but always lacking the feeling that it possessed a heart or soul. Was this the atmosphere that Henry wanted them to pick up or was it the more prosaic understanding of the layout of the place? If an investigation ran its standard course, then Jonty would pick up on that aspect of thing while Orlando would normally spot anything of a physical nature—some unusual feature of the layout of the house, for example—that had so far eluded Jonty.
They had reached an ornamental bridge over an equally ornamental lake, when a change passed over Henry’s face. Jonty was about to ask their host if he was quite well, when his lordship said, “This place was struck by a tragedy, many years ago. I don’t believe it’s germane to the problem I wish to put before you, so I shall share it now.”
A tragedy? That was the first hint they’d had of anything untoward; the tour of the house mainly being interspersed with stories of heroic deeds or great achievements by the ancestral Byrds whose portraits hung on the walls.
“You saw the painting in the hall. Our family.”
“Yes. A very striking group,” Orlando replied.
“My youngest brother, ten years my junior, was named Edward. When he was only five, he ran off from his nurse maid one day, while playing in the grounds, to come and amuse himself on this bridge. He was always fascinated by it, especially watching the light playing on the water. Poor lad, he wasn’t what you might call simple, because even at that age he had a remarkable facility for drawing, although he wasn’t quite like other boys. Both old and young for his age.” Henry stared down into the waters of the lake, perhaps composing himself: the catch in his voice had spoken of great affection and great sorrow.
Orlando and Jonty shared a sympathetic glance as they waited for him to recommence. The death of a child would always be tragic, the idea of a life snuffed out before it could find its direction and its place in the world.
“What happened?” Jonty asked, certain that their host wanted to tell the rest of the tale but was perhaps constrained by uncertainty as to whether his guests wanted to hear such a sad story.
“He climbed onto the parapet and fell in. One of the footmen who witnessed the accident from the house said he believed that Edward had deliberately dived into the water but my mother and grandmother refused to believe that. A suicide would have been a stain on our family, so the accident became the official version.” Henry ran his finger along the stone balustrade.
“Might I ask which story you believe? I don’t ask idly,” Jonty clarified, “I’m simply obeying your instruction to take on the atmosphere of this place and as part of that I need to understand what I can about this terrible tragedy. I promise you that you will find us sympathetic listeners.”
“I appreciate your candour, so I will offer you as much of mine as I can muster.” Still his lordship kept his eyes fixed on the lake, perhaps in the very spot where his brother had fallen—or jumped—in. “The footman who gave his account