Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,27

unsuitable to work for a bachelor. Perhaps the girl had some sense, after all.” If a teacup could be passed to a guest in a meaningful manner, Beatrice achieved it. “So she went to the sister. I assumed you’d somehow worked that out.”

“No, merely a juxtaposition of words.” Interesting that one of the people who might have known exactly where the treasure was—easy enough for the maid to pretend to be asleep that afternoon—had a connection to Herron. “You said that Richard told Herron about the treasure. Did he tell him the precise location or just that it had been found in the field?”

“That I don’t know. They could hardly have kept it a secret if they invited him to see the trove. Why do you ask?”

“Because it strikes us as odd that nobody appears to have seen Herron as the obvious suspect for stealing it.” Orlando was surprised at his hostess’s reaction, which was how Paul might have appeared on the road to Damascus.

“It has never occurred to me, Orlando. I’ve certainly never heard Henry mention such an idea, although he is very careful about casting aspersions on anyone. Do you think that’s what happened?”

“It’s a theory we should explore.” Although there’d probably be no value doing so in these circumstances. “So, if we can touch on the real mystery, why does your husband suspect his father’s death wasn’t accidental?”

Beatrice took a deep breath, glanced up at the family portrait, then said, “A couple of things. One was a chance remark of Edward’s. He’d been so very fond of his father and after the accident, he would spend as much time as they’d let him sitting at his lordship’s bedside, either chatting or being quiet. It seemed to soothe the man, so Edward’s mother allowed it.”

Orlando could imagine the scene, the solemn little boy—much like himself—and the father he worshipped. He hoped Edward had received more affection in return than he’d experienced.

“Edward wasn’t there to witness the moment of Lord Michael’s death, thank the Lord, but they had to explain to him as best they could what had happened. Henry took the task upon himself, saying that their Papa had gone to live with the angels in heaven. At which Edward had asked who had killed him.”

“Why on earth should he have said that?” Orlando asked, shocked at this new development although noting that the little boy’s connection to the third mystery had occurred.

“Henry believes it was because of something that happened the week before. Have you ever heard a badger killing a hedgehog?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then you haven’t,” Beatrice smiled ruefully. “Once heard, never forgotten, I can assure you. Worse than the screaming of a fox. Edward had been very upset by shrieks in the night, so much so that Mary had been forced to take him to her ladyship. The next day, his father took him out, showed him the scene of slaughter and reassured him it was nothing to be scared of. Merely badgers doing what badgers did, which was killing hedgehogs but not hurting little boys. Henry believed Edward was merely applying that situation to what had happened to his father, in an effort to understand. Henry assured his little brother that Lord Michael had simply suffered an accident but the notion stuck in Henry’s mind. Had Lord Michael—who was an exceptional horseman—really been thrown from his horse or had someone, for example a poacher, caused the accident?”

“Henry’s father was clearly able to speak in his last few days. Did he mention anything that might be relevant?”

Beatrice studied her hands, which she’d lain in her lap. Orlando had seen the pose before, among students who were trying to work out how to confess they’d not done the work set for them. Best, as with them, to wait and let the conscience do its work.

“Orlando, Henry told me something in complete confidence, something he has told nobody else, including his mother and brother. If I tell you, then I break that trust, but in the circumstances, I am willing to do so, under one condition. Will you promise not to tell another soul, including Dr Stewart?”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise that. When an investigation is in progress, we can have no secrets, or else how can we reach a solution?” They were evidently at risk of reaching an impasse, his hostess’s dilemma playing out on her face. “I have every sympathy for your position, the sacred duty to keep one’s word to the person you love.”

“Thank