pale yellow stone walls, a grapevine on wires overhead, and enough bushes and statues scattered around to give Will an idea of what this must be like in summer. He bet it would be beautiful.
The party seemed to be here: Maisie, Phoebe, Johnnie Cheveley, and a distinguished-looking older man, in tweed with a bit of a paunch. They all held champagne glasses and cigarettes.
“Hello, Fee,” Kim said.
Phoebe turned with a shriek that set the other heads turning. Maisie nearly dropped her glass.
“Kim? Dearest, what on earth are you doing here? This is so utterly typical.” Phoebe gave him her gloved hands as she spoke. Kim kissed them both like a film actor. “And Will! How absolutely lovely. Was I expecting you both?”
“You were not,” Kim said. “But I got your father’s message.” He turned to the older man with a smile.
“Arthur, my boy.” Lord Waring held out a hand. “Good to see you.”
Kim shook the hand. “And this is my friend William Darling. Will, Lord Waring.”
Lord Waring turned and looked Will in the eyes.
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Something snakey, some reptilian air of cruelty or menacing look, something to advertise that this man was behind kidnapping, extortion, murder. What he got was a direct gaze of slow, deliberate assessment, and then a society smile. “Welcome to Etchil, Mr. Darling. A pleasure to have you here, having heard so much of you.”
“What message did you send Kim, Daddy?” Phoebe asked. There was a tiny line between her eyebrows.
“Why, I thought it would be pleasant to make a party of things, since we have Miss Jones,” Waring said. “And I have very much wanted a chat with Arthur. Come and see me once you’ve had a drink and a chance to dress, will you? A small thing to discuss before dinner. Bring your friend.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Excellent. John, give our guests a drink.”
Waring turned and strode off to the house. Cheveley said, “Good to meet you again, Darling. Bubbles?”
Will took the proffered champagne with a word of thanks and sipped it. The taste was far drier than he’d expected, almost biscuitty, and delicious. He had another sip.
“Lord Waring does us well with his cellar,” Cheveley remarked. “Don’t miss the brandy later. I think this is your first visit? You’ll find the house rather impressive, I suspect. Do ask the staff if you get lost.”
There was no sneer in his voice, just a warm, friendly effort to put Will at ease. It might have been the most patronising thing he’d ever heard. “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, Maisie, I fancy stretching my legs after that ride in the motor. Show me the grounds?”
She took his arm and steered him out to walk along a path. The wind bit. “God, it’s cold,” Will muttered.
“Never mind that,” Maisie said. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Long story. Is everything all right?”
“Well, it depends if you count me staying in a lord’s house being treated like a lady. Good heavens, Will, this place! So many bedrooms, and mine’s a lovely one, and these grounds! My ma won’t believe it when I tell her. And Lord Waring has been so welcoming. He says he wants a private conversation with me later.”
“Right,” Will said. “Yes. Lord Waring. What’s he like?”
Maisie stopped dead, turned, and narrowed her eyes. “All right, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Will said, a reflex he instantly regretted.
“Don’t give me that, Will Darling. You’ve turned up here when I know very well you weren’t invited, you were making me nervous earlier just by the way you stood there, and now you’re asking questions in that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one when it’s all going wrong, that’s what voice. I can tell there’s something up, so don’t treat me as if I’m stupid.”
“I’m not. It’s just—Has Lord Waring been odd, at all? Asking funny questions?” He had to say it. “Do you feel safe?”
Maisie took a long, slow breath. “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“I want to know what is going on. Now.”
“Look, Maisie—”
“No, you look,” Maisie said, sounding extremely Welsh. “Phoebe is helping me. We have plans. She’s done so much work to have me here with all sorts of useful people, and Lord Waring’s her father. If there’s something wrong, I need to know what it is.”
“I don’t know what I can say.” Kim’s anguish at Phoebe’s future pain was too raw in his mind. “It’s not something I can share. You know I would if I could.”
“I don’t know that at all, and I