‘I can answer that, I think.’ They all turned to stare at Sophie as though the chair she was curled up in had spoken. ‘Mrs Fairfax.’
‘Mrs Fairfax? Never. I’ve known her since I was a small child.’
‘The Duke is back, so the housekeeper orders water from the spring for you, and you only. They will have been in turmoil, getting ready for the house party. They probably only spared someone to get the water yesterday. Flynn, it’s a spring up by the old castle, there is this superstition that only the Duke drinks from it.’
‘Which makes it a safe thing to target once it is in the house.’ The valet nodded in comprehension. ‘There should be no risk of anyone else drinking it.’
‘I’m not sure it is that.’ Cal frowned. ‘I am beginning to see a pattern. But leave it now – and no-one touch water left in this suite until we are certain. Michael, check Ransome’s rooms, leave no traces that you were in there at all last night. We all get back to bed and we wait for the alarm to be raised when the maids take in the morning tea trays. No, on second thoughts, you had best be passing and offer to take it in for the girl on that corridor, tell her he’s got a bit of a reputation and you don’t want her chased round the bed. We can spare her finding a body.’
The two men left, looking grim, and Cal opened the door into Sophie’s sitting room. ‘You had best get back to your own bed before your maid arrives.’
‘Cal.’ She caught at the lapels of his robe on the threshold. ‘That was murder. We cannot keep it secret and cover it up.’
‘If it was murder, then the nearest Justice of the Peace is my uncle, which is a slight problem. If it wasn’t, then I have an idea that at least needs investigating.’
‘Mr Tanner, the agent who investigated Jonathan for me, he will know all about his home and what relatives are still there. I’ll write to him and ask.’
‘And have the man know that your blackmailer has conveniently, and mysteriously, died? Tanner may be a good man, but I prefer not to give hostages to fortune. Some research in the library ought to locate likely Cornish Ransomes if there is nothing in his luggage. Sir Toby introduced him to me as “of Penzance”. We’ll have him buried here temporarily until we know what his family’s wishes are.’
He gave her a swift kiss. ‘Sophie, my love, this isn’t how I expect to wake up with you the first morning we had been together. Are you all right alone?’
‘Of course.’ Sophie, my love. Oh, Cal. ‘You go, I will be fine.’ He was already off elsewhere in his head, planning and calculating, she was certain. She went to her room, remembered where she had left her evening dress and hairpins the night before, ran back to Cal’s bed chamber, scooped everything up and fled before she was tempted to stay and fuss over him. Or kiss him.
She put away her pearls and the gown, piled her hairpins on the dressing table and got into bed because that seemed the best way to make it look slept in. Tossing and turning came quite easily, she found. Her body ached pleasurably in unexpected places, nothing like the soreness after Jonathan had lain with her. She had worried, a little, that it might spoil things with Cal, that she would be haunted by the image of the other man, of the misery of that experience. But Cal’s lovemaking was so different that it seemed something else entirely.
Learning to make love with Cal was going to be wonderful. She burrowed into the pillows, hugging one to her, but its softness was no substitute for Cal’s hard body.
Body. Somewhere under this roof Jonathan was lying cold and stark after suffering all that Cal had the other night, only worse, because this had killed him and he had been alone. He hadn’t even been able to get to the bell and ring for help, it seemed. No-one deserved that.
Mary came in an hour later, subdued and pale. ‘Oh, Miss Wilmott, it’s awful. That Mr Ransome took ill and died in the night.’
‘Oh no.’ She sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Mary, how dreadful. What was it? Food poisoning? Perhaps other people are sick.’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am. Mrs Fairfax has sent all the maids round to check though. And we ate all the left-overs in the servants’ hall last night and we’re all fine. Chef’s in a right taking though. They’ve sent for Doctor Paulson from the village.’
There was no need to act now. Sophie washed and dressed hastily, decided on a sombre grey and lilac muslin morning dress to wear, then went to find her mother. She met her at the door, one hand raised to knock. ‘Come in, Mama. Is it not it dreadful? I was just coming to see you.’
‘His Grace said Mr Ransome was unwell last night, it must have been this coming on. So sudden. Perhaps it was heart failure or a seizure, though he was a young man and seemed fit enough.’
The guests assembled downstairs, subdued and tending to huddle in small groups, speculating. Sophie, lingering outside Cal’s study, overheard the doctor talking to Lord Peter and Cal and realised that Hunt and Flynn must have removed all the evidence of vomiting. The doctor, elderly and over-awed by his surroundings appeared to have taken a rapid look at the body, announced there was no evidence of self-harm or injury and suggested a brain seizure.
She moved away from the study door when she heard movement inside and went back to the drawing room where Lord Peter, in the role of Justice, announced that he was satisfied with the doctor’s verdict and would release the body for temporary burial in the parish churchyard pending his family’s wishes being known.
‘It is too warm to keep him hanging about for days, even in the wine cellar,’ he said, with an unfortunate lack of sensitivity and Lady Beauville gave a low moan as she slid to the floor in a faint.
By luncheon, which everyone picked at, spirits had revived enough for there to be universal agreement that the house party would go on. ‘It is very sad, but it is not as though he was related to anyone here,’ Lady Peter pronounced. ‘Naturally, the gentlemen will attend the funeral.’
Cal drew Sophie aside after the meal. ‘Will you join us in the library? There is something I want to talk through.’
Hunt and Flynn were already there, with several maps spread out on the big table. Sophie could see that some were estate maps, others were rougher, older plans. ‘Is this about the Duke’s Spring?’ she asked as they made room for her to sit down.
‘Yes.’ Cal nodded. ‘I started to become ill after my father died and the obvious inference was that it was because I was now the Duke and someone wanted to do away with me. No-one had been sick with those symptoms before, certainly not my father who used to drink the spring water regularly. He was superstitious about it.’
‘But his spring dried up,’ Hunt said.
‘Exactly. The local people saw that as an omen of bad fortune, linked to his death, but then, two days later, the new spring appeared. That confirmed all the tales – the spring died with the old Duke and was created again with the new one – you can imagine the sort of thing.’
‘And you drank the water and became ill?’