"I should like to know why you are drunk," said Lyon mildly.
"Swanson's dead, murdered. Isn't that reason enough?"
"His funeral is this afternoon, Grainger," Diana said. "May we come in?"
"No. I don't want either of you here."
"Just one question, then." Lyon paused just an instant. "Why were you meeting Patricia Driscoll? I saw both of you, you know. Before dawn."
Grainger turned pale as a sheet, then he flushed. His face gave away the truth.
Lyon continued, his tone still calm, very mild. "She is young, is she not? Too young to take you for her lover."
"Look, my lord, Miss Diana ---" He plowed his fingers through his already rumpled hair. "It was nothing. I was with her, yes. It was nothing. Patricia's lover?" He laughed, a hoarse sound that made gooseflesh rise on Diana's arms.
With those words, he slammed the door in their faces.
"Goodness," said Diana, staring at the closed door.
"Yes," said Lyon thoughtfully.
"Everyone seems to be hiding something."
"Let's speak to your father."
"I hope he is in better shape than Grainger!"
They did not find Lucien alone until after Charles Swanson's funeral. He was buried in the Savarol cemetery, a beautiful spot some two hundred yards from the great house, an area carefully tended and surrounded by a low white wooden fence. He was buried next to Moira. The grave of Diana's mother was set a bit apart, with bougainvillea covering it.
She said in a low voice to her husband, "Once my grandfather died, Father made the decision that the slaves should be buried in the family plot. I remember him saying that without the slaves we wouldn't be here. That's why it's so large."
Two fresh graves, and one of us is a murderer, Diana thought, and shuddered. Lyon's hand closed about her arm.
"Father, may we speak to you?"
Lucien wiped the perspiration from his brow with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. Deborah must have made it for him, Diana thought. "Certainly," he said.
"Sir," Lyon said as they walked back toward the house, "if you don't mind my asking ---"
"Go ahead, my boy."
"Deborah's family. You said her first husband was a Quaker?"
"Yes. Albert Driscoll. He was well-thought-of, but when he died, he didn't leave much to his wife and son. Deborah was living in genteel poverty, I guess you'd call it, when I met her in St. Thomas."
"And Daniel was working for a doctor?"
Lucien nodded. "Yes, a Dr. Gustavus was his name. A good man from all accounts. He thought highly of Daniel, needless to say."
"And Patricia, Father?"
"Ah, Patricia. Her maiden name is Foster. She was living with an aunt, a Miss Mary Foster, when she met Daniel. She even brought something of a dowry to Daniel. Two thousand pounds. Unfortunately, Deborah needed the bulk of that money to clear her debts. That was just before I'd met her, you understand."
"Did you meet this Miss Foster, sir?"
"Yes, I did. A maiden lady indeed --- full of good works, carried herself as if she had a board down her back, had pinched lips. The proverbial, disapproving spinster. Highly religious, of course. One of those intolerant Methodists."
"Patricia couldn't have been very happy with such a person," Diana said.