“They most certainly are not,” Derek countered. “I haven’t always known you to be a murderer, a thief, and a liar.”
“Dear me ...” The duke raised a hand to fan his face. “Such heated accusations. I’ve always admired your forthrightness, so I shan’t complain now, but honestly, old man, you quite singe my eyebrows with the warmth of your convictions. I presume you will permit me to offer a word in my own defense?” When Derek nodded curtly, the duke leaned forward, his brown eyes flashing, all trace of good humor gone.
“Yes, I murdered Lex Rex, and I had every right to do so.”
“Look here, Grayson,” Derek began, but the duke would not be interrupted.
“As for being a thief, I deny that categorically. I only took what was mine, and even Milord will agree that hardly qualifies as theft. A liar, though ...” Grayson sat back in his chair again and examined his fingernails. “There you have me, dear boy, for I am nothing if not a liar, and an unrepentant one at that.” He raised his eyes to Derek’s. “The very worst sort. But I feel compelled to tell the truth before you and Emma ... depart. You are an old and trusted friend, Derek, and you, Emma, are my gardening angel. It grieves me to see the suspicion in your eyes. Before this night is through, I intend to put you both out of your misery. My friends ...” He paused, and Emma stiffened as Derek’s arm went around her shoulders. “May I present the late, and most assuredly unlamented, Lex Rex?”
Emma waited, then looked slowly around the room. There was Crowley, sitting quietly, his head tilted attentively toward the duke; Hallard, gazing absently into the middle distance; Nanny Cole, knitting a sweater in cobalt blue; Newland, keeping watch from the doorway; Kate, gazing gravely at Grayson; Tom Trevoy, stroking his mustache; Gash, leaning against the foot of the bed, his hands folded serenely across his round belly. Emma looked up at Derek, saw that his confusion mirrored her own, then turned back to the duke. “Excuse me?” she said.
Derek was more severe. “Don’t like charades, Grayson,” he said bluntly. “Never have. If you’ve got something to say for yourself, you’d best come out with it.”
The duke sighed. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Well, all right, then ... Pour yourselves another cup of tea, everyone. This may take some time.”
20
The rain came then, pounding down without preamble. It swept in from the sea and dashed against the bedroom windows, driven by gusts that would leave the rose bushes in tatters, flood the great lawn, and flatten every one of Madama’s vegetables. Emma thought of the freshly turned topsoil in the chapel garden and wondered if it would all be washed away by morning.
Newland, monitoring the storm’s progress through the earphone of a shortwave radio, confirmed that gale warnings had been sounded all up and down the coast and that residents had been advised to sit tight.
Chief Constable Trevoy placed a quick call to the village, where Mrs. Tharby cheerfully informed him that all was well, the boats were safe at harbor, and the only casualty so far had been Mr. Minion, the butcher, who’d slipped on a slick cobblestone and sprained his left wrist. Dr. Singh had seen to the injury and Mr. Minion had recovered sufficiently to hoist a few by candlelight at the Bright Lady.
Gash had long ago wired the hall’s windows with sensors. If a pane was broken, the beeper in his pocket would sound and its digital readout would give him a rough idea of the window’s location. The staff as a whole seemed remarkably nonchalant about the storm.
“We’re part of the headland,” Gash explained. “Whole bloody rock’d have to blow away afore any harm’d come to Penford Hall.”
Hallard added wood to the fire, Crowley refilled cups, and Nanny Cole ate a few more sandwiches, while Derek fidgeted impatiently, and Emma peered worriedly at the driving rain. Very gradually, activity slowed, and a deep stillness fell over the room. Tearing her gaze from the windows, Emma saw that everyone was seated, and that all faces were turned to Grayson.
He was standing near the bedside table, staring down at a photograph in a brown leather frame. Gently, he picked it up, dusted it lightly with his sleeve, and returned with it to his chair, where he sat gazing at it for a few more silent moments before handing it to Emma.