‘There is no connecting door?’ Jacob frowned.
The handkerchief fluttered. ‘The… er… last tenants asked for that to be blocked up.’
‘Did they not like each other then?’ Jacob tapped the wall. It was indeed solid, no hidden doorway that he could detect.
‘I’m afraid I really cannot say. They were an older couple…’
‘Ah! Hymen’s fires were burning low. I understand.’ He followed the agent to the room next door. This was decorated to a pleasant masculine taste of forest green and cream, nothing too ornate. ‘How did the last tenant arrange his furniture?’
The agent looked taken aback by such a specific request. He had made a misstep, Jacob realised, his interest too pointed. Dora was better at this kind of thing.
‘I intend to carry on the business of my estate even while in rural retirement and like to have a desk in my chamber.’
The man’s confusion cleared. ‘Indeed, the… er… late client had a canopied bed on the back wall, and a desk by the window. Bookshelves on that wall?—’
‘The one between his room and his wife’s?’
‘Correct. There’s a dressing room through that door.’
Jacob strode over and opened it. ‘Very neat.’
‘I believe he would have his bath set up there. He was fond of baths,’ added the client a little wistfully.
‘How did the staff bring up the water?’
‘Ah!’ Looking delighted that he could satisfy the prospective client’s curiosity, Falconberg sprang forward. ‘There is a door here to the servant’s stairs– very cleverly disguised.’ He pushed at the white moulding which was a little more yellowed than the decoration around it and anarrow door opened to a dark stairwell.
‘Smith, see where that goes,’ ordered Jacob, knowing that a gentleman such as he was pretending to be would not deign to examine the servants’ quarters. ‘Check if my cook would be as satisfied with arrangements as the Frenchman was.’ He turnedback to the agent. ‘I always found the French too particular over such things. If the fireplace is big enough for a spit for roast beef and the stove for a batch of pudding, then I’ll be happy.’
‘Quite so,’ said Falconberg, though Jacob could tell he now despised him for his tastes. This agent was a man who aspired to ragout and syllabubs.
Getting into the role, Jacob went to the window and whistled the tune Chevy Chase. He wasn’t playing his older brother exactly, and definitely not William who was the epitome of politeness and would not turn his back on a man, no matter how menial, but aping the most annoying commanding officer he had known in Portugal, a braggard whose mustachios had more sense than he did.
Footsteps heralded Alex’s return. ‘Sir, if I might suggest we confer? The house is very promising, but we have others to consider.’
The agent got very hot under the collar hearing that, handkerchief wafting like the pennant on the main mast. ‘I can offer a ten per cent discount for twelve months as we are leaving the summer season.’
Jacob folded his arms and gave the bedroom another survey, taking in the details. ‘Why did the last tenants give it up?’ He was interested to see if the man would lie. It would be easy to disprove as soon as they went into the nearest tavern and stated their business in the area.
‘I’m afraid they died, sir,’ said Falconberg, clamping the folder of information he had about the house under his arm as if he were afraid Jacob would rip it from him and riffle through the contents.
‘What? Together?’
‘Yes, sir. A terrible incident– and not the fault of the house at all. It is unfair for the place to be tarnished by association.’
A version of the truth! How refreshing. ‘You will find I am not a superstitious man, Mr Falconberg. Thank you for your time. Smith will be in touch if I decide to take it.’ He headed to the stairs, unable to shake from his mind’s eye the image of thecomtetumbling down them, poignard in his chest. Falconberg danced along at his side.
‘Very good. And if your lady wishes to see the house, I can be at your disposal at any time, sir– any time!’
Aware he was raising the man’s hopes unfairly, Jacob turned at the foot of the stair and offered him a generous tip, even though that was not usual for such a transaction. ‘For your pains, sir. I am most satisfied by your attention this evening. Come, Smith, let’s take a stroll along the bank and familiarise ourselves with the area.’
‘Richmond that way, Putney the other!’ called Falconberg a little too enthusiastically as they headed for the riverside walk.
Jacob waved. ‘Understood.’
Once they were out of sight of the attentive agent, they took a bench under a weeping willow. It was a pleasant prospect here, the river bending towards Richmond. Travel upstream and you shook off London entirely. Go the other way and you would soon be in the smoke and warren of streets. A swan preened itself on the bank, loosening a downy feather so it fell on the shining mud. Its mate glided by with a gaggle of cygnets, nearly grown, following in a line.
‘Did you learn anything?’ asked Jacob.
