“Lady Guinevere?” Mr. Martin asked.
“Yes,” Lakehurst said.
“She’s very good,” Mr. Martin said, turning back toward Lakehurst.
Lakehurst nodded as he opened the parlor door. His sister loved her music, but he could tell by her music choice this day that her violin was her therapy. The events surrounding Lady Darkford disturbed her.
“Mr. Martin!” said the Duchess from her seat on the long sofa. “Come in, come in.” She waved him to the chair at a right angle to her position.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Martin said, bowing before taking the seat she’d indicated.
Lakehurst sat on the other end of the sofa.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Martin,” the Duchess said.
“My pleasure,” he returned. “I understand from your rather cryptic note that you wished to speak to me about the death of Lord Darkford eighteen months ago?”
“Yes.”
“As it did not occur in the city, you probably know as much or more than I do,” he said.
“I understand that,” she said, “however, events related to his death have occurred that require investigation.”
Lakehurst shifted on the sofa. “May I explain, Grandmother?” he asked, staring at her. He knew his grandmother’s preference for control, but he felt vested in the mystery.
He saw one of her mobile eyebrows rise, but she inclined her head.
“Thank you.” He handed his novel to Mr. Martin. “Please read the beginning of chapter seventeen. I have marked the spot.”
Mr. Martin looked at him quizzically but did as he requested. When he looked up from reading, Lakehurst continued. “I have come to learn that the events described in that chapter are eerily close to what happened to Lord Darkford—and Lady Darkford.”
Mr. Martin frowned, confused. “Are you saying this author has first-hand knowledge of Lord Darkford’s death?” he asked, handing the book back to Lakehurst.
Lakehurst shook his head as he accepted it. “No. I wrote that. While I was in Scotland eighteen months ago.”
“Then how do you know your story—” he said, pointing to the book, “is what happened?”
“From Lady Darkford and her brother—who you know—the Duke of Ellinbourne,” he said on a long sigh.
Mr. Martin acknowledged knowing the Duke of Ellinbourne. Lakehurst knew they’d met at the Duchess’s house party at Versely Park two months prior when Mr. Martin worked undercover as the head footman during the party.
“Ellinbourne said Darkford liked devils and demons and was fascinated with the stories about Francis Dashwood’s Hellfire social club in the last century. He combined aspects of both into a club that met in the caves below Baydon Castle in the Mendip Hills. Like the legendary Hellfire Club, the meetings were parodies of religious rituals with debauchery but with more of an emphasis on Satan.”
“But Darkford wasn’t circumspect about his invitation list. He invited openly. Before we left Dysard’s, Ellinbourne wrote down a few names he said Cassandra knew had attended at least one meeting. Stillworth and Farrow—who you said were coming to dinner tomorrow night, Grandmother—were on that list,” Lakehurst said, turning to her.
“That’s not really surprising,” she said, “since Stillworth was his cousin and Farrow was his uncle’s brother-in-law.”
“Mr. Fortesque, the vicar from Baydonton, the village closest to Baydon Castle, tucked in one of the Mendip Hills valleys, attended at least once that was known by Lady Darkford. Ellinbourne said even he had been invited on one occasion. He declined, he said. I don’t know who else; however, I would assume others in society were. Closer questioning of Lady Darkford could reveal more—though I should have a care to question her.”
“Certainly not at my dinner party!” the Duchess exclaimed.
“Exactly.”
“If your intention for this party is to ask questions,” Mr. Martin said, “be careful questioning Mr. Stillworth and Mr. Farrow, Your Grace,” Mr. Martin said. “At least until I have an opportunity to ask questions of my sources about these gentlemen and others who were in Darkford’s circle.”
“Can you find out who was in Darkford’s circle?” the Duchess asked.
“That is not difficult. Porters at clubs are always open to a coin crossing their palms.”
