“Goodenough, who does not exist,” Hammond said acidly. “Yes, that letter. Did you have not the least idea who it might be from?”
“If it is not from an attorney by the name of Goodenough, then no.”
“But he accompanied you here. Can you describe him?”
Simon set down his toast with a sigh. Clearly he was obliged to earn his breakfast today. “A nondescript fellow, rather shabby.”
“Age?”
“Hmm. Hard to say.”
“Tall? Short?”
“Average, I should say.”
“Thin or fat?”
“Neither thin nor fat. Middling brown hair, what I saw of it. Nothing distinctive about him.”
Hammond huffed in frustration. “Which no doubt describes half the men in Brinshire.”
“Is he from Brinshire?” Simon said. “He did not have the accent.”
“Ah… interesting,” Hammond said. “But of course that means he could be anybody. And the question remains — why? With Mrs Richard, the motive was clear, since she was the very image of the duke’s first duchess, but with you, Mr Payne…”
The sentence tailed off into silence, but Simon understood him well enough. Why an unproven architect, rather than a more established man? And why an architect at all, when clearly there was already one in the family?
“It is a mystery,” Juliet said impatiently. “Perhaps we may never know, so it hardly matters. No point wasting energy on fruitless wondering.”
“I believe we must,” Hammond said. “If this were the work of a random stranger, it would be no more than a curiosity, but it cannot be. The letter is quite specific in requiring someone to design an orangery. That means that someone known to the family wrote to your brother, Lady Juliet. Possibly someone within the family. So, again, and more strongly, I wonder why.”
“Wrote to Juliet,” Simon said.
“What?”
“Letter was to Juliet. Asked her to bring me here. Not written to me.”
Hammond huffed in disbelief. “That makes no sense whatsoever.”
It made no sense to Simon, either, so he disregarded it and turned his full attention on his toast.
4: An Eligible Man
Simon was enjoying his third or possibly fourth cup of coffee, and pondering the delights of a proper breakfast, in which mutton chops featured prominently, when Richard Merrington came in, nodded to everyone, scowled at Simon and then waited. Without being asked, the butler placed a plate of ham and the toast basket in front of him. A creature of habit, then. Detecting a chill in the atmosphere, Simon rose to retreat.
Without looking up from his plate, Merrington said, “I am required by his grace to show you my work so far on the orangery, Mr Payne, and discuss the requirements with you.”
“I had sooner discuss the requirements with the duke,” Simon said, prompting a hiss of alarm from Juliet.
Merrington frowned. “Nevertheless, those are my instructions, and therefore yours.”
“I am at your disposal, Mr Merrington.”
“Are you indeed?” he said, his tone flat.
Simon waited politely until Merrington had consumed his ham, two slices of toast with strawberry jam and a single cup ofcoffee. Then he followed him through several apartments he had not seen before, up a stair and into a large study, decorated in a lighter style than the other rooms he had seen.
“This is very elegant,” he said, slowly spinning round to admire the delicate colours on the walls. “That table — Sheraton?”
