“The Greshams,” Tiberius put in.
“You invited them?” Stoker asked. “They are not members of the Seven Sinners.”
“But they were here at the time. It is too much to hope they might have seen or noted anything of interest, but one never knows.”
“Six potential murderers, then,” I said. “You must be well guarded at all times, Tiberius.”
“Six?” Stoker raised his brows in an imperious gesture of enquiry. He looked like one of the younger and more alluring Roman emperors, attractive and possibly lethal.
“Six,” I said firmly. “Surely you of all people understand that the female of the species may prove deadlier than the male.”
This oblique reference to our past ordeals made no impressionupon him, and Tiberius hurried to agree. “Augusta was newly affianced to James that summer, and Beatrice only married Pietro somewhat recently. No, I think we may safely acquit the ladies of any suspicion.”
“But—” The tiniest twitch of amusement tugged at Stoker’s mouth. I broke off what I had meant to say. “Clearly you are in agreement,” I said.
He shrugged. “It does seem thoroughly unlikely in the present circumstances. And you might as well add Elspeth Gresham to the list of unlikely murderers.”
“On what grounds?” I demanded.
“I simply think her incapable of the act of murder. No, it will be either Sir James or the count,” he assured me.
“Or Timothy,” Tiberius put in.
Stoker shook his head. “As unlikely as his sister. Your visits to Cherboys are rare and remarkable, but theydohappen. Either of them might have happily poisoned or garrotted or stabbed you these past twenty years.”
“True,” Tiberius agreed. “And neither of them has stirred a foot outside of Dearsley these past two decades. Highly improbable that Elspeth or Timothy managed to murder Kaspar or Alexandre on the Continent.”
“Just so,” Stoker said. They were nodding in unison, the family resemblance suddenly so striking and maddening I wanted to do nothing so much as knock their heads together.
“Do not agree with one another,” I said in considerable alarm. “It is terrifying.”
“It will not last,” Stoker assured me. “But I am right. One of those two men will be our villain.”
Tiberius regarded him with a look of approbation. “I quite agree.”
Both Templeton-Vanes in agreement with one another against mewas a novel and wholly unsettling experience. I felt my equilibrium shift, knocking me into a reckless reaction I hoped I would not later regret. “Would you care to wager on that?” I asked.
Tiberius blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Stoker grinned. “It is one of Veronica’s favourite pastimes during our forays into investigation. Invariably, she becomes too attached to a pet theory and cannot turn loose of it for pride’s sake. We have wagered in the past, and I believe I have come out the winner more times than not, haven’t I?” he asked, tipping his head and widening his eyes like an innocent.
“I do not recall,” I replied with icy hauteur. “But I will wagerbothof you that Kaspar and Alexandre’s murderer, the fiend who sent those threats in the post, is a woman.”
“How much?” Tiberius enquired.
“A pound would be the usual wager,” Stoker informed him.
“I shouldn’t think of engaging in any wager less than five,” Tiberius said, shaking his head. “How about it, Veronica? Five pounds?”
“Guineas,” I countered firmly.
The three of us shook hands on it. I had just ranged myself against the combined intellectual and physical and financial resources of the Templeton-Vane brothers. It was a chilling thought, but I have never been one to shrink from a challenge.
“Of course,” Stoker said mildly, “we are still assuming the murders are connected to Lorenzo d’Ambrogio’s death.”
Tiberius waved a hand. “Let us not complicate matters unnecessarily, brother. We may assume that only one person is seeking to murder me.”
“For now,” Stoker said pleasantly. “I could probably think of others.” It was the sort of banter they had always shared, but there was a new mellowness to it now. The sharp edge that had characterised their relationship had dulled, and I wondered why.
