He did not elaborate, but I knew enough about the surroundings of the Templeton-Vane family seat to understand it was perched on the Devon portion of the Jurassic Coast, a series of cliffs thick with prehistoric fossils. “And James MacIver did not care. He simply wanted to hunt. So we travelled, from the shores of the Italian lakes to a shooting box in Scotland when it was time to take the grouse. We ended at Cherboys, some fifteen months after we left Cambridge. Older, no wiser, and considerably more experienced. The Paris opera dancers were particularly accommodating, if memory serves. As were the gondoliers in Venice...” His voice trailed off as he lapsed into reminiscence, a fond one if the gentle smile upon his lips was any indication.
I turned to Stoker. “Do you recall the visit of these young men to Cherboys?”
Stoker shrugged. “I was nine years old or thereabouts. I spent most of my time with my tutor.”
“Evading him,” Tiberius corrected. “You were positively feral as a child. It was only a few short years later that you ran away to join the circus.”
“It was a travelling show and I learnt some thoroughly useful skills—” Stoker began.
I held up a hand. “Another time, if we may. Tiberius, you were setting the scene, as it were. The Seven Sinners had concluded their tour with a stay at Cherboys.”
“Strictly speaking, we were no longer seven at that point. James MacIver had acquired a fiancée, who came for a visit with her mother.”
“And the Greshams came,” Stoker put in.
“The Greshams?” I turned to Tiberius for elucidation. “Who are they?”
“Ah yes. The Greshams. One hardly knows how to describe them,” he began, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “Timothy Gresham is a doctor of the very earnest and superior sort. He is always doing Good Works,” he added, adopting an expression of mock piety.
“One cannot imagine any friend of yours engaging in such activities,” I remarked dryly.
“Friend! What a terrifying thought. No, my dear Veronica, the Greshams are neighbours, the most gently born folk for ten miles and therefore often invited to Cherboys to make up numbers when required. Timothy is of a similar age and, before he became so desperately serious, could be amusing, so he was invited. His younger sister, Elspeth, was included for other reasons entirely.”
“No doubt to make a pretty addition to your party,” I concluded.
“Pretty! Veronica, I can assure you that neither man nor god has ever called Elspeth Gresham pretty. She is a spinster of unfortunate appearance and dogged intellect. Twenty years ago, she was being thrust onto the marriage market by her rather desperate mamma who was determined to see Elspeth properly wedded. Father threw a ball whilst the Sinners were staying at Cherboys, and old Mrs.Gresham prevailed upon him to include Elspeth.”
I felt a rush of pity for the unfortunate Miss Gresham. “I suppose you were beastly to her on account of her overbearing mother and lack of physical attractions.”
Tiberius assumed a hurt expression. “I am wounded you would think so. In point of fact, I danced with her in spite of the fact that she managed to break two of my toes. And I helped her make her escape from the party when it all became too much for her.”
“Presumably so she could weep in privacy,” I said, feeling waspish.
“You are determined to think the worst of me!” he protested. “I guided her to the library and showed her where Father kept the books on Devonian natural history. Believe me when I tell you she was overjoyed with the turn of events.”
My gaze fell to the cuttings on the table. “Tiberius, from the information you have presented, it does indeed appear that two of your Sinner friends have met an untimely end in recent months and that your name is next on the murderer’s list. Have you any idea why someone would be killing Sinners?”
He rolled the glass between his palms, studying the flickers of light in the depths of the brandy. “I have, I think. You see,” he said, raising his gaze to mine, “Lorenzo d’Ambrogio died whilst we were at Cherboys. And I rather think it was our fault.”
I poured another measure of brandy as a stiffener. “Go on.”
Stoker had said nothing at this revelation. He merely waited in silence for his brother to continue.
When Tiberius spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “Lorenzo, as I have mentioned, was a fossilist.”
“He and—” I craned my neck to read the name on the cutting Stoker had tossed onto the table. “Kaspar von Hochstaden.”
“Yes. They were mad for anything that came out of the ground. Ammonites, belemnites, brachiopods. God, the hours we spent listening to them natter on aboutbones.” He rolled his eyes. “They were especially keen to come to Cherboys because of its location. That bit of coastline from Devon to Dorset is particularly rich in fossils. You may have heard of Miss Mary Anning?” he asked me with lifted brows.
I smiled. Her painting hung in a place of honour at the Hippolyta Club in London, an establishment devoted to women of accomplishment. She had never been a member—the club having been established some years after her death—but her achievements made her an honourary light.
“ ‘She sells seashells by the seashore,’ ” I recited. The bit of doggerel known to all schoolchildren had been written in her honour. After the death of her father, she had earned her way by courageously excavating fossils from the crumbling cliffs of Dorset and selling the specimens to collectors. While still a girl she had unearthed the complete skeleton of an ichthyosaur, the first ever found, and it was this discovery that had set her on the path to greatness.
“When Lorenzo and Kaspar found out that Cherboys was so near to Miss Anning’s favourite hunting grounds, they could hardly contain themselves,” he went on. “They wanted nothing more than to comb the cliffs for their own dinosaur. And to everyone’s astonishment, they found one.”
I blinked at him. “A dinosaur? A complete one?”
“Yes, one forgets the name of the beast, but it was a ‘somethingosaur,’ ” Tiberius confirmed. Stoker pulled a face. “Philistine,” he muttered. He would have no doubt launched himself into a thorough explanation of the find, but I had little interest in a paleontological lecture when there was the drama of a potential murder at hand. I opened my mouth to discourage this diversion, but Tiberius waved an airy hand. “It hardly matters,” he said repressively. “The thing was found and it was enormous, far larger than Miss Anning’s ichthyosaur and of a kind never seen before. Lorenzo and Kaspar were beside themselves. They thought it would bring them renown, and we were all wildly excited.”
