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Discarded along the path was an axe, and I crouched beside it. The axe was very old—its handle looked brittle, and its head was tarnished—but it had recently been sharpened. There were splinters clinging to its blade.

“What do you make of this?” I said to Havelock.

“I think I was expecting blood,” he said, after a moment.

The grand old front doors of Farleigh House were situated beneath a heavy stone arch, and as we approached they creaked, idling loosely against their frame. We stood at the foot of the steps and peered into the gloom beyond them, but there was nothing to see from outside. “Had we not been summoned to Farleigh House, I would have said that the place had been abandoned,” I said. A crow croaked at me from the overgrown fountain nearby, its voice carried away by the wind.

Havelock ventured up the steps and pushed the doors fully open, revealing a once-grand entrance hall, littered with detritus. It looked as if the tiles had once been a splendid affair, but a great deal of the ceiling had fallen. There were feathers, and patches of moss, and an entire tree growing through the far wall, its roots having gouged through those very tiles. The doors swung to behind us, and we could hear the way the wind whistled through the gaps in the masonry and windows. Leaves skittered across Havelock’s shoes.

“Hullo!” he called, into the house’s dark recesses.

There was no immediate response, so he took the liberty of studying the space; running his fingers along the mantelpiece, and peering at one of the shrouded statues.

The tapping of a cane became audible, and we composed ourselves.

At the head of the stairs, a figure came into view.

These are the details that Havelock would later tell me he noticed about the Duchess:

The Duchess’s cane was worn, and splintered, and though she stood tall and proud, it was clear that she was relying on it to support herself. Her grey hair was held into place with a wealth of golden pins, and she wore a fur mantle that had been eaten at by moths. Her gown was several seasons out of date, but some effort had gone into updating it for a more contemporary cut. The materials it was composed of were very old indeed, and there were signs that elements of it had been adapted and altered repeatedly. The silver she wore around her neck and upon her fingers had once housed precious stones, but all of those stones were missing. Still: She bore a regal countenance, tapping at the knob of her cane with one gnarled finger as she cooly observed us.

“I was expecting you yesterday,” she said.

“You must be the Duchess of Farleigh,” said Havelock, doffing his hat and bowing his head. “I am Havelock Harper, and this is Major Sebastian Wright. We’re pleased to make your acquaintance. We came as soon as we were able.”

“It’s remarkable, how much you resemble your woodcuttings.” The Duchess advanced, taking one step at a time. The carpets on the stairs were threadbare, and it was clear that she was struggling with the descent. “The artist should be commended.”

“We’re often made to pose for them,” I told her.

She laughed. “Very good. Well, I’m glad you’re here. I can only apologise for the journey, and the state of the house. We don’t often entertain guests.” As she drew closer, I noticed the silvery moths inhabiting her mantle. A few fluttered about her shoulders.

“Did you see the axe?” she asked.

Havelock replaced his hat. “The murder weapon?”

“The very same. That is where it was found—just outside.”

Havelock nodded. “And where is the Duke?”

“He remains where I found him, as well.”

I exchanged a glance with Havelock. We had seen a few bodies in advanced stages of decay in our time, but it was never pleasant. Havelock pulled his handkerchief from his pocket in preparation. “Shall we leave our luggage here?” I asked.

“You may. Will you see the Duke now?”

“That would be best,” said Havelock.

The Duchess took us through a ruined parlour, its ceiling almost completely fallen in, revealing the remains of the bedroom above. It was clear that the Duchess was not very mobile, and I offered her my arm.

“Imagine,” she said, with a short laugh, “me, seen in the company of such a dashing young man. Thank you, Major, but you will just have to be patient. I am not as spry as I once was.”

Through a broken doorway was a gush of light, and the Duchess led us into it. We emerged into a bright dining room, with an adjacent conservatory. A tree had fallen through the conservatory, opening it up to the weather, and the wind gusted through all the gaps in the shattered panes, rattling the tarnished silver and cracked plates on the shelves.

“This is where you found him?” asked Havelock.

“Just over there,” said the Duchess, gesturing with her cane at the conservatory.

While Havelock wandered across, with his handkerchief held to his face, I went and comforted her. “Were you close?” I asked.