"Because I said."

"Are you coming in?" He perched on the edge of the bed, puzzled, vaguely conscious that standing earlier had not brought a burst of pain from his ankle.

"Close your eyes."

A sc.r.a.ping sound in the hall signaled her intent. He closed his eyes, smiled in expectation (and a little relief), the acrid odour of sulphur penetrating his nostrils as she drew near and the words to "Bonne Fete" came to his ears.

"Happy Birthday, Daddy! You can open your eyes now."

"Wherever did you get that?" Tom feigned surprise at the plate containing four pet.i.t fours, each with one tiny twisty candle flickering with yellow flame.

"From Mrs. Gaunt, down in the kitchen. It's left over from Sat.u.r.day." She frowned at it. "And my present's in the car. I forgot it there, sorry."

"Doesn't matter. This is lovely. Thank you. You've made my birthday memorable-in a very nice way," he added.

"Make a wish, Daddy. What did you wish for?" she asked after he'd blown out the candles.

"That you'll be with me for every birthday of my life, darling. Come here." She sat on the bed and he hugged her, smelling her hair. "I hope you'll have some of this?"

Miranda reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out two forks. She grinned.

After a moment's quiet dining, she asked, "Will we be able to leave soon?"

"I shouldn't think much longer. There's little that we can contribute, you and I, I don't think."

"Then we can go to Gravesend?"

"Of course. Grannies are waiting! We won't be able to stop and stay with Aunt Julia, though." He paused in thought, then heaved himself off the edge of the bed. "I wonder ...," he muttered, gingerly moving behind the screen to pull his mobile from his trouser pocket.

"Wonder what, Daddy? Oh! Your foot seems much better."

"If Dosh or Kate has called back." He kept the ringer on vibrate most of the time. He scrolled through the received calls in the last twelve hours: His sister-in-law Julia had called in the evening as had a number of folk from Thornford, prompted, he expected, by the news of the death at Egges...o...b... "I left a message yesterday explaining what's happened to us, though of course they'll have heard it on the radio or seen it on TV. Ah, they have called. Shall we call them back or is it too early?"

"Not too early," Miranda said slyly.

Breakfast had been a cheerless affair, though mercifully absent the drama of the morning before. Hector pa.s.sed Tom and Miranda on his way out, turning to announce to those remaining-Georgina, Jane, Jamie-that he would be in the chapel, his tone a warning: Woe to him who dared disturb. But after a decent interval of toast and coffee and conversation tempered by respect for Georgina's evident suffering, Tom made his way to Egges...o...b..'s private chapel, his heart laden but his mind bent nevertheless on disturbing a man at prayer. But Hector was not at prayer.

Gripping the ring of the door handle, Tom had sent the inside latch shooting up with a noisy clank. Entering, he'd pushed the oak door creaking on iron hinges. He'd shambled down the shadowed nave along the blue-and-white-checkered marble, soon realising from the set of Hector's head and shoulders along the front pew that his was the posture of sleep, not devotion. Bonzo, on the pew next to his master, raised his head a little, blinked, and settled back to his own rest. He'd taken a few moments to glance around at the exuberant use of marble, an indication that the chapel was clearly post-Reformation, a later renovation to Egges...o...b.. Hall, before noisily clearing his throat and setting Lord Fairhaven's eyelids to flutter open.

"I was resting my eyes." He focused blearily on Tom, though his sleep-thickened voice betrayed him.

"I thought I might pay the chapel a visit, while I had the chance," Tom lied, adding another: "I thought you might have left by the time I arrived."

"Have you a ticket?" Hector's smile stopped short of his eyes.

"I must have left it in my other trousers."

Hector grunted at the riposte and straightened his posture. "The chapel sees mostly day-trippers now. Part of the package for some, with the Labyrinth." He flicked an uncertain glance at Tom, as if remembering their encounter there, before looking away, to the sanctuary lamp burning before the altar.

"Built in 1836 by my several-times-great-grandfather," he continued. "Of course, in earlier times the Ma.s.s had to be celebrated in the attic because, well ..." He trailed off, patting the dog's head.

"Lord Fairhaven-"

"Yes."

"There's something I want to speak to you about."

Hector regarded him sulkily. "I thought there might be."

Tom settled into the pew across the nave from Hector. Stained gla.s.s fetching a bit of light from the sky cast dancing shadows over pews. "I'm sorry if this sounds like an accusation, but I don't believe I'm wrong in thinking that in the Labyrinth yesterday morning you removed something from Lord Morborne's pockets." When Hector didn't respond, he continued. "By all accounts, Lord Morborne was wedded to his mobile-I noted it myself at the Plymouth airfield-but the device seems to be missing. I'm deducing, I don't think unfairly, that you took it."

Hector's lower lip slipped from its mooring. He regarded Tom with barely concealed displeasure. "Have you mentioned this to anyone?"

"If you mean the police, no. I have, however, discussed it with Lady Kirkbride. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I think she's of very good character and has your best interests at heart."

"And what would my best interests be, Vicar?"

"In being forthright."

"I'm not sure that would be in my best interests." Hector glanced away.

"Much depends on whether your interests lie with G.o.d or mammon."

Hector didn't respond. He shifted in his seat to face forwards. Finally, he said, as if addressing the altar, "I've been sitting here since breakfast wrestling with my conscience, Vicar. I do have one, you know. I realise people think that if you have any a.s.sociation with party politics, then your morals and ethics and what-have-you are suspect. But, you see, it's so often a question of efficacy. How might one get things done-good, worthwhile things-if one must constantly worry about the minutiae of some moral equation or consider every single possible consequence. Sometimes one must push on."

"Ends, not means, in other words."

Hector turned his head and shot him a cold glance. In the moment he took studying Tom's face, Tom could see a beginning crack in the facade of hauteur. "I did take Oliver's mobile-his iPhone," he said finally.

"I see. I a.s.sume you believe you had a good reason."

"Apparently, it contains some ... information that could be damaging. Oliver said so and I ... could find no reason not to believe him."

"Information damaging to you."

"Yes."

"Might the information implicate you in some fashion in Lord Morborne's death?"

Hector didn't respond to the question. Instead, he said with rising anger: "Do you know they've barred Father Downes from Egges...o...b.. for the time being? It's an outrage."

"You take Communion daily?"

"Yes. Here, and in London."

"I'm sorry I can't be of use."

Hector cast troubled eyes on him for the first time. "Will you go to those idiot detectives?"

"My lord, you've told me that the information on Lord Morborne's mobile could damage you in some fashion. That suggests a motive. How can I not tell the police what I know? A man has been murdered. Am I to protect his killer?"

"If I'd killed Oliver, why wouldn't I have taken his mobile at that moment rather than later?"

"Because you were disturbed in the act? Because you were in a terrible emotional state? Because you didn't think about the phone until later? I'm sorry to be so blunt, but there might be a number of reasons."

"Well, I didn't. Much as I detested my brother-in-law, I wouldn't wish him dead."

"You were seen at a run on the grounds around dawn yesterday."

"I often take exercise early in the morning. What of it?"

"You didn't mention it to the police at our interview in the great hall yesterday."

"I didn't want to complicate matters. It's a routine activity. How do you know anyway? Mrs. Gaunt, I suspect," Hector continued when Tom hesitated. "She's an early riser."

"She claimed to the DI that she had seen nothing 'out of the ordinary.' "

Hector shrugged. "And so it was, quite ordinary."

Tom tried a new tack: "I couldn't help notice that the belt on your robe was absent in the Labyrinth."

"What!"

"Lord Fairhaven, the police are also looking for a weapon, as well as a motive. Lord Morborne was strangled, as you know."

Hector's face coloured dangerously. "But that's outrageous! You're suggesting-"

"I'm simply pointing out that you're in somewhat of an invidious position."

"Then the b.l.o.o.d.y belt slipped out of the loops somehow. I don't know. The redoubtable Gaunt laundered that robe yesterday. It had gra.s.s stains on it. You'll have to ask him. There was a belt on it this morning. You're being ridiculous."

"What then of the mobile?" Tom felt the full force of Hector's anger, which dissipated slowly, like air from a balloon, until after a minute pallor was restored to his face. He said, "I'm not accustomed to including virtual strangers in what I regard as purely private business."

"Can it be private any longer in these circ.u.mstances, Lord Fairhaven? Should it be private?"

"Yes, it b.l.o.o.d.y should be private!"

"I see." Tom struggled to rise from his pew. "I was only seeking you out-"

"Then you weren't simply playing the tourist."

"No, I suppose I wasn't. Despite the size of this house, privacy isn't always guaranteed, and I didn't expect anyone else to come into the chapel."

"An indictment of the state of the Faith, I daresay."

"Possibly. Anyway, I only came to let you know, as a courtesy, that I feel duty-bound to tell the police what I saw. The nature of your conflict with Lord Morborne is not my business. But you must be aware that whatever information happens to be on Lord Morborne's device is also likely to be in another computer somewhere or on a server or in a 'cloud.' If needs must, the police will eventually find it."

Hector, who had set his head in one hand, stared at him through splayed fingers. "Sit back down, Vicar. I have something I might as well confess to you. If Father Downes were here, I would talk to him. But I guess you'll have to do in the circ.u.mstances."

"Confess?" Tom hesitated over the word. "I can't offer you what your own priest would offer you, Lord Fairhaven. We're of different churches. I can't give you absolution. Nor, in any case, would I offer absolution unless you were willing to meet certain conditions, going to the police being one of them. Do you see?"

Hector shifted his arms to cross them over his chest. "I said I had been wrestling with my conscience. I didn't say a winner had been declared." He flicked a glance at Tom. "Perhaps you are my dress rehearsal."

"Telling the police is not telling the public. If the police think your information is irrelevant to their investigation, I'm sure it would go no farther."

"I think you may be naive, Vicar."

Tom waited as Hector appeared to gather his thoughts. Finally, he took an audible breath, as if he were to plunge into a frigid pool, and said: "Oliver apparently had evidence that I ..." He paused. "... that I hired the services of a ... certain young man." His eyes slewed towards Tom's. "You're not-"

"Shocked? No. Human frailty isn't unknown to me."

"Of course." Hector frowned. "I doubt others shall be so forgiving."

"I'm not sure I'm being forgiving, Lord Fairhaven. I'm trying to be understanding. I gather, however, that your brother-in-law was in the mood for neither."

"No. I wouldn't credit Oliver with finer feeling."

"Why was Lord Morborne bringing this ... information up to you now? It is true, I presume."

Hector nodded. "The young man in question was a member of some third-rate 'boy band' that Oliver managed some few years ago, one that failed to capture the public imagination, apparently. It broke up and some of its members have found little success since. One is particularly low on funds."

"And he's ... entered the s.e.x trade?"

"No, no. He was in the s.e.x trade-as you call it-before Oliver plucked him and others out of some bar or off the street and did his Svengali bit on them. I'm not sure how much he really was in the s.e.x trade, this boy, but for a time he was ... available, shall we say."

"Through some website, I presume?"

Hector nodded vaguely. "I only ... saw him a few times and, as I said, this is some few years ago. I don't have a terribly vivid memory of him."

"There have been others?"

Hector's face flushed, but he didn't reply. "This boy seems to remember me, at least according to Oliver. This is what I was trying to glean from his mobile. Oliver claimed he had compromising photos-I can't imagine how photos would have come about at all!-and some diary entries that suggest-"

"But if this boy is bent on blackmail, why wouldn't he approach you himself? Why would he have Lord Morborne act as ... intercessor?"

Hector shrugged. "I suspect Oliver has known about this for some time-"

"In other words"-Tom's mind raced ahead-"this boy, this young man, may not even be aware that you were one of his ... clients. That Oliver had his own reasons-"

"I don't know! That's why I wanted to see what was on his mobile. Yes, it's true, I was with this ... young man, but is there proof?"

"Why would Lord Morborne choose to reveal to you his knowledge of such a ... well, ominous secret at this time?" Tom was finding this all very puzzling.

"To ruin my political success, of course," Hector snapped. "I'm one of three on a short list for the open primary the Conservative a.s.sociation is running in this const.i.tuency. You must know about this, of course."

"I've been told," Tom said dryly. Rural Devon was such a redoubt of Tory England, its politics so uncontested, he only ever gave it a pa.s.sing thought. But he was aware that the MP for South Central Devon const.i.tuency had stood down over some dubious financial mismanagement, triggering a by-election, scheduled for late autumn. Rather than have a candidate selected by the local Tory n.o.bs, as usual, the Conservative a.s.sociation had short-listed three suitable candidates, one of which local Conservatives would select by postal ballot.

"I believe my chances are very good," Hector continued. "I've chaired the local Conservative a.s.sociation. People remember my father, who sat in the Lords, until Blair b.u.g.g.e.red with the Upper House. I shouldn't be surprised if I wasn't offered a place in the cabinet after the next general election. And now this intrudes! After Mr. Horsham disgraced himself, you can imagine the prime minister will have no toleration for other misconduct from this quarter. I'm to join the other two candidates at an open primary on Sat.u.r.day. If this story is likely to become known, I had better withdraw my candidacy, lest I embarra.s.s the PM. But I don't want to withdraw." His lip slipped out in a pout.