"I think these days people are rather more fascinated with politicians' private lives than their public policies," Tom said, musing that Hector's conduct might squeak by with a grovelling apology in the metropolis, where his conduct could hardly be unknown (Lucinda and Dominic had smirking knowledge), but never in the deep countryside. "Even a breath of-"

"We sacrifice our time and our energies," Hector interrupted, "and the minute anyone finds we're a little bit human, a little bit fallible, then apparently we can go swing for our credibility."

Tom glanced at Bonzo, who had raised his heavy head to regard his master. He sometimes thought-though he would not give this voice within the Church-that the sale of s.e.x might just as well be legalised and monitored, much as the Dutch had done to salutary effect. But this would give no quarter in the case of Hector Strickland, Lord Fairhaven, husband, family man, and devout Roman Catholic. Revelation of his dangerous double life (if indeed rentboys were a habit) would embarra.s.s more than the PM and some Tory grandees. It would deeply humiliate his wife, whom he had betrayed in violation of his wedding vows. Had he no concern for her? Her name had not entered their conversation.

"What I find repellent," Tom began, wishing to abandon the topic of politics, "is that if Lord Morborne went ahead with threats to make your story public, he would bring great suffering to his sister-your wife. That seems beyond the pale. Why would he want to do that?"

Hector regarded him warily. "Because Oliver fforde-Beckett was a s.h.i.t, that's why."

"That's not really an answer."

"Isn't it? Oliver has always behaved as a complete cad as long as I've known him."

"And you've known him how long?"

"It's a small world, ours, Vicar. Our fathers knew each other from various involvements. I think I first met Oliver at a shoot in Scotland, at Tullochbrae. We were each in the Parachute Regiment, of course, though at slightly different times. It was Oliver who introduced me to my wife, at a dinner given by the Indian high commissioner, though I can't think now why Oliver had been invited. And of course we each belong to the Leaping Lords, although Oliver has always been spotty in his attendance." He paused and seemed to study Tom's face. "What does a Christian do if he absolutely despises someone?"

"Do good to them who hate you. You know this, Lord Fairhaven." Tom frowned. "This incident on Sat.u.r.day. You were at blows over this threat of revelation, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then what of the parachute-your parachute-not opening as it should have? Did Lord Morborne tamper with it?"

"The parachute was tampered with, yes."

Something in Hector's syntax gave Tom pause. "I'm not sure I understand."

"It was tampered with. I tampered with it. But, stupidly, I ended up wearing the b.l.o.o.d.y thing."

"You mean"-Tom was aghast-"you intended to have Lord Morborne die in this cruel fashion?"

"Of course not! Oliver knows what he's doing in a parachute. If it gets tangled, you pull the emergency chute. Simple! My intent was to give him a ... a little fright."

"If I may say so, how very childish. You scared the daylights out of everyone on the ground, including your mother."

Hector glowered. "Then it's a day they shan't forget anytime soon."

"It will likely be on YouTube, too, you know."

"Will it?" Hector reflected: "It will show me in a good light, don't you think?-fort.i.tude under pressure."

"Sounds like spin to me. The truth is less flattering."

"Only if you choose to reveal it."

Tom paused, then said with reluctance: "You can rely on my discretion. I can't think this episode has relevance to Lord Morborne's death.

"However, Lord Fairhaven, what I still don't quite understand is why, if Lord Morborne has been, for some time, in possession of information damaging to your reputation, he chose this moment, this past week, of all weeks, to threaten you with it?"

Hector looked away. "I really have no idea."

He's lying, Tom thought, reading the stubborn closing of his lips. "Some pressure from this boy?"

"I don't know."

Tom looked to the elaborate cross behind the altar. "Has your conscience declared a winner yet?"

"Again, I don't know. What will you do?"

"As regards Detectives Bliss and Blessing? Only what I witnessed, not what you've told me."

"Could you be persuaded to keep schtum?"

"My lord, I'm a priest." Tom instinctively raised his hand to his neck to indicate his clerical collar, but of course it wasn't there. He had put on casual clothes this third day of his holidays.

"I said earlier I thought you might be being naive."

"You did, but I can't see why any of this would go any farther officially, if you are innocent of Lord Morborne's death. Reconciling yourself with Lady Fairhaven, with your conscience, with G.o.d, are entirely private matters."

Hector's face seemed to sag. He looked suddenly exhausted. "When I say you may be being naive, I mean this: Oliver claims the boy was ... underage at the time I met him. He may well have been, if his birthday on the Internet is correct. I didn't know. I-"

"Oh, G.o.d, Hector." Tom couldn't suppress his dismay. "How could you?"

Indignation flashed in Hector's eyes as a new and dangerous colour returned to his cheeks. "Don't you come the virtuous man to me, Mr. Christmas! I was in the north corridor in the small hours Sunday morning and saw Lucy, in moonlight from the window, tripping merrily up the grand staircase, coming, it would seem, from the ground floor, where the Opium Bedroom is located. I'm quite aware of my sister-in-law's appet.i.tes, and they aren't for a nice warm milky drink in the middle of the night. I can't think who else in the house might better satisfy her ... enthusiasms. I can see from your expression that my deduction is not misplaced."

Tom had tried to compose his face in what he thought was imperturbability, but felt nonetheless the beating of blood along his cheeks. The words caught at his throat: "I didn't intend to cast the first stone, my lord."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"Aptly named, I suppose," Tom said.

"Smallest room in the house, I'll wager," DI Bliss responded gruffly, glancing around the linen-fold paneling.

"Not quite the smallest, sir." DS Blessing tapped his notebook against his thigh.

Bliss scowled at his junior and refrained from comment. Tom, seated on a richly carved high-back chair that dug uncomfortably into his spine, looked from one to the other wondering, not for the first time, about the nature of their relationship and their lives. Why, for instance, was the senior officer junior in age? DI Bliss was perhaps early forties while DS Blessing had to near fifty. Blessing's sister, he knew, had gone to school with Mrs. Prowse-which must make her an older sister-and his wife attended St. Mary's in Totnes. Bliss's wife liked theatre, and dragged her husband to plays. That was the extent of his knowledge, other than Blessing's confiding remark that Bliss was cursed with an irritable bowel, the goad to Blessing's remark.

"I'm not sure why you think it's aptly named, either." Bliss addressed Tom's earlier remark. "The missus and I did the tour of Egges...o...b.. on an open day a few years ago. I don't recall coming in here."

"It's very plain, sir."

"I expect the local felons were tried here in centuries past, as there was likely no proper court," Tom said. "That's why it's called the Justice Room."

"I do know that." Bliss's tone was testy. "I'm wondering why you think it's apt now."

"Because you two"-he gestured with his finger-"are the instruments of justice in this instance, are you not? Lord Fairhaven, I expect, is displaying a sense of decorum."

Or humour, he thought, though Hector seemed cursed with a lack of it.

Or irony.

The Justice Room, adjacent to the great hall, was a comparative closet of a room, bare in decoration, spare in furniture-plain, as DS Blessing said-containing only a single table, oval, with an added leaf, richer in colour than the other sun-bleached boards, and several chairs identical to the one Tom sat on. The smell of warm dust pervaded, though none was evident; the room felt reopened after a very long period. Perhaps, Tom thought, the privilege of maintaining the king's peace had slipped from Egges...o...b.. as Hector's ancestors stuck by their Roman faith, making the room redundant.

"More likely His Lordship doesn't want us mucking up his posh rooms," Bliss muttered.

"Perhaps you won't need this as your incident room for long," Tom said, noting the room was absent of the sort of crime-solving paraphernalia he recalled from the detectives' installation in Thornford's Old School Room during a murder investigation a year earlier. "Anyway, how may I be of a.s.sistance?"

Gaunt, who seemed to have a sixth sense of everyone's whereabouts, had waylaid Tom the minute he'd exited the chapel. He'd ushered him past a congeries of rooms and staircases to the Justice Room where Bliss and Blessing had parked themselves.

"I'm also wondering," Tom continued when an immediate reply wasn't forthcoming, "when my daughter and I might be permitted to leave Egges...o...b..? We were scheduled to leave for London late Sat.u.r.day, to visit relatives."

"I can't really say, now can I, Mr. Christmas? Much depends on folk cooperating with us."

"But surely once you've interviewed everyone, those of us who don't live here can go. You can always find us later. I'm not intending to flee the country."

"No second home in Cap Ferrat then, Mr. Christmas?"

"No," Tom replied, guessing that Lady Lucinda had entertained recently in this chamber.

Bliss grunted. "We didn't really get on to you yesterday when we were next door." He nodded towards the great hall, adjacent. "That nutter confessing to a crime he didn't commit put a bit of a spanner into the works." He frowned. "You gave us an outline yesterday morning outside on the drive of what you found in the Labyrinth. What was it, Sergeant?"

Blessing flipped back through his notebook and read the relevant entry.

"Have we left anything out?" Bliss asked.

"No ..." Tom hesitated. "But I'm afraid I've left something out. I neglected to tell you that when I returned to the Labyrinth after my exploration along the dew path yesterday morning, I ... found Lord Fairhaven in the centre removing something-I thought-from Lord Morborne's person."

Bliss's eyebrows rose imperceptibly. "What exactly?"

Tom glanced at a series of carved figures along the wall. "You must ask Lord Fairhaven. I didn't say anything earlier because I wasn't certain what I saw. I am now. I've discussed this with His Lordship, but I can't in good conscience give you the details-or at least what details I know. The three of you must have a conversation."

"Fear not, Vicar, we will. Anything else your ... conscience has kept you from?"

"Will you be interviewing the children-Max and my daughter?"

"Only if we think it necessary, and under supervision, of course. Why?"

Tom hesitated again. His experience of the police interviewing Miranda, even under supervision, after her mother had died had left him with a sour taste. "Perhaps I might report something that my daughter saw in the small hours of Sunday morning-a ghost."

Blessing looked up. "My cousin Barry saw a UFO on Exmoor last year."

"I'm not having a laugh," Tom said.

"Nor am I. Turns out it was a police drone. Rational explanation."

"I take your point, Sergeant. Young Max-who seems to have a fanciful streak-insists that what my daughter saw was the ghost of Sir Edward Strickland who is said to wander the property during full moons, but Miranda is, well, less certain."

"Then what was this ghost?" Bliss asked.

"She's not sure. Nor am I."

"Or you don't want to say, perhaps."

"Inspector, though I can't help but be mindful that a man has been killed, I don't-"

"Want to gra.s.s anyone up."

"In a nutsh.e.l.l."

"You lack confidence in our abilities?"

"No," Tom fibbed. His wife's killer had yet to be found and the case was as cold as a tomb. "But bear in mind that what Miranda saw, she saw from the nursery floor in a burst of lightning over the moor-some little distance away."

"Time?" Blessing scribbled in his notebook.

"Miranda's not certain. Anyway, what she saw was not in Tudor costume. The figure was in modern dress ... or perhaps no dress-or at least in little dress. Pale, white ... male."

Interest flickered across Bliss's face. He exchanged a glance with his sergeant. "Whereabouts?" he asked Tom.

"I believe the nursery floor overlooks the south lawn."

"Any other details?"

"None, I'm afraid. As I said, Miranda only had a glimpse. Perhaps it's not important."

"We'll be the judge of that, sir."

"If you are going to talk with Miranda, you will of course include me."

"It's mandatory, sir."

"Good. Now is there anything else I can help you with?"

Bliss frowned down at Blessing, who flipped through pages in his notebook and shrugged: "You told us you retired a little before midnight Sat.u.r.day and woke about five thirty."

"That's true." Tom's heart began a tattoo.

"Any b.u.mps in the night?" Bliss enquired.

"No." How swiftly the lie came to his lips. How cowardly he was!