Tom caught Lucinda's eye. She had been sitting still, head bent, hair falling forwards like a curtain, concentrated on her hands in her lap, pushing rhythmically at the skin below the cuticles. Now, as she raised her head, her hair swept back and revealed once again the remarkable violet eyes, which had glazed with craving during their interlude of ill-considered pa.s.sion. As they locked onto Tom's, a soft pleading crept into their folds. But he felt no want of retaliation. He had been victim of a cruel and stupid jest, yes, but the jest had precipitated something much, much crueler. His faith demanded he turn the other cheek, and he did, in his mind's eye, but he returned her gaze not with disdain or contempt, but with sorrow and pity and deep, deep regret. It was too late for discretion, however. Now he had to speak, though he would pay a price. He felt Hector's eyes upon him, Hector who had witnessed Lucinda's night movements and hazarded a guess at her destination, but he ignored Hector and looked instead at Madrun, his housekeeper and inconstant keeper of secrets. Would she keep this one? Could it be kept at all? It was her disillusionment, he thought, that would affect him most immediately and most keenly. He took in a cleansing breath, held it a moment, and he said with a rush of air: "I have to tell you, Inspector, that it's not true that Lady Lucinda spent the entire night in her brother's room."

"Yes?" Bliss flicked him a distracted glance.

"She didn't spend it with Dominic, because-" He looked again at Lucinda who had returned to a fascination with her hands. "-because," he said again, feeling the blood creeping up past his collar as other eyes bored into him, "she spent it with me, in my room."

Bliss blinked. "You don't say. And what," he addressed Lucinda, "were you doing in Mr. Christmas's room?"

"Don't be obtuse, Inspector." Lucinda looked up and cast him a gelid eye.

"That doesn't mean I-" Dominic began, but Tom cut him off: "There's a little more. As I later came to realise, after a cryptic conversation by the pool yesterday, Lucinda and Dominic had a certain wager-"

"Must you? Really? Must you, Vicar?" Lucinda's voice was weary.

"-a wager," Tom continued with grim determination, conscious of Madrun's eyes boring into him, "to see who might successfully bed a person of his or her choice before the night was through. I believe the notion was entertained some time Sat.u.r.day evening, after Mr. Sica arrived and was introduced. Lady Lucinda soon enough won the bet." Tom could feel his face burning. "But I don't believe I'm incorrect in believing an attempt was made to even the score when, later, together, they observed Mr. Sica lit up by lightning from the moor crossing the lawn."

"Tom, I am disappointed." Lucinda tossed her hair back. "I didn't think you were the kiss-and-tell sort."

And now, the atmosphere grew heavy with a new anxiety. All eyes shifted to stare at Dominic and Lucinda, who received their scrutiny with the wary defiance of children caught with their fingers in the biscuit tin.

"Well, I lost the wager. What of it?" Dominic waved a dismissive hand. "There's no proof that I strangled Oliver."

Bliss gestured to the tie Tom was holding. "This may well provide proof once we send it for a.n.a.lysis."

Dominic rested his eyes on the tie a moment. His mouth sagged. The sc.r.a.pe of a coffee cup set on a saucer sounded loudly. "Gaunt was to have taken care of that," he said at last, his voice bleak. "I feel rather let down."

"Oh, Dominic, don't!" Lucinda cried.

"Is there any point now, Lucy? Perhaps it's best I appeal for clemency."

"I must caution you," Bliss began. "You don't have to-"

Dominic waved his hand dismissively again. "It wasn't something I set out to do. G.o.d knows I've always loathed Oliver. He's a bully and a boor and a vulgarian and a thief-and, it seems, a rapist and worse. Does anyone disagree? I thought not, though most of you don't know he's been plundering the Morborne estate by selling works from Great-Great-Grandfather's impressionist collection and siphoning the money into his own corporation.

"At any rate, if I visited Baisse at Christmas or half term-after my father died-and Olly was there, he would make my life miserable. One time he locked me in a rubbish bin. You might imagine the heat in the West Indies. I nearly asphyxiated. I never forgave him. I suppose some clever quack would say he was merely taking out his hatred of my mother on me. I don't know." Dominic shrugged. "I do know he was almost an adult when he was behaving this way, and I was a child.

"Anyway, as I say, I didn't intend any confrontation-or perhaps I should say another confrontation-with my dear cousin. I knew he was disposing of the estate a.s.sets and I knew that if I made sufficient fuss in London, I should be able to put a stop to these outrages. There are trust laws limiting his power to dispose of the estate's a.s.sets."

"Although," Hector interjected, "some might view it as quicker to simply remove the CEO-as Oliver was, in effect-from the family Trust, in a sort of hostile takeover."

"Hector, I had no desire for the t.i.tle."

"Nonsense. You've been the presumptive heir to the marquessate since Fred died. Only Oliver's having a child-a legitimate child, I should say-would set you back a spot. And Oliver was about to have one, wasn't he?"

"I've always lived with the expectation, Hector, that Oliver's rampant heteros.e.xuality would one day channel itself into some form of conventional domesticity, so you're very much barking up the wrong tree."

"Hector," Marguerite said, "do be quiet."

"It's called 'motive,' Mummy."

"I didn't have a motive." Dominic glared.

"Everyone has a motive. Wouldn't you agree, Inspector?"

"I think," Tom interposed, "what Dominic is saying is that he was driven by opportunity and strong emotion."

"Thank you, Vicar." Dominic affected a little bow. "Afterwards-after my ... visit with Roberto-I wandered into the Labyrinth, I don't know why really. I didn't really like to return to my bedroom, having lost the wager-or at least not being able to match Lucy's success. The night air was lovely and fresh and I remembered Marguerite's-or was it Roberto's?-suggestion to Oliver to have a look at the new artwork in the Labyrinth. So I did. There was a bit of lightning in the distance still, but I thought, as sunrise wouldn't be long, to wait and see the marble in the blush of early morning. There are, as all of you know, a series of benches at the centre of the Labyrinth, and I must have nodded off on one of them for a while, as the next thing I remember seeing was someone's back silhouetted in the glow of a torch. Oliver. I recognised that ghastly hat of his. He was shining the light on the statue. He didn't see me or, rather, he hadn't. I watched him a moment in a sort of-I must say-thrall of loathing. He didn't contemplate the image of the Madonna as a connoisseur might. And it is a remarkably beautiful work. Oliver reached up with his free hand-the statue is to scale and the pedestal not tall-and began, if you will, if you can bear to hear it, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, stroking the figure's b.r.e.a.s.t.s-her cold marble b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Dominic's thin lips curled in revulsion. "Aghast as I was at this pervy schoolboy antic, there was worse to come: I heard him unzipping his trouser fly."

"Oh, G.o.d," Jane's murmur broke the appalled silence.

"Oh, G.o.d, indeed, and I shortly realised he was unzipping not, shall we say, to have a slash, though p.i.s.sing on an exquisite work of art wouldn't be beneath him, as he has p.i.s.sed, metaphorically, on the priceless works of art that Great-Great-Grandfather so a.s.siduously a.s.sembled early last century.

" 'What are you doing,' I called out. He didn't seem the least startled to hear a voice come out of the gloom, but then it's never been easy to perturb Oliver in any sense. He's as coa.r.s.e as gravel. Without turning, he told me-as he's told me before-to-" Tom watched Dominic's lip curl again. "-f.u.c.k off."

Dominic paused, seemed to stare into the middle distance, as if revisiting the scene. "I quite simply saw red-the rose madder of Jeanne Darlot's hat in Renoir's Two Sisters on the Terrace, now I think of it. You must know the work. No? Never mind.

"The tie was still in my hand, dangling in my palm. I had taken it, by the way, from behind a bowl, here, in this room Sat.u.r.day before I went up to bed, intending to return it to Jamie, but I promptly forgot it until Roberto crossed the lawn outside. He said he had found it 'interesting' that I was wearing it as a belt. Well, never mind now." He paused again, mouth twisting. "I don't think I knew what I had done until some time afterward. I seem to have no memory of ... garroting Oliver. I did garrote him, didn't I? I must have. Strange word, garrote. Spanish, I believe. And then, in a moment it seemed, there was Gaunt. Right in front of me. Good old Gaunt. A good man, really, even if he did rather let me down. I know he must have tried. He did try, didn't he?"

Tom nodded sadly. "Yes, he did. Gaunt, I think, was very much the compleat servant, almost from another age. Other than Lord Fairhaven, you're the only person in this room he's been in service to."

"He used some other tie. Fancy having the same tie with him, a Shrewsbury tie. What an unexpected flourishing of happenstance. He told me he had taken the tie away-Jamie's tie-laundered it-however one launders ties, only he would know-and returned it to Jamie's things. But ..." He looked around blankly.

"Gaunt dropped Jamie's tie in the Labyrinth," Tom explained. "Startled by the sound of another person-Anna. I expect," he continued gently, "he didn't want you to be concerned, so he subst.i.tuted the one he had."

And at what sacrifice, Tom wondered. Gaunt waited years to a.s.semble evidence to shame Oliver for an ancient crime and then, good servant that he was, he sacrificed his needs to his onetime master's son's.

"And will he be all right, Gaunt?" Dominic asked.

Tom looked to DI Bliss and replied, "No one is sure. He had a very bad fall."

"A fall, eh? I must say the House of Morborne has had rather a fall this weekend, hasn't it? Hasn't it, Lucy, darling? I had no idea when you coaxed me down to Devon that the t.i.tle Marquess of Morborne would pa.s.s to me so suddenly. Of course, I had no idea that it would all go so terribly, terribly wrong, and so soon. Sorry, darling.

"And I'm very sorry, Marguerite." He turned to the dowager countess, who sat rigid but for a tiny quiver in her throat, staring, her eyes black pools of anger. "I had to know what Roberto had said to the police. Nothing, as it happened-which was oddly kind, though I know he had no love for Olly, either. But he was really only biding his time. He said he would have to speak up, eventually-if the police came after Hector, for instance-your son. He wouldn't want you hurt. It was terribly easy. He was cleaning his hands in that sink. Water had pooled on the floor. You must get the drain fixed, you know. And there was that radio, so close, on the shelf. It was an impulse. Another one, I suppose. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I can't forgive you." Marguerite retreated deeper into the couch. "You're a monster-as was your cousin."

The bronze clock struck the half hour at her last words, a reminder of time pa.s.sed in this unhappy atmosphere. Tom's eyes went to the sliver of terrace visible through the French doors, vague and dusky as the sun, long vanished behind Egges...o...b.. Hall, now dipped below the horizon. Past the dark shroud of trees, an ice-blue southern sky was shot with the last of the pinks and golds and wisps of cloud. A summer day's pa.s.sage into summer night usually held for him a hint of mystery, and he longed to be walking some wooded path alone with his thoughts. Once more 'tis eventide-the words of the hymn flitted through his mind-and we, oppressed with various ills, draw near ... It was but the craving of a moment for Bliss broke the silence, and his reverie, with a question of Lucinda: "You two weren't together the entire afternoon, by the pool, as you claimed earlier?"

"No." She sighed. "I'm afraid not. Dominic went off on his own. He didn't tell me where he was going. I thought he'd gone to climb the Gaze Tower again. I was immersed in a magazine. When Gaunt arrived with drinks, I told him Dominic was probably up the tower. And, of course, silly man, Gaunt dutifully climbed the tower, silver tray with drink in hand."

"And saw what Dominic later claimed he'd seen: the murderer in the stable yard, near Roberto's studio," Jane said.

"That, too, is unforgiveable," Marguerite intoned.

"Is this why I found you outside the Gatehouse earlier?" Tom asked Lucinda. "You seemed unusually concerned about Gaunt."

Lucinda flinched. "Dominic, please, your fingers are digging in too much." She edged away and addressed Tom: "Yes, it ... it had all become too much. I knew that Gaunt knew what had happened in the Labyrinth with Oliver, you see-Dominic told me everything when he got back that morning. He was shaking, weren't you, darling? It was horrible, but I knew Dominic didn't seek to kill horrible, nasty Olly deliberately, did you? And besides"-she shrugged-"Oliver's death seemed to solve so many problems that ..."

Her mouth formed a little moue. "But with Roberto dead, it was simply too much. Really, Dominic, it was. I was certain Gaunt understood something about Roberto's death, too, you see. He had been up the Gaze Tower. Afterwards, when he did fetch Dominic his drink, he behaved oddly. And when he-" She gestured to Blessing. "-asked us about our movements, Dominic said we'd been together poolside but for a few minutes when he'd climbed the tower. Where he claimed to have seen Gaunt. I went-"

"To warn him? Did you go to the Gatehouse to warn Gaunt, Lucy?" Dominic asked in a voice now high and brittle. "You didn't need to. Gaunt and I had a nice cup of tea earlier. He was very understanding. Good old Gaunt."

"I don't know what I was intending to do." Lucy shifted uneasily. "Was it to warn him? I don't know. Dominic, you seemed so unaffected by Roberto's death. I thought-"

"That I might do it again."

"Oh, Dominic, don't say that!"

Dominic's eyes were large and bright. "Well, Inspector, what shall I do? Shall I say 'I'll come quietly, Officer' and hold out my hands for the cuffs? Or do we use handcuffs in this country? Perhaps I got that from American television. Or I could make a noisy mad dash for it. What do you think? Would that do? The terrace doors are wide open. The evening light is sublime. I could disappear into it, couldn't I? Or at least try. Would that give you a satisfying ending? Of course, you'd probably catch me. Still, a breath of this fresh country air would be wonderful. What do you think?"

"Lord Morborne," Tom answered. "I think the inspector will agree with me that it's entirely up to you."

Dominic looked at him and smiled.

The Vicarage.

Thornford Regis TC9 6QX.

15 AUGUST.

Dear Mum, Mr. Christmas and Miranda return home to Thornford this afternoon from their week at Gravesend. Mr. C. called yesterday to ask would I fetch them from Totnes just before 4? I think I told you what with his ankle, he'd decided the train was best there and back. An odd tone to his voice I thought, Mum. I can't put my finger on it. It's really the first time we've spoken since the events last week at Egges...o...b... There wasn't a moment to talk then, of course. I'm still not quite sure why Lord Morborne (the present Lord Morborne-Dominic) thought to make a dash for the terrace after confessing in the drawing room to strangling his cousin, but perhaps he got all caught up in the drama. I know I was all caught up in it! I can't think I've ever been witness to something quite so thrilling, but awful in its way, of course. I'm still surprised how lieth lyth limber he was. If DI Bliss and DS Blessing shed a stone or two each they might have stood a better chance of nabbing him themselves, but as it was Lord Kirkbride and his brother ran him smartly to ground on the lawn with Bonzo making quite the racket! Mr. Christmas looked to join the maylay them but of course his ankle wasn't recovered. Anyway, I have written you all this, haven't I? Though I didn't say, as I've only remembered it now, how put out Lord Fairhaven looked through the whole episode-a little shocked and horrified, but mostly very put out. Sulky, I suppose is the word. I noted in yesterday's Telegraph that he had withdrawn his bid to be Conservative candidate, so I expect it crossed his mind then and there in the drawing room that it was all about to go off the boil what with scandal brewing. I'm sure he's sorry now he was host to the Leaping Lords at Egges...o...b.. as it attracted his very disagreeable in-laws-except for Lord and Lady Kirkbride who are very nice. Anyway, this is all to say that in the aftermath, no one seemed wont to linger and have a natter a heart-to-heart about what had happened. All the "upstairs" folk found excuses to slip away, though I think L & L Kirkbride and Mr. Christmas made a trip to the kitchens as they had had no supper. The next morning Mr. C. and Miranda were gone. I think they took a back route out of the park to avoid the reporters and other rubberneckers outside the Gatehouse. I expect Mr. C. thinks I'm disappointed in him, and I am, as I've said. I think that's what must lie behind the tone in his voice. At least he had the grace to look mortified when he confessed in front of everyone in the drawing room to having been with that woman the night of the murder. I know I must set myself to be forgiving, but I worry he's taken to misbehaving like the previous inc.u.mbent at St. Nick's, Mr. Kinsey, AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM, Mum! I've told no one about Mr. Christmas's behaviour, not even Karla. Most particularly not Karla, as she takes a very dim view of unpriestly behaviour. I do so hate keeping things from her, and it's been on the tip of my tongue more than a few times, as of course everyone in the village is avid to hear the tale of my time at Egges...o...b.., including Karla who pretends to be indifferent as she thought poorly of the Leaping Lords fund-raiser to begin with. But of course Mr. Christmas's breaking Dominic fforde-Beckett's alibi by admitting he was with that woman is such an ingretal important part of the story, but I've had to bite my tongue every time. Anyway, I expect Mr. Christmas will probably say something to me about what happened, as he likes to do that sort of thing, but I don't know how I shall look him in the eye. We shall see at the station this afternoon. Did you happen to see The Sun this weekend? I chanced to glance at the top copy on the stack at the post office yesterday and there was a lead story about our former verger who's been living under our noses with a different name-ANOTHER different name-in Abbotswick the last year or so! I still can't quite believe I thought I saw him coming from the Gatehouse last Monday. I suppose it was the fair hair. Sebastian wore his long the last time I saw him, which was last year. And the new, disgraced Lord Morborne (Dominic) wears his long, too. At any rate, Sebastian-or John as he is called-didn't look best pleased in the picture, which looked posed for the paper. I can't imagine what would have made him agree to tell his story to such an awful rag. But I'm not surprised anymore. I must say, Mum, the scales have fallen from my eyes about our aristocracy. I know some of them go off the rails, but I never would have thought a peer of the realm to steal a car! (On top of everything else, of course!) I expect you saw that, too, in the weekend papers. I'll enclose the clippings. It always did seem a little odd that a man as busy and important as the late Lord Morborne would tarry in the West Country doing much of nothing. He even visited our very good choir director Colm Parry to invite him out of retirement for some big pop concert next year in London, but that was simply a ruse while he was doing a recce on the movements of that poor young man he hit with a car he stole at Ashburton. Such a terrible chance he took, and so brazen! You'd think that community the young man lived in would have supervised him more, but I suppose they try and teach independence where they can. What if David Phillips hadn't been as regular as clockwork in his movements, an easy target along the road, what would Lord Morborne have done then? But as I wrote you last week after Ellen poured her heart out he'd done as bad. Worse! It's all too awful, Mum. I'm not sure if knowing after all these years who her sister's murderer was has been any comfort to Ellen. Poor Mick was after some recompense for Kimberly Madd.i.c.k, though I don't think L. Morborne dying by his cousin's hand was what he had in mind. It'll all come out in the papers eventually, I suspect, but Mick won't have the satisfaction of seeing "Mad" Morborne before the judgement seat-the earthly one, that is. "Eye for an eye" Ellen said to me yesterday when we were up at hospital together to see Mick. Biblical that may be, I thought to myself, but I expect Mr. Christmas would find this a v. UN-Christian sentiment. I'll leave him to sort that out as Ellen will be here at the vicarage another couple of days before they move Mick to a London hospital for rehab. I still think it inconcid rude of the Fairhavens to rush back to London without so much as a visit to Mick or consideration for what Ellen might do in the meantime. I suppose she could have stayed in the Gatehouse, but who wants to be reminded of such unhappiness? The vicarage has lots of rooms and besides, Thornford is much closer to Torbay Hospital than Abbotswick. Nice to have her here! And so nice to be back in dear old Thornford R. where folk are as normal as normal can be except for a few. I don't think I shall go back to Egges...o...b.. anytime soon, even though I never did have a chance to walk the Labyrinth which I think must surely be a bit spoiled for many folk now, though on the other hand it might well attract others-the wrong sort of course! Anyway, Mum, I best crack on. The garden wants work. It got a bit ratty while I was away, and I need to think about what to have for our supper now that Mr. C. and Miranda are to be back. I did a big shopping at Morrisons yesterday so the larder is full, which reminds me to tell you that I ran into Venice Daintrey and she told me that she had heard that the board of the Thornford Regis Amateur Dramatic Society asked Catherine Northmore to direct their next play at the village hall this autumn-and she accepted! And wasn't I ever so pleased that a Hollywood actress would volunteer her time? And didn't I think the publicity would be wonderful for the village! Well, Mum, I was agas ahgas floored, but I didn't show it to Venice. Catherine didn't bother to make an appearance at her father's funeral more than a year ago. She hasn't been to Thornford in yonks anyway. Besides, last I saw of her in the papers, they were considering her for the remake of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Do you remember that film? Surely the end of the line for any actress worth her salt! When word spreads that she's swanning in to take over the dramatics, there will be noses out of joint in the village! And I think you know some of the faces those noses are stuck to. Well, I shall keep well out of it, as is my way! I'm happy to run up some of the costumes, but that shall be my only involvement. I might see the play. "Nine Ladies" it's called. Anyway, as I say, I must crack on. Cats remain well-they seem to have survived my absence, and Daniel Swan did well enough with b.u.mble, considering, though he still thinks he's owed more money. I'll have a contract for him to sign next time! Love to Auntie Gwen. Glorious day!

Much love, Madrun.

P.S. I have prevailed over ScootersPlus! They were wrong. I was right! They DID send it to the wrong address. Not Thornton Curtis. Thornford Regis! If you don't have your ShopRanger Deluxe Mark IV by the time you get this letter heads will roll..

P.P.S. Mark Tucker who you know is the treasurer of the PCC tells me the Leaping Lords and the Thornford folk who parachuted raised nearly 29,000 towards the church repairs. Nine of the peers contributed 1,000 each. The late Lord Morborne's cheque bounced, however. So, on the whole, something good came of the weekend, though the big plywood thermometer outside the north porch that Mr. Christmas threatens to set on fire is still in place. The red has much shot up the tube, though!.

For the Earl and Countess of Orkney,

for many years of friendship and hot dinners.

Acknowledgments.

With thanks to:.

My agent: Dean Cooke.

My editor: Kate Miciak.

Random folk: Laura Jorstad, Priyanka Krishnan, Marietta Anasta.s.satos, Ben Perini, Martha Leonard, Sharon Klein, Lindsey Kennedy.

unRandom folk: Clark Saunders, Warren McDougall, Bradley Curran, Pierre Bedard, Michael Phillips, Janice McKenzie, Rosie Chard, Sandra Vincent, Frances-Mary Brown, Perry Holmes, Spencer Holmes.

Vicky Geilas, Brian Forbes, and Skydive Manitoba (all mistakes are mine, some deliberate).

The Reverend David Treby (all mistakes are mine, none deliberate).

BY C. C. BENISON.

Twelve Drummers Drumming.

Eleven Pipers Piping.

Ten Lords A-Leaping.

About the Author.

C. C. BENISON has worked as a writer and editor for newspapers and magazines, as a book editor, and as a contributor to nonfiction books. A graduate of the University of Manitoba and Carleton University, he is the author of six previous novels, including Twelve Drummers Drumming and Eleven Pipers Piping. He lives in Winnepeg.

www.ccbenison.com.

end.