Foxwell’s wife had visited her brother for a few days and her husband had come to collect her. The irony was that she had seen far more of Lady Grail than of Sir Willard but she was habituated to that by now. Her brother did not spend a great deal of time at home.
‘You’ll not be joining us for dinner, then?’ said Foxwell.
‘I’ve business to attend to in the city.’
‘That’s a pity, Sir Willard. I’d have appreciated a talk with you.’
‘Another time.’
‘You always put me off.’
‘We have so little to say to each other, Cuthbert.’
‘I set that down to lack of practice.’
‘Different interests are bound to keep us apart.’
‘Yet you knew I was coming to dinner today.’
‘Yes,’ lied Sir Willard, ‘and I’d intended to join you but I’ve been called away unexpectedly. You’ll have a splendid time with the ladies and you can sample the skills of our new cook.’
‘I look forward to that.’
Cuthbert Foxwell wanted to administer a mild rebuke but he felt unable to do so. Though Sir Willard was younger than him, he always found him faintly intimidating. Much as he disapproved of the way that he neglected his wife, Foxwell was unable to even broach the subject. The contrast between the two families was stark. In the ten years of their marriage, Foxwell and his wife had grown steadily closer and disliked being apart. Sir Willard and Lady Grail, however, were rarely together for any length of time, even though their marriage was of much shorter duration. His brother-in-law had his suspicions about the business in the city that always took Sir Willard away but he did not dare to voice them to the ladies.
‘Incidentally,’ he said, using a handkerchief to mop up the last of the sweat, ‘do you, by any chance, remember that gardener of mine who was stolen away from me?’
‘Gardener?’
‘Fellow by the name of Abel Paskins.’
‘You can’t expect me to know the names of gardeners, Cuthbert,’ said Sir Willard, scornfully. ‘Underlings are underlings. If you give them the dignity of a name, they tend to get above themselves.’
‘Your friend did not think so.’
‘What friend?’
‘Mr Kidbrooke.’
‘Ah, now I’m with you,’ said the other with a chuckle. ‘It was that time I called in with Jocelyn. You kindly showed us around your garden.’
‘Had I known that I’d lose a good man in the process, I’d not have bothered. Paskins had vision. He knew how to make the best of a garden. He designed and built that rockery for me.’
‘That’s what impressed Jocelyn so much.’
‘Did he have to take the fellow away from me?’
‘It was force of habit, Cuthbert.’
‘Does he make a habit of collecting other people’s gardeners?’
‘No,’ said Sir Willard, ‘but he acts decisively when he sees something that he wants. Jocelyn Kidbrooke is known for it.’
‘I found him rather disagreeable.’
‘He’s a good man at heart.’
‘I take your word for it,’ said Foxwell, ‘for I saw no evidence of it. But the reason I mention Paskins is this — did you know that he used to work for Sir Martin Culthorpe?’
‘I did not,’ said Sir Willard, nonchalantly, ‘and I’m not sure that I care.’ He concealed his interest behind a lazy smile. ‘Were you aware of that when you first employed him?’
‘No, it came as a complete surprise.’
‘When did you learn about this?’
‘Only yesterday,’ said Foxwell. ‘I had a visit from a young man whom I think you may know — Christopher Redmayne.’
‘I know and like his brother much better.’
‘He was trying to find out where Abel Paskins was.’
‘Why on earth should he do that?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, Sir Willard.’
‘You can tell me, surely.’
‘Before he left, Mr Redmayne asked me to treat everything he had told me in the strictest confidence and I gave him my word.’
‘I’m your brother-in-law, Cuthbert. There should be no secrets between us. Why is he so interested in a gardener?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ said Foxwell. ‘What I will tell you, however, is that, no matter how long it takes, he’ll track the man down. Mr Redmayne is very determined.’
‘That was only one of his faults,’ complained Sir Willard.
‘He’s set himself a difficult task — I hope he succeeds.’
‘Since you won’t tell me what that task is, I can make no comment. Go on in and meet the ladies, Cuthbert. My business will not wait.’ He walked towards the horse that was saddled and waiting for him then he stopped. ‘What was that gardener’s name again?’
‘Abel Paskins.’
Intending to do some work that afternoon, Henry Redmayne dined at home for a change and allowed himself only one glass of wine. In the days when Sir William Batten had been Surveyor to the Navy, tippling was the order of the day and Henry had joined in the merriment with gusto, if only to hear Sir William’s ripe language booming across the tavern like a broadside. Things were somewhat different now. He was expected to have a degree of sobriety when he was at the Navy Office.
He was still eating his meal when his brother arrived. As Christopher was shown into the dining room, Henry almost choked on a piece of chicken.
‘You’ve no cause to upbraid me,’ he said, spluttering. ‘I did what you commanded, Christopher. I gave that moon-faced maid a basket of flowers and soothed her ruffled feathers with an apology.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Henry.’
‘What’s more, I’ve resolved to stay away from the funeral.’
‘A commendable decision.’
‘You’ve no need to harry me further.’
‘Yes, I have,’ said Christopher. ‘I need to talk to you about your friends.’ He sat down at the table and helped himself to a slice of pie. ‘How well do you know them?’
‘As well as any man can know his boon companions.’
‘Could there be a killer among them?’
‘Unthinkable!’
‘I’m forced to explore the realms of the unthinkable.’ He chewed then swallowed the pie. ‘This is good, Henry.’ He cut himself another slice. ‘I think I’ll have some more.’
‘I didn’t know that you were coming to dinner.’
‘I didn’t know I’d have the good fortune to find you at home.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Information. Tell me about Sir Willard Grail.’
‘You’ve met the fellow.’
‘He kept me very much at arm’s length. What is he really like?’
‘He’s like so many of my acquaintances — he’s an impecunious aristocrat who married for money and who chose a wife who would not be too inquisitive about the way he spent his time. In character, Sir Willard is a younger version of Henry Redmayne.’
‘Another strutting peacock, you mean?’
‘An urbane, intelligent, harmless fellow of good breeding who has a fondness for the luxuries of life.’
‘Some of those luxuries being the favours of Lady Culthorpe.’
‘That would be the ultimate indulgence.’
‘Would Sir Willard kill to achieve it?’
‘No,’ said Henry with emphasis, ‘and I’m absolutely certain that he did not murder Sir Martin.’
‘Are you?’
‘At the time when the crime was committed, Sir Willard was dining at Locket’s with Elkannah and me. You can eliminate all three of us, Christopher.’
‘What about Jocelyn Kidbrooke?’
‘He didn’t turn up that day.’
‘Was he supposed to?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Henry, nibbling a piece of bread. ‘When we formed our Society, we agreed to dine together once a week to compare the progress each of us had made with regard to Araminta. Jocelyn let us down.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He claimed that he dined with his wife.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Not for one second,’ said Henry. ‘Jocelyn spends as little time at home as possible. He leaves early and gets back late. Take last night, for instance,’ he added. ‘It would have been almost one in the morning when he went back to the house. His coach dropped me off here well past midnight. And there’s another thing…’