‘You’ve already seen my brother, Peter,’ she said.
‘Ah. Actaeon, I believe.’
‘No, actually, you got that wrong. Diana never shot Actaeon, you know. She threw a bucket of water over him when she caught him sneaking a look at her in the bath and he turned into a stag.’
‘Yes, of course, you’re right. And the poor fellow was chased and torn to pieces by his own hounds.’
‘He died calling out their names,’ said Dorcas with relish. ‘Imagine what that must be like! To know your friends are ripping your flesh to bits and you shout out their names . . . “Stop – it’s me! Theron! Tigris! Don’t you know me?” And they don’t know him and they tear his throat out and eat his liver!’
‘Er . . . sir?’ said Armitage uncertainly.
‘Ah, yes, much as I’d like to wander with Dorcas through the murkier groves of mythology we have work to do. I’m Commander Joe Sandilands. Here’s my card.’
She looked at it carefully and pushed it up the sleeve of her cardigan.
‘I expect you know why we’re here? This is my detective sergeant, Bill Armitage.’
‘He’s very handsome,’ said Dorcas seriously.
‘I was sure you would think so. He’s also very clever. And this is Constable Mathilda Westhorpe.’
‘Is she your mistress?’
‘No. She’s my constable. We work together.’
‘Orlando has mistresses and they work together but he’s never married any of them. What do you think of that?’
‘Speaking as a man who is himself unmarried, I can only say, “Sensible chap.” He’ll probably do the right thing when he’s made his selection,’ said Joe, rapidly losing the thread of the conversation. ‘And now, miss, if you wouldn’t mind taking us to him . . .?’
‘Right. This way. Granny keeps us confined to the oldest part of the house, you’ll find. Not that I mind all that much because it’s the most interesting part. In fact, I shall go on living over there even when Orlando plucks up courage enough to claim what is legally his and takes over the whole house.’
Joe stopped and waved a hand at the building. ‘You mean all this is . . .?’
‘Oh yes. Orlando’s father left it to him. When he died ten years ago. Grandmother ought to have moved out to the Dower House down by the river over there – or anywhere else she wanted to go – she’s very rich, you know. She could live wherever she wanted. But she won’t give it up. And my father won’t make her – he’s rather a weed where Granny’s concerned. Most people are. I know she was trying to leave it to Aunt Bea along with all her money when she dies. It’s in her will. I’ve seen it.’ She hesitated and then said without a trace of guilt, ‘Better, I think, if you don’t tell Granny I’ve seen it. She’d have a fit! She left it on her desk while she spoke to the lawyer on the telephone in the hall and I went in and read it. Orlando is to get nothing. What do you think of that?’
‘I don’t have opinions on everything,’ said Joe, annoyed. ‘I’m here to listen and ask questions and find out what everyone else is thinking.’
‘Men! Why are they all so devious?’ commented Dorcas.
Chapter Nine
‘So your father’s a weed, then, is he, miss?’ said Armitage, taking up a position alongside the child. ‘Not a very polite thing to say?’
‘It’s his own description . . . Bill . . . And it’s true. Orlando’s very gentle and easy-going, sunny-natured, hates to offend anyone, charming. Makes you sick. I hope you’re not going to be rude to him . . . give him the third degree or anything like that . . . because I won’t allow it!’
‘We can be pretty charming ourselves, miss. Thumbscrews are a bit old hat these days, you know.’
‘That’s good. I just thought I should warn you.’
‘Now let me understand this,’ said Armitage cheerfully, ‘you’re fourteen, right? So born in 1912, two years before the war broke out. And according to Grandmama, Orlando spent the war years in Switzerland. Did you go with him?’
‘No, Bill. He left me and my oldest brother, who was just a baby, here with Granny. Our mothers – we didn’t have the same one – went away. We don’t remember them.’
‘Sounds like a bleak situation?’
‘It could have been if we hadn’t had Grandnanny Tilling. She had been Aunt Bea and Orlando’s nanny when they were little and she came back from the village to look after us. She stayed on when my father got back from Switzerland and didn’t leave until she retired again last year. She wasn’t just a nanny – she had been a governess once and she taught us to read and write and all that.’