Diamonds of Death

She turned back into the room she had come from, calling over her shoulder at the butler, ‘Have Ms Deeds bring tea and sandwiches at once.’

Alkmene nodded at Jake. ‘You can put the bags in the blue room, Parker. Then you may move the car. The butler can tell you where to put it.’ With a careless, dismissive hand gesture, she entered the room.

It was large with golden curtains, several delicate cherrywood chairs, a desk with inlaid ivory and a large piano with music on top of it. The woman walked over and sat down. She ran her fingers across the keys producing a soft haunting tune.

Alkmene stood listening for a few moments, then seated herself in a chair. She had not been invited to, but then her back was really a little stiff from the long ride and her hostess didn’t seem intent on inviting her to sit at all.

She frowned. The woman’s behaviour was very odd. One moment she was in total command, acting like she ruled the household; the next moment her behaviour changed and she seemed insecure, as if she was only present on the scene by mistake and had no part at all in playing hostess to the sudden visitors.

There was the sound of hoof beats outside and as Alkmene looked out of the window, she saw a tall attractive young man on a black horse racing across the lawn. As he came from the shadows into the sunlight, he threw his head back as if he wanted to feel the sun’s warmth on his face. Could this be George, the younger of the two sons?

He halted in front of the house and dismounted, throwing the reins carelessly to a stable boy who had come running at the sound of his approach.

‘Helena! Helena!’ Bellowing as if he was calling for his dog, the handsome man ascended the steps in front of the house, banged the front door open, then shut, and entered the room where Alkmene sat. He only had eyes for the woman at the piano. He called, ‘The police keep saying the burglar did not have the stones on him. But that is impossible.’

Alkmene froze at the mention of the stones. Jake had said his friend Mac had been hired by George Winters to steal the stones. What on earth could George have intended with that action?

And had this woman been in on it? Was she George’s wife?

Alkmene could not recall whether George had married but then she might have missed the announcement.

At the sudden entrance the woman had stopped playing, rising abruptly. The look on her face made the new arrival fall silent. He followed the direction of her warning gaze and saw Alkmene. She smiled up at him, not bothering to rise. ‘Good afternoon. I am Lady Alkmene Callender, the late Lord Winters’ niece.’

‘I know no one by that name. Get going.’ He gestured at the woman. ‘Come with me. We have to talk.’

The woman flushed. ‘George, please, don’t be so rude. This is really your father’s niece.’

George stood, his feet planted apart, surveying Alkmene with his deep set dark eyes. ‘So what?’ he asked at last. ‘My father is dead, and I don’t care for any niece of his. You sure never bothered to come here before.’

Alkmene blinked at the blunt statement, at the same time acknowledging it was true. Anne had written to her, and she had simply ignored the letters, not really sure what to do with them. Maybe George knew that Anne had written and never received a reply?

Or this rudeness could just be George’s way of dealing with his father’s violent death.

‘My father is away in India,’ she said hurriedly, intending to use his absence as some sort of an excuse, but the young man grabbed at his head, saying, ‘I don’t want to hear anything about that accursed place. That is where it all began, that…’

He looked at the woman, his expression suddenly vaguely panicky. ‘We really have to talk.’

The woman smiled at him and spoke in a slow, soothing tone as if to a child, ‘Of course we will. Please excuse me, Lady Alkmene. I will be back as soon as I can.’

She left the room together with the impetuous young man.

Now at least she had met two family members. Alkmene wished Father had told her more about family relations, but realizing in the same thought that if Father had any idea of what she was doing here, he would be appalled. He had carefully kept from her what exactly had happened to her aunt. There had to be some reason for it.

Nothing good.

Alkmene shifted her weight uncomfortably. Perhaps it was her own pressing awareness of duplicity in coming here. But there seemed to be something odd to this house. Unbalanced.

Vaguely threatening.

Metal clanged outside the door, and moments later, a plump woman entered with a trolley holding fine china and trays with muffins, scones and sandwiches. ‘Did I hear Master George?’ she asked, looking around the room.

Alkmene smiled. ‘He was here a moment ago, but he stepped out with his wife. He will be back soon.’

‘Master George has no wife. You must mean Lady Helena. She is married to Lord Albert. She owns it all now.’

The woman’s tone was resentful.

Alkmene flushed over her faux pas. But George’s apparent dependency on this woman and her way of accommodating him had suggested a closer bond than that of in-laws.

Alkmene said quickly, ‘I see you prepared all these delicious things for George.’

‘Whenever he goes out riding, he comes back with an appetite.’ The woman smiled, her face wrinkling round the eyes and mouth. ‘I do like to spoil him a little.’

She came over two steps and studied Alkmene. ‘You must forgive me, my lady, for saying so, but you do look a lot like your mother. I only saw her in photographs but she was so pretty. The late Lady Winters talked about her sister in England a lot. It is good to see you here.’

Alkmene returned her smile. This sudden rush of appreciation felt like a warm bath after the family members’ cold reception of her. ‘My mother died when I was very young. If you can tell me anything about her, I would be very grateful. Perhaps we can talk some time while I am here?’

The woman’s expression changed at once, from warmth and welcome to fear. ‘I do not think it possible, my lady. The new Lady Winters is very stern; she doesn’t like staff engaging with the guests.’

There was a sound in the hallway, and she shot back, curtsying nervously. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

She retreated in a rush to the door, almost bumping into the dark handsome woman who came back in. ‘Have you poured?’ Helena snapped at the servant.

‘No, but…’ The woman swallowed hard.

Alkmene jumped to her feet. ‘I said I would do it. I enjoy puttering with tea stuff.’ As she said it, she realized how ridiculous it was to act like hostess in this strange house and how she would not endear herself to the other woman by this approach. Barge in, act like she belonged here. While Helena now ‘owned it all’ as the housekeeper had aptly put it.

But Alkmene didn’t want the housekeeper to feel bad about her faux pas. If she had known her mother’s half-sister and had even seen photographs of her mother shown by this half-sister, she wanted to know more about that.

Her hostess came closer with short abrupt steps. ‘I will do it. You must be tired from your journey. You had better sit.’

It sounded like she was instructing a dog.

Alkmene sank back and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Lord Winters’ death must have come as quite a shock to you. I mean, it being so sudden and…violent. I believe he was killed in a burglary?’

‘Yes. I actually saw it happen.’

‘The murder?’ Alkmene cried. Dismay knotted her stomach. Jake had forgotten to mention to her that there was an actual eyewitness for the killing. That would make proving his friend’s innocence kind of hard.

Her hostess said, ‘I saw that dreadful man leaning over my father-in-law, his gloved hands full of blood. It was horrible to see. I was so glad there were able men here who could jump him and control him before he killed me too.’

‘You came upon the scene because you had heard noise?’

‘I saw light under the door and wanted to ask if Lord Winters needed anything.’

‘In the dead of night?’ Alkmene caught her own incredulous tone and added quickly, ‘The papers I read must have had the time of the killing wrong then. It was earlier, in the evening?’

Her hostess fussed with the teapot. ‘No, it was late, but we had had guests who had only left an hour before that. I was still awake. I have trouble sleeping sometimes when it has been an exciting day.’