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shoot a longbow. She said that one of them had to think about more than the cut of their clothes.” She pointed to two portraits hanging on the far wall. “There they are.” The late Lord Asthall looked every inch the eighteenth-century dandy, Dexter thought. He had hazel eyes and black hair, a pronounced nose and strong chin, and his expression was arrogant and amoral. His features were also vaguely familiar. Dexter’s paternal family had come from Yorkshire several generations back and there had been a rumor in the family that there was bastard Asthall blood in the line somewhere. Certainly Dexter’s brother Roly and his father’s so-called “ward” Caro had the same coloring. Dexter reflected ruefully that that was probably where his father had got his libertine tendencies from, as well. Lord Asthall looked a complete cad. Still, Lady Asthall was, quite frankly, a fearsome Amazon of a woman in her archery dress, so perhaps they had been well matched.
    “Were they happy together?” he asked.
    “I do not believe so. My grandfather was a terrible rake,” Laura said, confirming Dexter’s suspicions. “I am surprised that Grandmama did not shoot him with her bow and arrow.”
    “And does your daughter inherit the same sporting prowess as her great-grandmother?” Dexter asked.
    Laura paused. There was a rather odd silence. Looking at her, Dexter thought she looked pinched and cold, as though he were trespassing on a subject she did not want to discuss.
    “Hattie is still very young.” Laura spoke stiffly. “She can sit a small pony if I walk beside her and she loves her rocking horse, so perhaps one day she will be a rider.” There was another silence. Dexter could hear the loud hum of a bumblebee trapped against the windowpane and the rush of the river over the weir. He felt a little disquieted to think of Laura rattling around in this ancient place all on her own with her small daughter, but then there did not seem much of value to steal here. It seemed that his speculation about Charles Cole leaving Laura with no money had been close to the mark. She was penniless, alone and unprotected. He was disturbed at how uneasy the thought made him.
    The door at the end of the dark corridor opened and a butler shuffled forward into the patch of sunlight that was making patterns through the diamond windowpanes.
    “Your grace! I did not hear the bell.”
    Dexter was shocked to recognize Carrington, the butler from Cole Court. Four years ago the man had been vigorous and healthy. Now he looked old and broken. He stooped.
    His hands shook and his voice was a whisper. Dexter doubted that he could hold a tray, let alone announce visitors.
    “It does not matter, Carrington,” Laura spoke softly. “Please could you show Mr.
    Anstruther down to the warming room whilst I find some dry clothing for him? We have had a small mishap.”
    The butler’s gaze darted from one to the other like a furtive rabbit. “An accident? Oh, madam—”
    “There is nothing to cause distress,” Laura interrupted firmly. “It was no more than a fall in the river. If you would be so good…”

    The butler nodded and drew himself up with a sad echo of his former authority. “This way, sir, if you please.”

CHAPTER THREE
    DEXTER FOLLOWED the tottering butler down the old stone stair. On more than one occasion he put out a hand to steady the man when it appeared he was about to tumble down the steps to the bottom. He could not believe the change in Carrington and was tempted to ask him what had happened except that the butler seemed confused and did not appear to recognize him at all. He showed Dexter into the little warming room, where a fire burned hot in the grate and the air was scented with lavender from the drying sheets, and promptly disappeared.
    Dexter stripped off his sodden shirt with some relief, for little trickles of water were still running down his chest and they felt icy cold. His boots were also full of water and it was