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ninety-four,’ remarked Grace. ‘I was at school then, but I remember there were reports in the newspapers. The older son killed his wife for her jewels and fled to France. It was a great scandal.’
    The old man shook his head. ‘Scandal has always followed the Arrandales, my love. Not all of it deserved.’
    ‘You say that because your living is in their gift,’ muttered Wolf.
    ‘No, I say it because I believe it.’
    ‘But, Papa,’ said Grace, ‘you believe the best of everyone.’
    Wolf did not look up, but felt sure her eyes were on him. Mr Duncombe merely chuckled.
    ‘I look for the best in everyone,’ he said mildly, ‘and I am rarely disappointed. Do pass me the fricassee of rabbit again, my dear, it really is quite excellent.’
    Wolf wanted to ask about the child, his daughter. Had the parson seen her, was she tall, like him, or small-boned like her mother? Was she dark, did she have his eyes? The questions went round and round in his head, but he knew he must let the matter drop. When Mr Duncombe began to talk of more general matters he followed suit, but his long exile had left him woefully ignorant.
    ‘You appear singularly ill informed of how matters stand in England,’ observed Grace, clearly suspicious.
    ‘I have been living in the north country, they have little interest in what goes on nearer London. That is why I have come south, to take up my life again.’
    She pounced on that.
    ‘Oh, are you a local man, then, Mr Peregrine? I do not recall any family with that name hereabouts.’
    ‘No, the Peregrines are not local,’ he replied truthfully.
    The parson shifted uncomfortably.
    ‘My dear, it grows late and I am sure Mr Peregrine would like to join me in a glass of brandy. I do not often indulge the habit, sir, but since you are here...’
    Grace rose immediately. ‘Of course, Papa.’
    ‘If you wish to retire, Grace, I am sure our guest will not mind if we do not send for the tea tray.’
    Wolf knew he should agree with his host. They could bid Miss Duncombe goodnight now and he would be free of her questions and suspicions, but some inner demon made him demur.
    ‘If it is no trouble, a cup of tea before I retire would be a luxury I have not enjoyed for a very long time.’
    Grace looked at him, eyes narrowed.
    ‘You seem to be inordinately fond of the drink, Mr Peregrine.’
    ‘I believe I am, Miss Duncombe.’ He met her gaze innocently enough and at length she inclined her head, every inch the gracious hostess.
    ‘Of course Mr Peregrine must have tea if he wishes it, Papa. I will await you in the drawing room.’
    With that she swept out of the room.
    * * *
    As soon as the door was closed Mr Duncombe said, ‘Was that wise, sir? My daughter is no fool.’
    ‘I am aware of that, but I was not funning when I said I have missed life’s little luxuries.’ The old man’s brows rose and Wolf’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Not tea-drinking, I admit, unless it was in the company of a pretty woman.’ Wolf saw the other man draw back and he hurried on. ‘Pray, sir, do not think I have any thoughts of that nature towards your daughter, I would not repay your hospitality so cruelly. No, I have no interest in anything save clearing my name.’ He looked around to check again that they were alone. ‘On that subject, sir, what do you know of my own daughter?’
    ‘Alas, my son, I cannot help you. She lives with Lord and Lady Davenport, I believe. Doctor Oswald was dining here the night your wife died and a servant came to fetch him. When we met again Oswald said it was a miracle the baby survived. Your wife never regained consciousness.’ In the candlelight Mr Duncombe’s naturally cheerful face was very grave. ‘He told me, in confidence, that if it had not been for the missing diamonds the magistrate would have recorded your wife’s death as a tragic accident. Alas, both the doctor and the magistrate are now dead.’
    ‘So you have a new Justice of the Peace?’
    ‘Yes,