Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

B arnaby was greatly relieved when Roscoe lived up to his—Barnaby's—expectations.

Just as the investigators were finishing breakfast in the inn's private parlor, a courier arrived, bearing a reply from London's gambling king—a reply the courier informed them he'd been well paid to deliver poste-haste.

Holding back his eagerness to read the missive, Barnaby thanked the man and arranged for him to be fed and his horse cared for. "It's possible we'll require your services to take back a reply."

The courier dipped his head. "Any friend of his nibs is someone I'll gladly help."

Barnaby hid a smile and hoped the courier didn't realize who Stokes worked for. Leaving the man in the inn's main room, Barnaby retreated, message in hand, to the parlor.

He was met by eager eyes and impatient expressions.

Grinning, he shut the door, walked to the table, dropped into his chair, and without further ado, broke the seal and unfolded Roscoe's missive.

Penelope jabbed his upper arm. "Read it aloud."

Barnaby duly reported, "Roscoe writes that he doesn't know which Meriwell—or indeed, if any Meriwell—is involved in our ‘business in Seven Dials.' However, he has two pieces of information that might prove helpful. First, he suspects he knows which business is being referred to. Apparently, in the underworld, the description ‘business in Seven Dials' has come to mean an enterprise called the House of Dreams, and in Roscoe's opinion, exposure of a Meriwell being linked to the place would cause a massive scandal of the level that would definitely qualify as a motive for murder."

"Well," Stokes said, "that's something at least. We now have our likely motive for his lordship's murder."

"And"—Barnaby had been scanning ahead, and his tone suggested mounting joy—"you'll like Roscoe's second piece of information even more. He's heard a rumor that Curtis has been investigating the business—quietly, as is Curtis's wont—and Roscoe suggests that if any Meriwell is involved in the House of Dreams, then Curtis might well know."

Curtis was the highly respected owner and head of the Curtis Inquiry Agency. Barnaby and Stokes had crossed his path several times in the past and, indeed, counted him as an ally of sorts.

Her expression lightening, Penelope sat back. "Even if Curtis was investigating for some other purpose, he's so thorough, he will surely know of all those involved."

Barnaby nodded. "Just as well I kept the courier. I'll get him a fresh horse and send him back hotfoot with a message for Curtis."

Stokes's eyes had narrowed in thought. "Better yet, as it's Curtis, we can make our request official. Rather than the courier, I'll send O'Donnell. Curtis is nothing if not law-abiding—he'll give us all the information he can, and O'Donnell is experienced enough to evaluate it and investigate further at that end if needed, before bringing us the news."

"And just from what Roscoe wrote," Penelope said, "given Lord Meriwell's obsession with the family name and keeping the family reputation untarnished, one can readily see that the news delivered by our unknown man—who might actually be Curtis—that one of his lordship's nephews or his closest friend were involved in such an enterprise would have triggered his temper and sent him into a towering rage."

"Indeed." Stokes nodded at Barnaby. "We have our motive. Now, we need to learn which of our four suspects is involved in such a disreputable business."

Stokes pushed to his feet, went to the door, opened it, and bellowed for his sergeant.

They took the path through the wood to Meriwell Hall and entered via the side door. Once in the front hall, with determined stride, Penelope led the way to the library.

As soon as they were inside and the door was shut, she headed for the desk. "Given that we have to wait—again—for news from London, then I believe it's reasonable to assume that it might have been Lord Meriwell for whom Curtis was investigating so quietly."

"That"—Barnaby sank into one of the chairs behind the desk—"seems an eminently justifiable conclusion."

Penelope smiled at him.

"I therefore suggest," he went on, returning her smile, "that we reinterview Jensen and see if we can verify that Curtis is, indeed, our mystery man."

Stokes was already reaching for the bellpull.

When Jensen arrived, the three were sitting behind the desk, and Stokes waved the butler to a chair. "Jensen, we believe we might have established the identity of the man who called on your master on the afternoon of his death."

"Indeed, sir." Uncomfortable about sitting in the presence of his betters, the butler dithered, but eventually perched on the edge of the chair's seat. "How may I help?"

"Please take your time," Barnaby said, "and give us as detailed a description as you can of the man who called."

"Well, he was of somewhat above average height," Jensen began. "Taller than the average, but not as tall as the inspector. A solidly built man with a rather round head. Brown hair, straight, and what I would call a determined-featured face. Strong in body and strong in mind, if you know what I mean."

Penelope smiled. "We do." She glanced at Barnaby and Stokes. "That does sound like the man we're thinking of."

"Oh." Jensen's eyes brightened. "One thing I hadn't thought to mention. He wore a low-crowned hat. Not something I've seen before, but it was of excellent make and quality."

Barnaby shared a look with Stokes. "That settles it. The man was Curtis."

Stokes inclined his head. "Not many others wear hats like that."

Barnaby refocused on Jensen. "Our acquaintance, Curtis, works in London. Did Lord Meriwell go up to town often?"

Jensen nodded. "He went up at least once a month and stayed at his club."

Stokes had his notebook open. "White's?"

"Yes."

"Business, was it?" Stokes asked.

Jensen hesitated, then replied, "He always described it as a combination of business and pleasure in the sense of catching up with friends."

Barnaby caught Stokes's eye, and when Stokes shook his head, turned to Jensen. "Thank you, Jensen. We won't keep you from your duties any longer."

Jensen rose, bowed, and departed.

The instant the door shut, Barnaby leaned back and angled his chair to look at his co-investigators. "If Lord Meriwell heard anything—even just a rumor—to make him wonder if perhaps one of his nephews or his closest friend were involved in some unsavory business, then it's likely he heard it in London. And subsequently, at some point, he hired Curtis, who would arguably be the best man for the job, to conduct a discreet investigation."

Penelope nodded. "Given his lordship's obsession, he wouldn't have been able to let the matter rest. He would have been driven to learn the truth, one way or another."

Stokes rumbled in agreement.

Penelope scooted back her chair and eyed the desk. "Now we know the name of the business and that it was Curtis his lordship hired to investigate, surely we have a legitimate reason to search his lordship's correspondence." She arched her brows at Stokes. "Who knows? Curtis might even have submitted a written report."

Stokes smiled at her attempt to lead him. "You know as well as I do that in such a case, Curtis almost certainly offered a verbal report."

Barnaby nodded. "That was why he called here. To tell his lordship what he'd learned."

Penelope frowned at the desk. "Still, there may be something pertinent in a letter. We won't know unless we look."

Stokes gave up trying to hide his grin. "Yes, all right. Now we know what we're looking for, it's appropriate that we search his lordship's papers. But we'll do this properly, by the rule book. We'll go upstairs"—he pushed back his chair and got to his feet—"and ask Lady Meriwell's permission to search her late husband's desk for any mention of the House of Dreams or the man we know as Curtis, who reported to his lordship on the afternoon of his death."

Stokes waved Penelope to the door, and she leapt to her feet and led the way.

Of course, Lord Iffey was sitting beside her ladyship in her private sitting room.

Stokes, Penelope, and Barnaby shared a glance as they approached the elderly couple, but when Stokes halted before Lady Meriwell, he made no suggestion that Iffey leave.

Barnaby inferred that they were to observe his lordship for his reaction to Stokes's disclosures.

Stokes explained that they'd received information from London that had identified a business his lordship had shown an interest in and also given them the name of the man who had called and spoken with his lordship on the afternoon of his death. "If you would give us"—he indicated Barnaby and Penelope more than himself—"permission to search your late husband's papers, those he kept in the desk in the library, to see if we can find any mention of either the business or the man he hired, it might get us further."

Penelope added, "Given we have the names of both, we won't need to read every document. We'll simply scan each sheet for mention of either name."

Her ladyship smiled weakly. "Yes, of course, dear." She shifted her washed-out gaze to Stokes. "Please do whatever you must, Inspector. All I ask is that you find who killed Angus and my darling Sophie and bring them to justice."

Stokes bowed. "We will do our level best, ma'am."

"Indeed." Penelope stepped back, preparing to leave.

Iffey gruffly said, "I just hope you're close to learning who was behind Angus's and Sophie's deaths."

Penelope and Barnaby inclined their heads. Stokes nodded politely, and they left the room.

As they headed—in Penelope's case with overt eagerness—for the main stairs, she murmured just loudly enough for Stokes and Barnaby to hear, "I really don't think Iffey is our man. Until his comment at the end, his entire attention was locked on her ladyship."

Barnaby nodded. "I agree. He's focused on her to the exclusion of all else, and despite all, I can't see him bumping off his old friend Angus, knowing how much it would distress her ladyship. That's his lodestone, his measure of what he should do. If any action would make her unhappy, he wouldn't do it." They started down the stairs, and Barnaby added, "And he didn't react in any way to the news that we know who the man who reported to Lord Meriwell is."

Stokes sighed. "I agree. I simply can't see him doing any of it—and especially not with poison."

"Good point," Barnaby said.

They reached the front hall and made for the library.

Between them, they methodically searched the desk. Penelope was the expert at scanning documents, and Stokes and Barnaby searched, organized, and collated while she did.

Yet in the end, when she laid down the last sheet of paper and met Barnaby's eyes, all they'd gained was further frustration.

"Nothing," she declared in a dead, defeated tone. "Not one single mention of the House of Dreams or of Curtis."

She sighed and looked at the piles of papers stacked upon the desk. "The only thing we've established is that Lord Meriwell was not the most organized of men."

Accepting that they would have to wait for word from Curtis, Penelope and Barnaby elected to join the guests and family about the luncheon table, which had been set up in the conservatory, while Stokes returned to the inn to consult with Morgan.

Penelope approved of David's having taken Veronica out for the day in his curricle; according to Jensen, they'd planned to stop at an inn for lunch before returning to Meriwell Hall in the afternoon. Unless Penelope missed her guess, there was a romance pending there; she just wished she could give more time to actively fostering it, but at present, duty called.

She and Barnaby took their seats at the round table, with Lady Meriwell, Lord Iffey, all three Meriwell nephews, and the four Busseltons. The seating arrangement was informal, so Penelope and Barnaby claimed the places beside Lord Iffey, which left them facing the Busselton elders and Persimone Busselton, with Stephen beside her. Peregrine eagerly took the chair beside Barnaby, leaving Arthur and Peter to fill the remaining places, more or less opposite her ladyship.

The circular table allowed Penelope a clear view of most faces. As the company served themselves from the platters Jensen and the footmen had delivered, she took note of the expression, tone of voice, and overall composure displayed by those present. Most appeared to be attempting to behave as if this was a normal house party luncheon and were achieving that goal with varying degrees of success. Then again, this was a group of which two previous members had died by poison almost certainly administered by one of those currently at the table; small wonder that people felt unsettled.

Nevertheless, as Penelope had said to Stokes, the gathering provided an opportunity for her and Barnaby to observe whether the mounting tension was affecting any of their three major suspects in a telling and possibly revealing way.

While addressing a small serving of sliced ham, cheese, and fruit, she wondered if there might be an opening for her or Barnaby to toss a figurative spanner at the murderer and see who ducked.

She slid a sidelong glance at her spouse.

His gaze was on his plate, but he sensed her attention and met her eyes. He read the question there, hesitated, then faintly shook his head. Not yet.

She inwardly sighed. Patience was not her strong suit, and she had agreed to wait and see if any of the company broached the subject of the investigation first. They had to be curious as to how the investigators were faring, especially given that she and Barnaby had the leisure to join this gathering.

Finally, George Busselton put her out of her misery. He dabbed his lips with his napkin, then tentatively asked, "Has there been any progress, Mr. Adair? Anything you can share with us?"

Instantly, every eye but Penelope's fixed on Barnaby. He took his time setting down his cutlery and touching his napkin to his lips—giving Penelope plenty of time to assess the degree of anxiety exhibited by all there over his possible reply—then with an expression of benignity, in an even tone, he replied, "I believe the inspector won't mind if I report that there's been something of a breakthrough."

The interest around the table escalated by several degrees.

In measured fashion, Barnaby continued, "We discovered that Lord Meriwell had contacted an inquiry agent in London and, we believe, had requested a report about a particular business there." More for effect than anything else, Barnaby paused as if he was carefully considering his next words.

Intently, Penelope scanned the faces around the table, paying particular attention to Arthur and Peter, although she dutifully kept Stephen in her sights as well.

Then Barnaby went on, "Due to the sequence of happenings that appear to have arisen consequent to the agent reporting to his lordship, we believe there is a connection between the particular business enterprise—or at least his lordship's inquiry into it—and his lordship's murder."

"Good heavens!" Mrs. Busselton appeared more curious than shocked.

George Busselton looked taken aback and quite confounded. "A business venture is behind this?" His expression suggested he was imagining some sort of skullduggery enacted by strangers from outside the house.

A brief glance at Lady Meriwell and Lord Iffey informed Penelope that her ladyship continued to look rather lost, while Iffey's attention, as it had throughout, remained unwaveringly fixed on her ladyship.

Persimone and Peregrine Busselton seemed eaten by curiosity and quite desperate to learn more.

In contrast and to Penelope's chagrin, all three Meriwell nephews looked… arrested was the word that sprang to her mind. As if each of them couldn't make up his mind whether to be worried—more deeply worried—or not.

Imperturbably, Barnaby concluded, "We're awaiting further information." With a mild smile for the company, he added, "We're hopeful it will arrive soon."

For a moment more, everyone stared, then they looked down at their plates and pretended to give their attention to their meals.

Beside Penelope, Lord Iffey reached out and patted Lady Meriwell's hand. "It will all work out, my dear. Worry not. Our investigators know what they're doing."

On hearing those words, Penelope swallowed a disgruntled snort. In terms of eliciting some telltale reaction that would allow them to distinguish between their prime suspects, their ploy had failed dismally.

Indeed, Barnaby's revelations had put a dampener on conversation, which sagged to effectively none.

After the by-then-largely-silent gathering in the conservatory broke up, Penelope and Barnaby returned to the library. They walked in to find David and Veronica had returned from their outing and, together with Stokes, were waiting to see whether Barnaby and Penelope had learned anything of note.

While she and Barnaby made their way to the armchairs where the others sat, Stokes opened proceedings with the news that Morgan, who'd been spending his time gaining the confidence of various groups of staff—that being the baby-faced constable's particular talent—had nothing of value to report. "He's convinced the staff are entirely innocent of any degree of complicity, and at this point, no one knows anything about the missing glass, either."

Having noted the color in Veronica's cheeks and that David was exuding an aura of satisfaction, Penelope hid her hopeful delight and, instead, slumped into one of the armchairs and blew out an irritated breath. "Barnaby played our little scene perfectly. Unfortunately, we didn't get the result for which we'd hoped."

Elegantly sinking into the armchair alongside hers, Barnaby dryly observed, "We did succeed in confusing George Busselton with our mention of a business being involved."

Penelope sighed and described what she'd seen in the faces around the table, dwelling most on the reactions of their three remaining suspects. "Sadly, increasingly worrying about what might come next—which is how all three of them reacted to our news—is perfectly explainable without them being the murderer. If we theorize that one of them is our villain, then as far as the other two know, we might be barking up some tree of a business that they have a connection with that, for some reason unknown to them, we see as incriminating." To David and Veronica, she explained, "We only said that it was a business in London, not that it was one in Seven Dials, so the innocent two wouldn't be certain they are not, somehow, implicated."

Stokes tapped a finger on the chair's arm. "Yet for our murderer…well, at the very least, the pair of you just tightened our screws."

David looked from Stokes to Barnaby. "I know we're inclined to drop Iffey from the suspect list, but his words to her ladyship are hardly an exoneration. He could be hiding some terrible secret from her ladyship as well as from everyone else."

Barnaby grimaced and inclined his head. "Unfortunately, that's true. On the basis of everything we know to this point, Iffey remains an outside chance as our murderer."

Penelope sighed deeply. "So we're still waiting."

Penelope and the others had only just resignedly and somewhat morosely concluded that they could think of nothing else they could do to further the investigation when Jensen tapped on the door and, at Barnaby's command, entered.

His expression uncertain, Jensen approached, halted, and reported, "The gardeners were searching the borders around the house for the missing wine glass—which we still haven't found—but they came across a small brown bottle in the bushes along the family wing." Jensen focused on Barnaby. "The gardeners didn't know if the bottle would be of interest. I thought it best to ask."

Penelope leapt to her feet, and David rose, as did Veronica.

"I'd better take a look," David said. "If by chance the bottle contained prussic acid, then even handling the outside might be dangerous."

Jensen was quick to reassure them, "The gardeners wondered about that, and they swear they haven't touched the bottle."

"Good." David gathered Veronica with a glance.

About to head for the door, Penelope arched a brow at Barnaby and Stokes.

Stokes waved her on. "Go—we'll wait here in case there's any news."

For a second, she wavered—by news, Stokes meant the information from Curtis, and that would be the vital clue they needed to make sense of this case—but the lure of immediate action won out. She nodded and briskly led the way to the door.

In the front hall, she waved Jensen into the lead, and she, David, and Veronica followed the butler through the house, out of the side door, and around one wing of the house. Along that fa?ade, a straight gravel path ran about ten feet from the house, and a thickly planted border filled the space between the path and the wall.

Halfway along the wing, a quartet of gardeners were clustered on the lawn.

As Penelope and the others approached, one of the gardeners—the oldest, judging by his grizzled appearance—stepped away from the group, crossed the path, and halted beside a leafy bush.

Penelope and the others neared, and she smiled at him. "What have you found?"

He ducked his head to her. "We was searching for the glass, but we found a bottle instead." He jabbed a finger at the bush. "In there, trapped in the branches. We weren't sure whether we should fetch it out."

David, who had halted beside Penelope, crouched to peer into the bush. "Just as well you didn't." He glanced up at Penelope, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He shook it out over his hand, then reached into the bush and drew out a small brown bottle shaped more like a vial.

David held the bottle up to the light. "Empty. And the stopper's gone." Tipping the bottle, he squinted at the base of the label, then grunted and rose. "It's from a different London apothecary, another large emporium."

Penelope sighed. "So it's untraceable."

As David carefully wrapped the bottle in his handkerchief, he and Veronica nodded.

David paused, then he closed his hand around the bottle and held his fist for Penelope and Veronica to see.

The vial was completely hidden in his palm.

"A risky maneuver," David said, "but if the stopper was removed just before he got to the dining room, then all it would have taken was a single pass of his hand over the wine glass, and the deed would have been done."

Penelope nodded. "Yes. I see." She paused, contemplating the likely scene. "Not all that hard. Not if one had made up one's mind to do it."

"Indeed," David agreed.

Penelope noticed that Veronica was looking upward, studying the windows above.

When Penelope followed her gaze, Veronica raised her arm and pointed. "That's Sophie's room."

Penelope looked, then lowered her gaze to the bush in which the bottle had been found. The bush was almost directly below Sophie's window. Penelope huffed. "Obviously, we're supposed to deduce that Sophie poisoned her grandfather and flung the vial out of her window to get rid of it. Hah!" Her derisive tone effectively conveyed what she thought of that.

David regarded the wrapped vial. "This is still potentially dangerous. I'd prefer to dispose of it." He looked at Penelope. "But will Stokes need it for evidence, do you think?"

Penelope frowned at the bottle. "You've seen it, I've seen it, and Veronica's seen it. It's effectively untraceable. I can't see that keeping it will be of much use."

"Good." David turned to Jensen and the gardeners, who had been silently watching. He held up the handkerchief-wrapped vial. "Do you have somewhere you gather broken glass? If I break this there, any remaining poison will quickly evaporate, and any residue will vanish in the next rain and be of no further risk to anyone."

Between them, Jensen and the gardeners directed David, Penelope, and Veronica to an area between the rear of the kitchen garden and the stables.

"You'll see the pile," Jensen assured them. "It's quite sizeable."

With the gardeners resuming their search for the missing glass and Jensen returning indoors, Penelope and Veronica trailed David as he strode off across the lawn.

They found the six-foot-high pile of broken crockery and glassware behind the kitchen garden wall. Judging by the style of wares represented amid the detritus, the pile looked to have been continually added to over the past decade and more.

David hunted around and found two good-sized rocks. Crouching by the edge of the pile, he unwrapped the brown vial and carefully sat it on the flatter rock. After shaking out and setting aside his handkerchief, he used the other, larger rock to gently crack the vial, then he crushed and ground it to a powder.

While Veronica watched him, Penelope aimlessly wandered around the pile, noting the various patterns of crockery and glassware the house had at some point used. There was quite a mixture of styles and shapes…

She halted, blinked, then a wide smile split her face. "Aha!" Her smile grew. "Well, well, well."

She hiked up her skirts and clambered halfway up the shifting pile. She was on the side shaded by the kitchen-garden wall, opposite where David was working.

Alerted by her words and the grating of crockery, Veronica came around the heap. "What are you doing?"

Balancing awkwardly on the shifting pieces, Penelope bent over and used the hem of her skirt to grip and wriggle and eventually free the object that had caught her attention.

Carefully, still teetering, she held up her find. "This was sticking out in a rather odd way. I'm willing to wager a considerable amount that it's our missing wine glass."

She was holding the glass by its base. While the edge of the bowl was cracked and chipped, most of the glass was intact, and the bottom of the bowl was stained with the dregs of what appeared to be red wine.

Gingerly, she turned and made her way down the pile.

David had heard and came to join them. He reached out and gripped her elbow and steadied her down and off the shifting pile.

Once she was on firm ground, he wrapped his handkerchief around the stem so she could use that to hold the glass. Carefully, she gripped the protected section and released her skirt, then she, David, and Veronica examined the glass.

Veronica observed, "That does look like one of the set of glasses currently being used in the dining room."

Penelope raised her gaze to the house. "Let's see what Jensen thinks."

They found the butler in his pantry, and the way his eyes widened the instant he saw the glass answered their first question.

"Have any other glasses from this particular set recently been broken and thrown away?" Penelope asked. "Say over the past three months?"

His lips tight, Jensen shook his head. "Definitely not, ma'am. Other than the glass that went missing after his lordship died, that set is still complete."

She nodded. "Excellent. This is, therefore, our missing glass and no other."

Jensen was frowning. "I don't understand why we didn't find it earlier. I gave orders for the crockery-and-glass pile to be searched."

She smiled reassuringly. "You didn't find it then because it wasn't, at that time, there."

Jensen's face cleared. "Someone put it there after we'd searched."

"Almost certainly, which only underlines that our murderer knows this house all too well." She looked at David and Veronica. "Thank you, Jensen. I believe you may call off the search. We'll be in the library if there are any unexpected discoveries."

Penelope took great delight in showing off her find to a suitably appreciative Barnaby and Stokes.

"Pure luck, of course," she admitted as she carefully set the glass, still banded by David's handkerchief, on the hearthstone.

"But good eyes," Stokes teasingly said, with a laughing glance at Penelope's thick-lensed spectacles.

She pulled a face at him, then sat in what had become her armchair. "All we've found today underscores that our murderer is someone who knows this house and its workings intimately and also that our murderer was intent on making Sophie their scapegoat."

Stokes nodded. "So we're looking at Arthur, Peter, or Stephen, with Iffey a very outside chance. And while we might have our prejudices over which one is our villain, in reality, we have no firm evidence on which to make that judgment."

"Yet," Barnaby appended. "I have every confidence that, Curtis being Curtis, his information will open our eyes."

"Or at the very least," Penelope said, "point us toward one of our suspects as the most likely."

Barnaby asked about the brown bottle, and Penelope and David confirmed what it had contained, and Penelope explained their decision to dispose of it.

Stokes grimaced, but accepted their reasoning. "If it comes to it, your testimonies will suffice."

David had been studying the wine glass sitting on the hearth. "I daresay there's enough residue there that an analysis might be of some use." He arched a brow at Stokes. "Should I arrange it?"

Stokes thought, then nodded. "Please. Given the bottle's gone, I feel a need to gather any proof that will help to anchor our case."

David smiled understandingly. "I'll take the glass, then, and see to it."

Penelope had been reviewing the situation. "We've found the missing glass, the missing mug turned up, and we have the bottle of laudanum and have located and disposed of the vial of cyanide." She looked at the others. "What we've yet to find is Sophie's diary."

Stokes's gaze rested on her. "Barnaby and I were discussing our potential case, and we really need to make a push to learn more about the nephews."

"We haven't delved into their characters," Barnaby explained. "Not beyond what we've seen for ourselves. As we're increasingly certain our murderer is one of the three, then while we're waiting for Curtis to give us more information, getting a better idea of their personalities will help shore up our eventual case."

"It might even help us define which one of the three is the villain." Stokes smiled winningly at Penelope. "We were wondering if you and Veronica might go and have a cozy chat with Lady Meriwell. If, as we're told, the nephews have been haunting the house for much of their lives, then her ladyship is likely to have a reasonably accurate view of their natures."

Penelope studied Stokes, then looked at Barnaby. Then she pushed her spectacles higher and nodded. "All right." She glanced at the clock, then at Veronica. "If we go now, perhaps we might share afternoon tea with her ladyship."