Diamonds of Death. Vivian Conroy

‘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.’

      Again there was this odd change from the woman in charge to a little girl talking, in a wistful tone. ‘I came from the library where I had picked up a book to read.’

      ‘I thought Lord Winters had died in the library.’

      ‘No, he had books in that room, but it was more like his private study. The library is another room, for the use of everyone in the household. It holds some precious first editions. You might like to see them later on. If you like books. Do you take sugar in your tea? Cream?’

      ‘Neither, thank you.’ To continue talk of the murder, Alkmene hurried to say, ‘I like books very much, thank you. So you came from the library and saw this light under the door of Lord Winters’ private study and naturally you knocked to ask if anything was…wanted.’

      The woman sighed as she spooned sugar into her own cup. ‘I opened the door and there was this man, leaning over the body of my father-in-law. The blood and… It was terrible. But at least he was caught before he could leave. He will pay for what he did.’

      Alkmene hesitated. ‘If you did not see the burglar killing your father-in-law, how can you be sure he actually killed him?’

      Helena’s eyes flashed a moment with a strange light. ‘What else could have happened? The police have gotten out of him how he entered via the front of the house. He actually climbed up like a monkey and forced his way in through a window. He then killed my father-in-law who caught him red-handed.’

      Alkmene said pensively, ‘If he climbed up, he must have noticed somebody was in the room. Why take the chances and commit murder?’

      ‘I assume the room was empty when he came in. My father-in-law must have walked in on him.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ Alkmene said. ‘How fortunate you did not pass the