“Me and the boys went aboard His Grace’s yacht,” the chief constable continued, “and had a fine old time, smashing it to bits. Ted and Jack steered it onto the shoals, and James picked them up in a dinghy.”
“Only expert sailors could’ve managed that trick,” Derek commented. He looked thoughtfully at the fire, then frowned. “But why go to all that trouble? Wouldn’t it have been safer to stage his death somewhere else, to make it a bit less spectacular?”
Kate shook her head. “Lex’s death would’ve attracted attention no matter where it took place,” she said flatly. “This way, we could control the situation and make the best use of the resources we had at hand.”
“Taciturn Cornish villagers make very credible eyewitnesses, really,” Hallard explained. “Lots of practice at it, I suppose, with all the smuggling that used to go on.”
“But what about the press?” Derek asked.
“A temporary nuisance,” Grayson said dismissively.
“Still,” Derek persisted, “you were taking an awfully big risk, weren’t you? How many people were involved? Fourteen? Fifteen? And now you’ll have to add me and Emma to the list. I’ve no doubt that Newland knows his stuff, but how can you be sure there’ll be no leaks?”
“We can’t,” the duke replied simply. “Look, Derek, I may very well be the dunderhead Nanny considers me to be, but Hallard isn’t.”
Hallard was cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. “Just have a devious mind, really. I knew the truth would come out eventually. It’s human nature to want to share a secret.” He carefully replaced his glasses, then folded his handkerchief and returned it to his pocket. “So I prepared a story line for every situation we’re likely to face.”
The duke smiled indulgently at Hallard. “It’s no use grilling him on what those story lines may be. He’s got them hidden away on Crowley’s blasted Series Ten, with instructions on how to get at them, should we ever need to. But he hates discussing his work. Won’t even let me read his book flaps.”
“Pesky things always give the plot away,” Hallard put in.
“All we know for certain,” said the duke, “is that Hallard’s come up with a number of likely and unlikely scenarios for us to follow. Based on his past performance, I have every confidence that, whatever happens, the outcome will be satisfactory for all concerned.”
Emma sipped tea that had long since grown cold, then put her cup and saucer on the tray. “There’s one more question I’d like to ask, if I may,” she said. “The answer may seem obvious to you, but ... Well, it sounds so complicated, and it took so long to plan. I’m just wondering why you were all so willing to help out.”
Uncertain looks were exchanged, throats were cleared, fingernails were examined, and feet were shuffled. Finally, Gash proposed an answer.
“It was fun,” he said. “Whether Lex Rex panned out or not, we had a good time working on him. When you get down to it, fixing flats in the local garage can be pretty bloody boring.”
Now Crowley spoke up. “Self-interest played a role, as well. There was always the outside chance that His Grace’s scheme would succeed, that we would achieve our individual goals. All I wanted was to return to my place at Penford Hall. Newland wanted a quiet patch of woods to prowl, Gash dreamt of a first-rate garage, and Hallard wanted privacy and time to write.”
“It’s the same in the village,” said the chief constable. “As I said before—”
“Balls!” roared Nanny Cole, rattling her knitting needles. “Sod that nonsense, Tom Trevoy, and the same goes for you, Ephraim Crowley. Fun and self-interest—what a load of rubbish.” She sniffed derisively. “You know as well as I do why we listened to His Grace, and why we went ahead when common sense told us we hadn’t a chance in hell of succeeding. It was him.” She looked proudly at the duke. “He’s a proper little wizard, is our Grayson, and always has been. He can charm water from a rock. He can twist a stiff-necked old biddy like me around his little finger.”
“Now, Nanny ...” Grayson murmured.
“Don’t you ‘Now, Nanny’ me, you cheeky blighter. They all know what I’m talking about. They know how you make folks believe that everything’s possible, that dreams were meant to come true. If you’d told us we could fly to the moon, we’d’ve tried to build a bloody rocket.” She glared fiercely around the room. “And I dare any of you to deny it.”
No one took up the challenge. Derek ran a hand through his curls, then shook his head, bemused. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Truly fascinating. And, in all that time, no one ever suspected the truth?”
The duke didn’t answer at first. A faint smile played about his lips as he rose and stood staring silently into the fire. Finally, he spoke. “In all those years, only one person saw through my ruse, and that was because I wanted her to. When the Great God of Thunder album went platinum, the fourteenth duke of Penford received a request for a rather hefty donation to a certain children’s fund in the City. I can recall the accompanying note word for word. It said: ‘Perhaps you can see your way clear to making other children’s dreams come true.’ It was signed by Aunt Dimity.”
21
Outside the warm cocoon of the dowager’s bedchamber the storm raged on. Thunder cracked and rolled, lightning slashed the roiling sky, and driving rain battered the windows and walls, the roofs and towers, the balconies, turrets, and terraces of Penford Hall.
Crowley and Hallard had cleared away the tea things, replacing them with a decanter of port and nine delicately etched wineglasses. The decanter was passed from hand to hand, the aromatic wine glinting ruby-red in the firelight.
What an amazing story, Emma thought. It was the most amazing—No. The most amazing story was that she had been permitted to sit there and listen to such an amazing story. Sipping the sweet wine, she contemplated the still figure of the duke. She knew that she was in the presence of a remarkable man, a man who inspired such devotion that those who knew him best had given years of their lives to ensure that his dream would come true.
Nanny Cole’s offhand comment about building a rocket to the moon was more apt than the old woman probably realized. The world of rock music must have been as alien to these elderly people as the red dust of Mars, yet they had mapped the terrain and exploited it as fearlessly as any team of space explorers.
While clearing away the tea trays, Crowley had described Lex Rex as a limited partnership in which all members of the core group, staff and villager alike, held equal shares. Thanks to Crowley’s impeccable management, each person in that room was independently wealthy. All of them could have left the hall behind to build their own castles, but they stayed on, because Penford Hall was their home, and the world beyond its walls offered nothing they didn’t already have.
“Grayson,” Derek said gruffly, “owe you an apology, old man. Shouldn’t have doubted you. Sorry I did.”
“Me, too,” Emma added. “I should have trusted the Pym sisters. They told me you couldn’t be guilty of any serious wrongdoing, and they were right.”
“Were they?” the duke mused. He turned his glass slowly in his hands. “I’m not so sure. One person, at least, appears to have suffered greatly as a result of my scheming. We mustn’t forget about Susannah.”
“What do you mean?” Derek said sharply.
“Can’t you guess?” the duke asked in return.
Derek’s eyes narrowed and he glanced down at Emma, who nodded for him to go on. Looking back to the duke, Derek said, “Susannah told me she had reason to believe you’d had a hand in Lex’s death.” He hesitated. “Do you know about her father?”