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“Good morning, Mary,” I said, stepping down as if I had just arrived.

At first, she seemed startled to see me, and I wondered if she had forgotten that Havelock and I were staying in the house. It took her only a moment to recover herself, putting a finger to her lips. “Quiet, now, Major.”

I sat down on the staircase beside her. “The Duchess still sleeps?”

“Soundly and deeply, these days. She tells me she finds it restful, but it does cause me worry. Every day she sleeps longer, and every day I fear she might not wake.”

I nodded. “It was the opposite, with my mother. In her later years, she slept less and less. I would find her in the garden at odd hours, watching the moon.”

Mary sat down next to me, and we listened to the droplets coming through the roof together. There was an assortment of kitchen items catching the leaks in the entrance hall, and all the pinging and splashing felt almost orchestral. I considered confronting Mary about what I had witnessed mere moments ago, but decided against it. Her kiss with Heather had been too sincere—too intimate—and I did not wish to spoil it.

“How proceeds your investigation?” asked Mary.

“Apace. Today, we are going to enquire of the trees.”

Mary nodded. “I see you’ve left your sabre.”

“You were right to warn me. I fear that I offended the Farleigh schoolmistress.”

“I thought you might. Heather is fearsomely protective of the village’s children.”

“And the forest.” I pushed a bowl along with the tip of my shoe, to better align it with its assigned leak. “May I ask you a frank question?”

“If I might ask you one in kind.”

“That seems a fair arrangement.” I admired the rippling in the bowls before me. “What will happen when the Duchess passes?”

Mary sighed, heavily. “I am to inherit.”

This took me by surprise—Mary did not much resemble the Duchess. “You are her daughter?”

“Not as such. The Duchess has no blood relatives. She’s the last of the Ruxtons, and the name will die with her. I’ve been named heir—a legal process that took us many months of delicate correspondence to arrange. The title, and the house, and Farleigh, will be mine.”

“Quite the burden.”

Mary nodded. “Kind of you to spare me congratulation. I worry every day that I shan’t be up to the role. I’ve been studying all she does for almost a decade now—all of the letters she writes, all of the visitors she entertains, all of the financial arrangements she manages, to keep Farleigh safe and hidden. It would only take one poorly worded letter and the whole façade would fall through.”

I realised, then, that I might have stumbled across a possible motive for the Duke’s murder. If Mary and Heather were in love, as suggested by the passion of their kiss, then Heather might resent Mary having to become the next Duchess. Perhaps the Duke’s murder was a form of intimidation after all. I decided that I would tell Havelock about what I had seen.

“I think you are very brave, taking it on,” I said.

“Well,” said Mary. “Someone has to.”

“You had a question for me?”

Mary rubbed her hands together. “The Duchess barely leaves the house anymore, so I’ve been visiting London on her behalf. You live there, yes?”

“I do.”

“What do you think of the trees?”

“The trees?” I took the time to consider my answer. “Tall and proud.”

“Is that what you see? To me, they look lonely.”

“How do you mean?”

“They are kept in cages on the street. In the parks, they are so far apart that I wonder if their roots touch. Their trunks are scarred, and their leaves are fragile and sickly. They are the least citizens of your great city. It pains me to see them.”