It was another three hours before they were able to extricate themselves and escape, exhausted, to the sanctuary of the private wing.
After the revelation of the robbery, dinner had been abandoned and the local police called. Lord Winfield was in a terrible state, and Harry had come close to telephoning their GP. But the roads were thick with snow and she knew that Dr Aims, a family friend, would insist on traveling to check on him so she reluctantly decided to wait until morning. In the end, Freddy gave a brief statement before retiring upstairs. Harry went to sit with him, leaving Dempsey to deal with the situation downstairs.
Sergeant Timms, the local officer on duty was in his early thirties; ruddy cheeked and with a deep double chin. Dempsey made him aware of their SI-10 status, but if he was impressed he didn't show it. He leaned in confidentially and told Dempsey that he thought it was best if he was left to handle things, then lead the way through to the drawing room where the other guests were gathered.
They were questioned about their whereabouts throughout the day.
"Giles and I were walking in the grounds in the early afternoon," said Esther, "and then I spent the afternoon in the library reading." She glanced at Dempsey.
"I was doing some paperwork in the study," Giles added. His colour was very hectic, Dempsey noticed. Surely it couldn't only be due to the heat of the fire. As if sensing his thoughts, Giles turned on him and said viciously,
"What about you, Lieutenant? Where were you this afternoon?"
Dempsey took at deep breath and fought to keep his temper. You didn't need to be a mind reader to work out where this one was going, he thought to himself angrily. Blame it on the American.
"I was with Harry all afternoon, upstairs," he said, and the Sergeant scribbled it down in his notebook. "You really wanna know what we were doing?"
Colonel Aldred, coughed and took another gulp of his brandy. Seeing Dempsey's anger, he stood up and laid a hand on Giles's arm.
'Come on old chap, I'm sure it's the truth that Mr Dempsey was with Harriet all afternoon," he said in a placatory voice. "Let's not be like this."
Porter stepped forward from his discreet position by the door.
'Sergeant," he said, "I think we can all vouch for the fact that no one saw anything suspicious during the course of the afternoon. "We do have a staff of around eight here at the hall although there is only myself and our Cook on duty tonight. Perhaps the best thing will be for you to come back in the morning and question them all more closely – they get in around 8am. A few of them know the whereabouts of the safe and the key you see; Lord Winfield's particularly upset about that. All the staff members are trusted and long serving, but I suppose one never knows… "
"Including you?" Giles asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course," Porter answered coldly.
Sergeant Timms laughed nervously, and readily agreed that coming back first thing was the best course of action. Dempsey sensed his eagerness to leave and swallowed his irritation. These provincial coppers, he thought. What did they do, anyway? Investigate lost cats and minor scuffles on the village green. With monumental effort, he kept his mouth shut. Giles insisted on seeing the policeman out, clapping him on the back in a proprietary way and guiding him to the door. On his way past, he mumbled something almost inaudible, but Dempsey caught the words 'unknown quantity', and 'not to be trusted.' His heart started pounding wildly and he clenched his fists. There was something about the guy that made him itch to hit him. Again, he just managed to control himself.
Harry came back downstairs briefly to organize sandwiches and tea for the guests. Neither of them had any appetite themselves.
Now they were upstairs in her little sitting room. She sat down on the couch and began to cry.
"I've never seen Freddy look like that before," she fought for breath; "so frail. I know he's over seventy, but I've never thought of him as an old man. It's his eyes I suppose – they're always so full of life. But tonight, the spark was gone. It frightened me."
He held her, tried to comfort her, but couldn't disagree with her - Lord Winfield had seemed old tonight. He thought about how quickly it could happen to a person; how one event could knock them and age them irrevocably. He had seen it with his grandmother: in her case, it had been a fall - relatively minor - but that one event seemed to serve to make her aware that she was mortal after all. After that, the fight went out of her and the end had been swift. He didn't want to think of that happening to Freddy and so he spoke words that he wanted very much to believe.
"Listen honey, he's going to feel better tomorrow. He'll bounce back – he's a tough one. We're gonna find whoever took the stuff and get it back - for you and your Dad."
"How could anyone be so callous? It makes me so angry," she said. She was dry-eyed now, sitting erect. "You know, most of my memories of her are vague, but one that's very clear is of her silver necklace: she never took it off. I used to play with it sitting on her knee. It's always comforted me to know it's here; a part of her that's with us. I kept meaning to ask Daddy to give it to me so I could wear it. Now it's too late."
"No it's not," he told her forcefully. "It ain't like you to be defeatist, angel. We're gonna get it back."
She turned to face him. "James, will you stay on tomorrow? I have to be with Daddy and I'm not sure I can do it without you."
He leaned his head so it was resting against hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
It struck him then that he had been worrying for nothing – or at any rate, about all the wrong things. She needed him, of course she did. Maybe Freddy needed him too. It was the sort of need that was stronger than any class barrier.
"Let's try and get some rest," he said eventually. "We're gonna have to be alert tomorrow."
She nodded and squeezed his hand tightly, as if drawing strength from it. Then she rose from the sofa and began to move restlessly about the room, straightening furniture and closing the curtains against the night. She'd specifically requested that the housekeeper not clean over the weekend to ensure their privacy, so the room looked a little in disarray. His jacket and trousers were still lying over the back of one of the chairs from the previous evening.
As she picked up the jacket and shook it out, something dropped from the pocket to the floor, something small and sparkling. She frowned and bent down to retrieve it. Then he saw her face change.
She held it out to him: one small silver earring.
Her expression was uncomprehending, shocked.
He stood up and went towards her. "What is it?"
"James, I…" she was clutching the earring, looking at him, then it, then back to him again.
"It's one of her earrings."
Part of him had known subconsciously what it was. He recovered himself quickly.
"What's it doing in my? That's crazy. I don't know where it came from, I promise you!" His mind was racing.
"How can it be here?" she whispered. He reached for her, but she moved subtly away from him.
"Baby, I don't know. I have no idea…."
Something switched on in his brain.
"The guy from last night, the one who was sneaking around here! He planted it! That's the only explanation."
Harry stopped moving. There was relief in her face, but not before Dempsey registered the doubt that had preceded it. And it hurt - hurt terribly; but now was not the time to think about that. He had to focus.
"Yeah, it has to be."
He knew it was the truth, he felt it in his bones. Someone had been poking around in the sitting room – someone who had run away from him. It had baffled him at the time, but he hadn't thought to thoroughly check anything. There were no valuables in the room and it had never occurred to him that the intruder might be depositing something rather than removing it.
"Harry I don't know who that was, but whoever it was, for some reason, they're out to get me.
She sank down onto the couch again, drained of energy. She turned the little earring over in her fingers, and it shone in the half-light.
'It doesn't make sense," she said slowly, 'why would someone try to frame you like that?"
He came next to her. "Listen to me," he looked her in the eye, "I need to know you believe me. You have to, Harry, otherwise I'm gonna die of a broken heart. We trust each other don't we?"
She looked back at him, her eyes clear and sad. "Yes, we do," she said. "I believe you James, of course I do. Remember what I said last night, about never really knowing a person? That may be true, but I know you well enough to know you're telling me the truth. Besides," she laughed, "purely from a Detective's point of view, you would never had had the time alone, or the know-how to carry it out. Someone has planted it – to mess with your head, or in the hopes that I'd find it. And I have no more idea than you as to why. The only thing I can think is that it seems more likely that it's someone we know – someone here."
"There's one guy I can think of, springs to mind," Dempsey said grimly.
"Who?" She looked at him quizzically.
"Your uncle. Don't trust him as far as I could throw him. Think we'd better have a little chat in the morning."
She sighed deeply but didn't disagree. After a pause she said, "Let's just go to bed."
They lay side by side, not touching or talking as they had done the previous night. In the silence, Dempsey reflected on the events of the past few hours. His new-found self-belief and the sadness of Lord Winfield's loss.
The protector in him knew that he would go to any lengths to shield Harry from pain or danger. But no sooner had his confidence and sense of invincibility blossomed, the discovery of the earring had knocked him back down. The momentary doubt in her eyes would stay with him for a long time. Just for a second, she had wondered if he was capable of it, and that was enough to bring all of the demons he had banished back stronger and more persistent than ever. He thought that he would lie awake all night, but in the end he fell suddenly - exhausted, empty and sad – into a sleep that was devoid of dreams.