“I have some recordings, and I watch it on the telly, but I’ve never been to a performance.”

The wide sloping fields had given way to heavily wooded hills, and now, as the road climbed, the trees encroached upon it.

“We’re coming into the Chiltern Hills,” said Makepeace. “Sir Gerald and Dame Caroline live just a bit farther on, near Fingest. The house is called ‘Badger’s End,’ though you wouldn’t think it to look at it.” He negotiated a hairpin bend, and then they were running downhill again, beside a rocky stream. “We’ve put you up at the pub in Fingest, by the way, the Chequers. Lovely garden in the back, on a fine day. Not that you’re likely to get much use of it,” he added, squinting up at the darkening sky.

The trees enclosed them now. Gold and copper leaves arched tunnel-like overhead, and golden leaves padded the surface of the road. The late afternoon sky was still heavily overcast, yet by some odd trick of light the leaves seemed to take on an eerie, almost phosphorescent glow. Kincaid wondered if just such an enchanting effect had produced the ancient idea of “roads paved with gold.”

“Will you be needing me?” Makepeace asked, breaking the spell. “I’d expected you to have backup.”

“Gemma will be here this evening, and I’m sure I can manage until then.” Seeing Makepeace’s look of incomprehension, he added, “Gemma James, my sergeant.”

“Rather your lot than Thames Valley.” Makepeace gave something halfway between a laugh and a snort. “One of my green constables made the mistake this morning of calling Dame Caroline ‘Lady Asherton.’ The housekeeper took him aside and gave him a tongue- lashing he’ll not soon forget. Informed him that Dame Caroline’s title is hers by right and takes precedence over her title as Sir Gerald’s wife.”

Kincaid smiled. “I’ll try to not put my foot in it. So there’s a housekeeper, too?”