“I’m having difficulty finalizing my daughter’s funeral arrangements,” Sir Richard said, his voice rough and tired. “Part of me wants to bring her to England, where, if I’d kept her in the first place, she’d still be alive. Sadly, though, that’s a mistake it’s far too late to correct. My initial—” He stopped speaking as the door swung open and a young man, his clothes encrusted with dried mud and his hair positively wild, staggered into the room, cringing as he put weight on his right foot. “Benjamin!” Sir Richard crossed the room and took him by the shoulders.

“Forgive me, Father,” Benjamin said, his breath ragged. “I came as quickly as I could when I—I heard about Ceyden.”

“What happened to you? You’re a mess. Didn’t you hire a special train?”

“The site’s not far enough from here to require a train, Father. I rode.”

“You shouldn’t—”

Benjamin interrupted his father. “You’re right, this time. I shouldn’t have ridden alone. Bandits set on me. I managed to break away from them but did not escape entirely unscathed.” He sat—collapsed, really—on a chair and motioned to his leg. “My ankle’s giving me more than a little trouble.”

“I’ll send for the doctor at once,” Sir Richard said.

“There’s no need. If I rest—”

“No.” Sir Richard pulled a heavily embroidered bell cord and dispatched the servant who appeared in short order to fetch a physician. “You will be treated by someone who knows the science of his profession.”

The darkness that crossed Benjamin’s face suggested he was far from agreement with his father, but he said nothing further on the topic, instead turning his red-rimmed gray eyes to Colin and me. “Who are your guests?” Sir Richard made speedy introductions that included our credentials as investigators while I poured a cup of tea for his son, who accepted it, dropped in three cubes of sugar, and stirred with a tiny silver spoon.