To my surprise, Sir Hugo had already arrived and was sitting on a bench, well wrapped against the late morning chill. He rose as we approached and touched his hat.
“Miss Speedwell,” he said, inclining his head in a courtly gesture. “Templeton-Vane.”
As the third son of the late viscount of that name, Stoker was an Honorable and his given name was Revelstoke, neither of which he enjoyed. For as long as I had known him, he was Stoker to friend and foe alike. He gave Sir Hugo a cool nod in return.
“It is rather too brisk for sitting,” Sir Hugo said. “Why don’t we walk and I will tell you why I have summoned you.” It was not a question. He put a hand under my elbow and propelled me forward. Stoker joined us on my other side and we moved onto a quiet path away from the nannies and their charges.
“We would have been happy to come to you at Scotland Yard,” I began.
Sir Hugo held up a hand. “No. This is a private matter, not police business,” he said. He paused a moment. “I should like to ask you for a favor. Of a personal nature.”
Stoker’s brows shot skywards, but he said nothing. “Go on,” I urged.
We began to walk again, slowly, as Sir Hugo spoke. “It concerns my goddaughter, Euphemia. Or rather, it concerns her entire family. They are called Hathaway and they live at Hathaway Hall on Dartmoor. Miss Speedwell, are you quite all right? I think you stumbled there.”
“A pebble in my shoe,” I assured him. “No matter. Do go on.”
“Well, I am a little vexed about the question of Euphemia,” he said.
“And what is the trouble with Euphemia?” I asked in a deliberately casual tone. “Unsuitable suitor? Gambling debts?”
Sir Hugo pressed his lips together. “Euphemia is entirely above reproach,” he said stiffly. “The whole family are guided by principles of service and duty. But they have known their share of tragedy. Let me begin with her grandparents, Lady Hathaway—Ada—and Sir Geoffrey, knighted for his service in India. Sir Geoffrey died last year, but Ada still lives at Hathaway Hall, although I understand her health is poor these days. She is very much in decline, I’m afraid.”
“Who else lives at the Hall?” Stoker inquired. “Euphemia’s parents?”
“No, they died in India some fifteen years ago. Euphemia was a small child. She scarcely remembers them. Her official guardian was her grandfather, Sir Geoffrey, but since his death last year, the Hall and its responsibilities have fallen to her elder brother, Charles. He, too, was in India, but he came to England upon inheriting the Hall. He has established himself there with his wife and young children, and they comprise the household along with the servants and Ada’s companion.”
He paused, giving me a quick sideways glance. “Euphemia wrote to me recently, a most extraordinary letter. You see, Charles was actually the second-born son by some years. The eldest, Jonathan, was the heir to Hathaway Hall.”
I stumbled again, but Sir Hugo’s tight grip on my elbow saved me. I turned to face him. “Jonathan? Jonathan Hathaway?” I said in a hollow voice. “But that’s extraordinary. I know him. Or at least I did.” My voice trailed off.
Sir Hugo’s eyes were mournful. “Yes. I am afraid you did.”
Stoker looked from one of us to the other. “What happened to Jonathan Hathaway?”
I was silent a long moment, thinking of the kindly young man I had known. “He died,” I said finally. “In the eruption of Krakatoa.”
Stoker took my hand in his. I did not often speak of the eruption. It had been a cataclysm that haunted me still. The very earth itself seemed to crack in two, heaving the world into chaos. Jonathan and I had been members of the same party traveling together when warnings had come that it was too dangerous to venture nearer the Sunda Strait, where the volcano was waking. I had heeded the caution of the local people, remaining at my lodgings in Sumatra, but Jonathan, with his cheerful certainty that all would be well, had gone ahead with another of our traveling companions. Neither had been heard from again.
“Of course, Jonathan’s loss was devastating for the family,” Sir Hugo went on. “His grandfather never quite recovered from the blow, and that is when Ada—Lady Hathaway’s—health began to fail. Sir Geoffrey, dispirited, nonetheless understood that Charles was now his heir. The estate was not entailed, so the fact that Jonathan’s body was not recovered at the time did not impede the settling of the inheritance. Sir Geoffrey drew up a new will leaving Hathaway Hall and the guardianship of Euphemia to her brother Charles. As I said, last year Sir Geoffrey died, and Charles came from India to take charge of matters. It was all handled as efficiently and as properly as possible,” he said.
“Then what is the trouble?” Stoker asked.
Sir Hugo drew in a deep breath. “The trouble is that after six years, Jonathan Hathaway has come home.”
CHAPTER
3
That is quite impossible,” I said flatly. “He died in the eruption.”
“How was it that his body was never recovered?” Stoker asked.
“It was pandemonium,” I told him. “Utter chaos for months afterwards.”
“Did you remain in Sumatra?” Sir Hugo asked.
“Yes,” I said sharply. “My friends were missing. I stayed for some weeks, until it became apparent there was no point in entertaining hopes. They were lost.”
“And yet Jonathan Hathaway survived,” Sir Hugo said gently.
“But how?” Stoker asked.
Sir Hugo’s brow furrowed. “I do not know the particulars. Only that a man has appeared at Hathaway Hall and Lady Hathaway has recognized him as her grandson.”
I was quick to spot the discrepancy. “Only Lady Hathaway? Not the rest of the family?”
“The rest of the family did not know Jonathan well,” he said thoughtfully. “As the heir, he was sent to England as a boy for his education. He stayed with Sir Geoffrey and Lady Hathaway at the Hall during school holidays whilst the younger children remained in India. Charles and Effie came to England later. Only Lady Hathaway is left of the family who knew Jonathan as a grown man.”
“There must be servants,” Stoker said. “A nanny? A gardener? Someone.”
Sir Hugo shrugged. “Her ladyship closed up much of the house after Sir Geoffrey’s death. It is an expensive place to run and she wished to economize. The family that had been in service the longest took the opportunity to emigrate—that was the gardener, the cook, and their housemaid daughters gone in one fell swoop. The housekeeper is still there, but she is a cautious woman. The house has since been opened up with Charles Hathaway coming to live there with his family, but the staff are almost entirely new, I understand.”