Free Enter Pale Death by Barbara Cleverly Page B

been putting on. Childless, of course. But in my mother’s case, the pregnant girl was married off hurriedly to a by no meansunwilling man on the estate, the whole arrangement sweetened by the offer of a cottage on the village green complete with a half-acre potato patch and bake-oven. I was a six-month baby. ‘Popped out just in time for a slice of his mother’s wedding cake,’ as they say in the village.”
    “And in Westminster!” Joe chortled. “Quite a few of those about, in all ranks of society. No names, no pack-drill, but I can tell you that one or two of our politicians have surprising dates on their birth certificates.”
    Hunnyton grunted. “They can keep it quiet. It’s harder to hide in a small village. Especially when the child is unfortunate enough to grow up looking the spitting image of his real father.”
    “Good lord! Must have been difficult for Mr. Hunnyton, whose name I take it you bear?”
    The craggy features softened in affection. “No. Nothing ever flummoxed the old feller. Head Horseman by trade. That’s a pretty stylish thing to be in Suffolk. It has a certain standing and my stepfather lived up to it. No one would be disrespectful to him or his family, whatever that consisted of. He knew what he was taking on; he loved my mother very much, I think, and he was never less than kind to us. No—he was no Mr. Murdstone.” He grinned. “Dickens would have found no inspiration for a heart-rending family saga in my early situation. Freud wouldn’t have known what to make of a child with a loving mother and two caring fathers.”
    “Two? Old Truelove kept himself in the picture, did he?”
    “He did. I think he took his inspiration from Charles II, whom he much resembled. Charming rogue but affectionate to all his offspring including the illegitimate ones. He had me educated. I outgrew the village school pretty quickly. When he noticed this, he put me into private tutoring alongside his other children. This led to three years at the university. Strings were pulled—perhaps money changed hands—and I was offered oneof the eleven ‘poor boy’ places at Trinity. Reading a subject useful to my position in life, of course. In the good old tradition, Sir Sidney was having me raised to become steward of the estates. The land and the house were his passion and he was pleased to find, in me, an equal enthusiasm. I’d been keeping the accounts from the age of sixteen, buying stock, helping to run the farm. I was on the payroll from an early age.”
    “A position which gives you access to the best pies in town?”
    “It’s an honorary extended membership these days. I gave up my position of servitude—like many others—when the war broke out. I joined up.”
    “The Suffolk Regiment?”
    “Second battalion. It was quickly mobilised, not short of volunteers, and sent off to France. We were there from Mons to the Armistice. The army changed my perspective. By the end, my mother and stepfather were both dead. I was twenty-six. I wanted to spread my wings. There were openings everywhere for big, healthy chaps like me with a degree in economics and a commission, and I chose the police force. For much the same reasons as yourself, I expect. Once I’d done the basics, promotion was quite quick, and I enjoy the work.”
    “Have you maintained your connections with the present lord of the manor? Sir James?” There was no sign in Joe’s polite enquiry of his intense personal interest in Sir James.
    “We were never bosom pals. I always felt he resented my relationship with his father. Looking like him, thinking like him, did me no good in Master James’s eyes. ‘Stop bossing me about, Adam! You’re as bad as Papa!’ he used to squeak. James favoured his mother. He’s got that family’s dark, handsome looks. And their talent for manipulation.”
    “To say nothing of their political clout and family money?” Joe suggested. “Perhaps the younger brother would provide more interesting