Free Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery) by Rhys Bowen Page A

infernally complicated. And if I was supposed to show Jack Altringham around when he arrived, I needed to be au fait with the place myself.
    I peeked into the drawing room, then a charming corner morning room with windows overlooking both the front and side of the house. Then a grand library, a pretty music room with a black grand piano and a harp, and a super view across the formal gardens to the valley below. I wished my talents ran to playing an instrument.
    Then I came back through the Long Gallery, now deserted, and passed through several smaller salons and rooms with no particular purpose other than to display collections of various sorts—Roman pottery, porcelain figures and enamel boxes. I presumed these were the fancies of various past dukes. One room was small, square paneled in dark wood in which the glass-topped display cases were filled with butterflies. I stood looking at them with a mixture of fascination and pity. It seemed so cruel that the bright, delicate creatures should end up with a pin through them for some gentleman’s pleasure.
    I came out into a hallway that turned a corner into a new, narrow and rather dark corridor. This clearly wasn’t a main thoroughfare and I felt a little uneasy with all those closed, paneled doors. Ahead of me I could hear the faint clatter of dishes, and had no wish to stray into the servants’ domain. That would be too embarrassing. I turned around and decided to retrace my steps. Only I couldn’t remember how I had reached this corridor in the first place. I tried a door and found it to be locked. I opened another into a small room, its contents shrouded in dust sheets. I felt uneasiness growing. I began to have an absurd feeling that I was being watched, and quickened my pace.
    On my left was a door set back into an alcove. That looked promising, as if it might lead through to the main hallway I had left previously. I was about to open the door when a voice behind me said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. People have gone in there and never returned.”
    My heart did a complete flip-flop. I spun around to see one of the young men in black was standing there. “Cedric’s secret passion—his photographic darkroom. God knows what goes on in there but he doesn’t allow anyone else in. He’d have an absolute fit if he saw you even standing at his doorway.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. His accent still bore traces of a line north of Birmingham. “He sees himself as the next Cecil Beaton,” he said. “Frankly, I don’t think he has an artist’s eye but of course we wouldn’t dare tell him.” He looked at me with interest. “Now, you’re not one of the staff dressed like that. And your clothes are definitely too frumpy to be anything but an aristocrat, so one can only assume you’re a visiting relative. But definitely not the Australian heir, unless you’re a cross-dresser—in which case, how delicious.”
    I had to laugh at this. “I’m not a cross-dresser and I’m not a relative,” I said. “I’m a guest of the dowager duchess. She was a friend of my grandmother. I’m Georgiana Rannoch.”
    “Oh, my my—then I’ve seen you in the society pages,” he said. “I remember when you came out.”
    “Do you go to any of the deb balls?” I asked.
    “Oh, no, duckie. I am far, far below the level to be considered suitable, although I would look lovely in a backless white dress and a tiara.” He held out his hand to me. “I’m Adrian, one of Cedric’s protégés. I’m a painter of sorts. Not particularly good but it beats going down a coal mine.” His hand held firmly on to mine. “Come and meet the other boys. They’d love to be cheered up by a new face. Ceddy has been in a foul mood since he found out about this long-lost nephew. I don’t know why. It’s not as if he’s going to claim the family fortune until Ceddy’s pushing up daisies, is it? And I’m sure he’ll be a delightful addition to our happy family—all rugged