Free A Corpse in Shining Armour by Caro Peacock Page A

that suggested he might spend more time there than at home.
     Two leather armchairs with brocade cushions stood either side of an empty fireplace. Instead of a conventional desk he had
     a big mahogany table, with books and papers in tidy piles. A drawing in a simple gold frame of a Roman centurion’s head in
     a crested helmet was the only picture in the room. It looked to be Renaissance and expensive. A smaller table held a tray
     with a silver teapot and two bone china cups. He invited me to sit down at one of the upright chairs by his table.
    ‘Tea, Miss Lane?’
    China tea, served without milk or sugar. That was the way he liked it, so that was the way his business associates would have
     to like it.
    I sipped and put down the cup, deciding to unsettle him from the start.
    ‘Did the adjournment this morning surprise you?’
    For a moment he let his annoyance show, but his voice was level.
    ‘In the circumstances, the coroner had little choice.’
    ‘I was surprised he thought misadventure might be a possible verdict,’ I said. ‘It would have to be a strange kind of misadventure,
     wouldn’t it?’
    He turned the force of his slate-coloured eyes on me. The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees.
    ‘Miss Lane, you know very well that this is not the question on which I wish to consult you. I’m surprised you attended the
     inquest.’
    ‘Why? I was there when they found the body. Did Mr Brinkburn tell you that?’
    He gave the faintest of nods.
    ‘He naturally regrets having caused you to be present at such a distressing occasion.’
    I doubted that. Miles Brinkburn still seemed far too shaken to indulge in conventional politenesses. I didn’t say that because
     I’d only intended to unsettle Mr Lomax, not antagonise him.
    ‘The unfortunate death of Handy is not your concern,’ he said. ‘I want to make it clear from the start that, if we do come
     to an understanding on the other matter, you are not to ask questions about it or take advantage of your position in any way.’
    I let my eyes drop and picked up the teacup. If he wanted to interpret that as agreement, it was up to him. From the way he
     settled back in his chair, he did. The atmosphere became less frosty.
    ‘Mr Disraeli seems impressed by your talents and your discretion, Miss Lane. I’ve made inquiries in other directions that
     seem to confirm his good opinion…’ He paused, then added: ‘…on the whole.’
    So he’d heard that I’d once refused to complete an investigation when I took a dislike to the client. I said nothing.
    ‘I take it that your presence here means you’re prepared to accept the commission?’
    I met his eyes again.
    ‘To find out if Lady Brinkburn is mad or misguided?’
    ‘In a nutshell, yes.’ He sighed. ‘Miss Lane, you should understand that it’s almost impossibly painful for me to have to talk
     in this way. I’ve been a friend of Cornelius Brinkburn’s since university days. I was present at his marriage. I’ve known
     both sons since they were born. Only the most pressing necessity could persuade me to engage a person to spy on a gracious
     lady who has been my hostess several times in the past.’
    The distress in his voice sounded genuine. He’d picked up a penholder and his fingers were clenched round it as tightly as
     if he wanted to break it.
    ‘But there are some situations, Miss Lane, in which we have to accept one evil to avoid a worse one. The consequences if Lady
     Brinkburn persists in her allegation would be unimaginable.’
    I decided to swallow his implication that I was an evil, for the time being at least.
    ‘If I’ve been informed correctly, these rumours that Stephen Brinkburn is not his father’s son have begun quite recently,’
     I said.
    He nodded.
    ‘And their source is Lady Brinkburn?’
    A pause.
    ‘Apparently, yes.’
    ‘How recently?’
    ‘This spring, only a couple of months ago.’
    ‘Before that, had she suggested the possibility to