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back that last weekend. At any rate, that last day when they were leaving, Mr. Stephen, the youngest, went head over heels down the stairs and broke his neck. But there was no one who could have been responsible for that, as far as we can tell. They were all outside at the time; he called out the window and said he was on his way down. And the next thing you knew, he’d fallen. Mr. Cormac went in to see what was keeping him, and set up a shout at once. No time to push him, no time to do more than find him, from what the others said. It’s a long sweep of stairs, the treads worn, and he went down with enough force to bruise the body. So he wasn’t dead to begin with and then just tossed over a banister. Besides, he’d called down, every one of them heard him.” He finished his first sandwich and reached for another. “Dr. Hawkins said he may have been hurrying, and with his bad foot—from the war—just missed his step. The others were that upset they’d been so impatient with him.”
    “And they are? These others?”
    “It’s a complicated family, sir. There’s Cormac FitzHugh, now, he’s very well thought of in the City. He was there. He’s Mr. Brian FitzHugh’s son, born in Ireland before Mr. Brian married Miss Rosamund. Miss Susannah was there, she’s twin sister to the man who fell. Miss Susannah and Mr. Stephen were Mr. Brian’s children by Miss Rosamund, you see. And Miss Susannah’s husband, Daniel Hargrove, was there. And of course Miss Rachel, she’s a cousin on the Marlowe side of the family. Miss Olivia’s cousin, to be exact. Miss Olivia’s father was a Marlowe. Miss Rosamund, Miss Olivia’s mother, was married three times, and had two children by each of her husbands. But they’re all gone now except for Miss Susannah. She’s the last of the lot. Marlowe, Cheney, or FitzHugh.”
    “This Rosamund, the mother—and stepmother—of all these children—”
    “Rosamund Trevelyan, sir, whose family has owned the Hall since time out of mind. Her father’s only child. A lovely lady, sir, quite a beauty in her day. There’s a fine portrait of her up at the house, if they haven’t taken it away yet. If ever a woman deserved to be happy, it was that one. But sorrow seemed to be her lot. Still, to her dying day, nobody ever heard a harsh word from her. At her services, the rector spoke of the ‘light within,’ and she had that.” He smiled wistfully. “So few people do.”
    “She’s—in one way or another—the key to this family, then. And to the house.”
    “Aye, that’s true enough. Miss Rachel, now, she was Miss Rosamund’s first husband’s niece. Captain Marlowe, that was, Olivia’s father. Miss Rachel has been in and out of the house all her life. Mr. Hargrove, Miss Susannah’s husband, first came here when he was going on twelve, I’d say. Miss Rosamund had a string of race horses, most of them Irish bred, and more than a few bought from the Hargrove stables. Fine animals, they were, won dozens of prizes. As a lad I won more than a bob or two betting on them myself.”
    “Who inherited the house when Rosamund died?”
    “The house belonged to old Adrian Trevelyan, like I said.Miss Olivia’s grandfather. He left it to her, not her mother—no reflection on Miss Rosamund, you understand, but he wasn’t best pleased with her choice of third husband, and there’re some who say he left the house to Miss Olivia to keep it out of FitzHugh hands. Not to speak of the fact that Miss Olivia was a cripple and it was more likely that she’d have need of a home, unmarried and not apt to be. I doubt anyone in the family—and certainly no one in the village—knew she was to become a famous poet.”
    “Poet? Olivia Marlowe?”
    “Aye. O. A. Manning, she was known as. I’ve never read any of her poems. Well, not much in my line, poetry. But the wife has, and she tells me it was very pretty.”
    Pretty , thought Rutledge, was an understatement for O. A. Manning’s work. Haunting,