up residence there much as a gentleman might settle into a hotel.’
‘The valet being Simon Handy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Lady Brinkburn know about this?’
‘It was my sad duty to tell her. I visited Lord Brinkburn at the establishment. It was all too clear that the doctors’ prognostications had been borne out by events and his mind was irretrievably affected.’
I decided not to mention what Disraeli had told me about the Emperor Hadrian. In spite of the lawyer’s dry manner, he was clearly distressed.
‘I went down to Buckinghamshire to see Lady Brinkburn,’ he went on. ‘She was naturally affected by what I had to tell her, but seemed at first to take it quite calmly. I broached with her, as tactfully as possible, the question of who was to take on the considerable task of managing the estates now that Lord Brinkburn was incapable of doing so. I suggested that, since Stephen was of age and would inherit, probably within months rather than years, I should set about arrangements for giving him power of attorney. Lady Brinkburn made no objection to the proposal at the time, but in retrospect I believe it may have started her on this potentially disastrous course.’
‘How did the story of the honeymoon get into circulation?’ I said.
‘I’m afraid there is no doubt at all that it came from Lady Brinkburn herself. Two weeks after I visited her at Brinkburn Hall, she came up to London unexpectedly and asked to see me.’
‘Was this an unusual event?’
‘Yes. I shouldn’t want to give the impression that Lady Brinkburn is a recluse, but she prefers country life to the city. Although she lives a little over twenty miles from London, she usually comes to town no more than two or three times a year at most, to visit relatives or old friends. I assumed she wanted to discuss some business matters. It would have been quite reasonable, for instance, for her to want assurance that her tenancy of Brinkburn Hall would continue after her husband’s death. I looked forward to being able to reassure her on that point.’
‘But that wasn’t what she wanted?’
‘No. The moment she came in and sat down, she launched into the story that you have heard. Needless to say, I was horrified.’
‘Did you believe it?’
‘Not a word, neither then nor now.’
‘Did you tell her you didn’t believe it?’
‘Not in so many words. One doesn’t accuse a lady of lying. I assumed that she was distraught owing to the illness of her husband and needless uncertainty about her future. I hinted, as gently as I could, that this fancy was the result of being overwrought and she should return home and rest.’
‘How did she react to that?’
‘Calmly enough, but she didn’t budge from her story. She asked me what I thought she should do about it. In the circumstances, I thought it would be best to pretend to take what she said seriously. I told her that, before any other steps could be considered, I should have to ask her to swear an affidavit that every detail of what she’d told me was true. I offered to prepare the affidavit for her then and there.’
‘And did she swear it?’
‘No. My offer had exactly the effect I’d intended. She refused to consider an affidavit and brought our interview pretty rapidly to an end. I was seriously concerned for her and decided that I must visit her at home as soon as I had the opportunity, to see if she needed any form of help.’
‘Did you tell her sons what had happened?’
‘At that point, no. I decided that it would distress them needlessly. I believed I’d dealt with the immediate crisis and we’d hear no more of the matter.’
‘But you were wrong.’
‘Yes, I was wrong. Within a few days, alarming rumours came to my ears. Lady Brinkburn must have used her circle of acquaintances in London to spread the story. As you can imagine, you could more easily stop a forest fire than a rumour of that kind, once it takes hold.’
‘And of course Stephen and Miles must have heard the rumour.’
‘Inevitably. Both came to consult me.’
‘Separately?’
‘Separately.’
‘How did they react?’
‘As I’m sure you know very well, Miss Lane, there is confidentiality between a lawyer and his client. I’ve come very near the line in describing my meeting with Lady Brinkburn. I’ve only done so because I choose to regard her visit to me as social rather than professional.’
‘Have Stephen and Miles always hated each other?’ I said.
He considered, and must have decided that this was a social matter too, though he remained wary.
‘I wouldn’t say hated. But it’s fair to say that from boyhood there has been some friction between them.’
‘Well, they hate each other now,’ I said. ‘Three days ago they were fighting each other in public.’
‘I’m sure that incident has been much exaggerated.’
‘I was there.’
He sighed and said nothing.
‘I’m told Miles Brinkburn was always his mother’s favourite,’ I said.
‘That’s true. He was a charming, sunny-natured child, more inclined to show affection than his elder brother. Then, in his first term at public school, he caught diphtheria and nearly died. He had to spend the next year at home with his mother, convalescing. That naturally brought them closer.’
‘And Stephen was not so charming and sunny-natured?’
He frowned.
‘I’m implying no criticism of Stephen, none at all. He was a most satisfactory boy in every respect.’
That sounded like criticism to my ears. Any boy so described must be either very good at hiding things or insufferably boring. I said nothing, and Mr Lomax went on reciting his praises.
‘He was a steady worker at school, never top of the form but always above the average. He captained his house’s cricket team. By comparison, Miles was never good at applying himself to anything for long. Their schoolmasters used to hold Stephen up as a good example to him. I’m afraid that didn’t make for friendship between them.’
‘Did Lord Brinkburn have a preference?’
‘He didn’t spend much time with his sons, but on his visits to England he did encourage Stephen to take an interest in managing the family estates. He took him on tours of their property in the north-east on several occasions and Stephen visited him once in Italy.’
‘Without Miles?’
‘Yes. Lord Brinkburn told me that Stephen had
