When Giles introduced Virginia to her on Friday evening, Emma was puzzled by what her brother could possibly see in the woman. Emma accepted that she was beautiful and well connected. In fact Virginia reminded them more than once that she'd been Deb of the Year (in 1934), and three times that she was the daughter of the Earl of Fenwick, before they'd even sat down for dinner.
Emma might have dismissed this as simply being nerves, if Virginia hadn't picked at her food and whispered to Giles during dinner, in tones she must have known they could overhear, how difficult it must be to find decent domestic staff in Gloucestershire. To Emma's surprise, Giles just smiled at these observations, never once disagreeing with her. Emma was just about to say something she knew she would regret, when Virginia announced that she was exhausted after such a long day and wished to retire.
Once she had upped and departed, with Giles following a pace behind, Emma walked through to the drawing room, poured herself a large whisky and sank into the nearest chair.
'God knows what my mother will make of the Lady Virginia.'
Harry smiled. 'It won't matter much what Elizabeth thinks, because I have a feeling Virginia will last about as long as most of Giles's other girlfriends.'
'I'm not so sure,' said Emma. 'But what puzzles me is why she's interested in Giles, because she's clearly not in love with him.'
When Giles and Virginia drove back to London after lunch on Sunday afternoon, Emma quickly forgot about the Earl of Fenwick's daughter as she had to deal with a far more pressing problem. Yet another nanny had handed in her notice, declaring that it had been the last straw when she'd found a hedgehog in her bed. Harry felt some sympathy for the poor woman.
'It doesn't help that he's an only child,' said Emma after she'd finally got her son to sleep that night. 'It can't be fun having no one to play with.'
'It never worried me,' said Harry, not looking up from his book.
'Your mother told me you were quite a handful before you went to St Bede's school, and in any case, when you were his age, you spent more time down at the docks than you did at home.'
'Well, it won't be long before he starts at St Bede's.'
'And what do you expect me to do in the meantime? Drop him off at the docks every morning?'
'Not a bad idea.'
'Be serious, my darling. If it hadn't been for Old Jack, you'd still be there now.'
'True,' said Harry, as he raised his glass to the great man. 'But what can we do about it?'
Emma took so long to reply that Harry wondered if she'd fallen asleep. 'Perhaps the time has come for us to have another child.'
Harry was so taken by surprise that he closed his book and looked closely at his wife, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. 'But I thought we'd agreed . . .'
'We did. And I haven't changed my mind, but there's no reason why we shouldn't consider adoption.'
'What's brought this on, my darling?'
'I can't stop thinking about the little girl who was found in my father's office the night he died' - Emma could never bring herself to say the word killed - 'and the possibility that she might be his child.'
'But there's no proof of that. And in any case, I'm not sure how you'd find out where she is after all this time.'
'I was thinking of consulting a well-known detective writer, and seeking his advice.'
Harry thought carefully before he spoke. 'William Warwick would probably recommend that you try and track down Derek Mitchell.'
'But surely you can't have forgotten that Mitchell worked for my father, and didn't exactly have our best interests at heart.'
'True,' said Harry, 'and that's exactly why I would seek his advice. After all, he's the one person who knows where all the bodies are buried.'
They agreed to meet at the Grand Hotel. Emma arrived a few minutes early and selected a seat in the corner of the lounge where they could not be overheard. While she waited, she went over the questions she planned to ask him.
Mr Mitchell walked into the lounge as the clock struck four. Although he'd put on a little weight since she'd last seen him, and his hair was greyer, the unmistakable limp was still his calling card. Her first thought was that he looked more like a bank manager than a private detective. He clearly recognized Emma, because he headed straight for her.
'It's nice to see you again, Mrs Clifton,' he ventured.
'Please have a seat,' Emma said, wondering if he was as nervous as she was. She decided to get straight to the point. 'I wanted to see you, Mr Mitchell, because I need the help of a private detective.'
Mitchell shifted uneasily in his chair.
'When we last met, I promised I would settle the rest of my father's debt to you.' This had been Harry's suggestion. He said it would make Mitchell realize she was serious about employing him. She opened her handbag, extracted an envelope and handed it to Mitchell.
'Thank you,' said Mitchell, clearly surprised.
Emma continued, 'You will recall when I last saw you we discussed the baby who was found in the wicker basket in my father's office. Detective Chief Inspector Blakemore, who was in charge of the case, as I'm sure you remember, told my husband the little girl had been taken into care by the local authority.'
'That would be standard practice, assuming no one came forward to claim her.'
'Yes, I've already discovered that much, and only yesterday I spoke to the person in charge of that department at City Hall, but he refused to supply me with any details as to where the little girl might be now.'
'That will have been at the instruction of the coroner following the inquest, to protect the child from inquisitive journalists. It doesn't mean there aren't ways of finding out where she is.'
'I'm glad to hear that.' Emma hesitated. 'But before we go down that path, I need to be convinced that the little girl was my father's child.'
'I can assure you, Mrs Clifton, there isn't any doubt about that.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'I could supply you with all the details, but it might cause you some discomfort.'
'Mr Mitchell, I cannot believe that anything you could tell me about my father would surprise me.'
Mitchell remained silent for a few moments. Eventually he said, 'During the time I worked for Sir Hugo, you'll be aware that he moved to London.'
'Ran away on the day of my wedding, would be more accurate.'
Mitchell didn't comment. 'About a year later, he began living with a Miss Olga Piotrovska in Lowndes Square.'
'How could he afford that, when my grandfather had cut him off without a penny?'
'He couldn't. To put it bluntly, he was not only living with Miss Piotrovska, but living off her.'
'Can you tell me anything about this lady?'
'A great deal. She was Polish by birth, and escaped from Warsaw in 1941, soon after her parents were arrested.'
'What was their crime?'
'Being Jewish,' said Mitchell without feeling. 'She managed to get across the border with some of the family's possessions, and made her way to London, where she rented a flat in Lowndes Square. It wasn't long after that that she met your father at a cocktail party given by a mutual friend. He courted the lady for a few weeks and then moved into her apartment, giving his word that they would be married as soon as his divorce came through.'