“Briar, you only have to ask us if you need essentials.” Hedwig knew he didn’t need essentials. Conrad’s stocks of alcohol were in the cellar, and Briar reeked of whisky fumes.
He scoffed. “Ask you! By rights the house and everything in it ought to be mine.”
This was an established grievance: Briar was the oldest son, which should have given him the strongest claim to the house, however his father’s will excluded him. For years he’d harped on it, exhausting everybody.
“Briar, if you’ve been here hours then Sephy must be terribly worried.”
“Serves her right.” He sucked his teeth. “The little madam poured my scotch down the sink. She’s disrespectful.”
“Good for her. Now come on, out with you. I’m busy.”
“Yes, yes.”
She nudged him closer to the door. He placed a hand on the jamb, and searched his pocket, which produced a key. He shoved it in the lock.
“Is that key ours?!” exclaimed Hedwig.
Briar must have had it since his father’s death. How many times had they been raided without knowing?
“I own this key,” he said thickly.
“Be a pet and hand it over? I don’t want to change the locks.”
He swore, but passed the key to her.
“And the front door, too?” she prompted.
He relinquished a second key with equal grace before departure. Possibly he’d cut duplicates; on reflection, changing locks would still be prudent. Briar was quite out of control. Seph should keep him on a tighter rein.
*
Hedwig was at her desk by half past ten. She telephoned Saint Martins and enquired if a reference was available for Larkin. The administrator confirmed that Larkin graduated with a first, in Fine Art, two years previously. They connected her to his old tutor – an avuncular academic by the name of Emlyn Madoc.
“How delightful that Larkin should be working for you,” he said. “I’m a Kendricks enthusiast myself. I own several of your magic dolls.”
“Is that how Larkin heard of us originally? Through you?”
“I don’t believe so. We talked of dollcraft often but he was already well informed. He said something of being a distant relation to the Kendricks dynasty.”
In which case Larkin’s lie about Jemima Ramsay’s child – if lie it was – had been maintained since Larkin’s student days.
“If I may say,” Madoc continued, “you’re lucky to have him. He specialised in sculpture and installation, where he excelled. His focus was remarkable.”
“We feel very fortunate. So lucky to have snagged him from his last employers—” Hedwig rustled her notebook for effect. “Oh, what was their name again?”
“I’m sure he’d tell you himself of any relevant positions; to my knowledge he wasn’t working at all. It was always his intention to travel for a while after his degree – in Europe if not further.”
“Satisfy my curiosity; not many people get to travel for two years without employment. Does he have an independent income?”
“I believe he’s financially supported by a family member, yes, but I’d rather not be drawn on that if you don’t mind. We’re straying far afield of his academic record.”
As Madoc would supply no further information, Hedwig gave her thanks and said goodbye. Soon it would be time for elevenses. She fetched the tea and biscuits from the kitchen then called on Conrad in the drawing room to update him.
He occupied, as usual, the mustard velvet chair by the hearth. His shoeless feet were on the pouffe and his mouth was twisted with discomfort.
“Put aside those fripperies,” he said of her refreshments. “I couldn’t touch a morsel. I arose with throbbing pains between my shoulder blades, and they are yet to abate.”
Hedwig placed the tea upon the table, sure he’d want some soon. Without waiting to be asked she stood behind him and massaged his neck and back. She took his grunt as thanks.
“I spoke to Larkin’s college earlier. They said we’re fortunate to have him.”
“That remains to be seen. By his own account he left there two years ago – and wouldn’t a promising student have been snapped up, somewhere, in the meantime? We don’t know his allegiance.”
“You’re right; we don’t.” She didn’t say that Conrad was mistaken in his understanding of allegiances. He thought they were the product of enduring hierarchies, which depended on a natural longing for order. In his view, disloyal acts occurred when somebody misapprehended their place; the punishment must teach them their correct rank, and reassure everybody else in the tribe that order had been maintained. Whereas Hedwig knew that any person’s allegiances could change, if you understood a person’s motivations, and manipulated them accordingly. It was the only method by which she ever got her way.
Beneath her fingers, Conrad’s shoulders gradually relaxed. She ventured a question. “Have you heard of Emlyn Madoc?”
“Gosh yes. Madoc’s a collector, and a committed one. He even wrote a book about us recently.” Conrad gestured at the bookcase by the window. “What brought him to mind?”
“He’s the lecturer who gave me Larkin’s reference.”
“Hm. I expect Madoc would salivate at learning our secrets. He’s spent enough money with us over the years. Maybe we were mistaken to think Larkin was tied to another firm. Perhaps he’s working for an individual – an obsessive hobbyist.”
“It might be nothing,” Hedwig mused.
“My dear,” Conrad said. “Would you pass me one of those shortbread fingers now?”
She served his tea in a china cup with biscuits balanced on the saucer. While he sipped she scrutinised the bookcase, scanning spines until she spotted Madoc’s hardback near the top. Authenticity and Appropriation in Doll Making was the name.
She thumbed the pages, pausing when she saw the Kendricks mentioned, which was often, though Conrad had exaggerated when he said the book was about them. She lingered on one particular paragraph:
How do Kendricks lay enchantments? It’s the best-kept corporate secret in the world, and has been for two centuries. I find it quite extraordinary that, in a whole two hundred years, no employee has ever broken ranks by leaking the secret or setting up a rival firm. Theories abound as to why. The most popular concern Harold Kendrick, Lucy’s eldest son, who managed the firm from the age of twenty-one and was known to be a cut-throat businessman. His correspondence contains veiled references to securing, through sorcery, the loyalty of his relatives by blood and marriage, for generations to come. But there are signs Harold’s spell is wearing off. Recent years have seen the first divorces granted on the eyot, and a number of young people seeking employment outside Kendricks, reflecting a weakening of familial ties that would have been unthinkable even a generation earlier. How much longer can Kendricks keep their methods a secret? It is surely only a matter of time before a disgruntled ex-wife or a prodigal son spills the beans.
Hedwig tutted. Clearly Madoc was salivating at their secrets. She turned to the front matter to check which other books Madoc had written.
And her eye was caught by the dedication.
For Larkin.
Surely that couldn’t be typical? Did lecturers often dedicate books to their students? Hedwig hadn’t been to university, but it seemed inappropriate. Even in the kindest light it suggested favouritism, which lent credence to Conrad’s theory Madoc and Larkin were collaborators.