He could otherwise see no reason for the police to be here. ‘Before we come to that, will you ask the rest of your family to join us, sir? They’ll want to hear what I have to say.’ For a moment it looked as though he were about to demand further explanation, this youthful heir to the Beaumont tradition. He was young, very young to be burdened with what recent events had thrust upon him, but Womersley recalled that both the doctor and Whiteley Hirst had spoken well of him; there was intelligence and a firm set to his jaw that spoke of his ability to cope when he had overcome the initial shock his grandfather’s death had brought, thought Womersley, himself a good judge of young men’s potential. Gideon left the room and came back, accompanied by his mother. An imposing woman, Amelia Beaumont, plainly dressed in severe but well-cut mourning, a jet brooch at her neck. Womersley tried, not very successfully, to reconcile what he saw with the picture Widdop had painted of the light-minded young woman Theo Beaumont had married.
