Silver Guilt by Judith Cutler

and pushed him towards the kitchen. ‘Go and make us all some green tea. I know you don’t like it but it’s good for you. Off you go.’ I turned to Morris. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, do you have a search warrant?’
    He flashed something that looked official.
    â€˜And are all your officers trained in handling delicate china and glass? They’d better be. I know you were kind to me in Brum, but you’re still the police and I’m afraid he’s still my father. Someone’s got to look after his interests, and that someone seems to be me.’
    â€˜Lina? Where are you?’ Lord Elham wailed.
    â€˜I’m on my way!’ I wasn’t, but still.
    â€˜He was offering us champagne,’ Morris said. ‘All of us. The others have started looking in what seems the cleanest room.’
    â€˜Looking but not touching, I hope. You’d have done much better to ask me over first, you know. What are you looking for, and why?’
    Looking shifty, he shrugged. ‘Acting on information received.’
    â€˜About what?’ Hell, this was as bad as extracting information from Lord Elham.
    He stood up straight and said, ‘We have reason to believe that he may have stolen property from the trustees of Bossingham Hall.’
    â€˜I told you they let him keep everything that’s in here!’ Or so he’d said when I’d first met him. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I’d certainly seen nothing new arrive since we’d known each other.
    He dropped his official posture and said, ‘There’s been a recent spate of thefts, Lina – from some of the locked display cases.’
    They held a load of rare pieces – English, French and German. ‘Which means some really good stuff. But how? They’ve got an alarm system and CCTV.’
    â€˜Quite.’
    â€˜A professional, then, maybe stealing to order,’ I said.
    Morris’s eyes opened wide.
    â€˜Come on, don’t you think we know it happens? That’s why reputable dealers won’t touch stuff without knowing its provenance.’ That was one of the first long words Griff had taught me, and one of the most important.
    â€˜Lina!’ came a shout from the kitchen. ‘Lina! The kettle’s not working!’
    â€˜Have you tried switching it on? OK, I’m coming!’ I turned to Morris, one eyebrow raised. Aidan used the trick, and he’d taught me. Ironic, he said it was. ‘You think a man who can’t make a cup of tea can deal with sophisticated things like CCTV?’
    There was nothing for it but to sit Lord Elham down in front of a schools’ science programme – there was no way I’d trust him with
Cash in the Attic
– and walk Morris’s team through the rooms they needed to check.
    Morris introduced me as Lord Elham’s daughter. One woman constable had to stop herself curtsying, and a male colleague definitely touched his forelock. The rest greeted me with a mixture of relief and suspicion.
    â€˜I’m his bastard daughter,’ I said dryly, forgetting to worry about the word. ‘And I don’t live here. But I do know the place. I can tell you if anything’s been moved or if there’s anything in here that I’ve not seen before. No! Don’t touch that jug! It’s four hundred years old.’
    â€˜And you haven’t sold it for him yet?’ Morris asked, his own eyebrow raised. Ironically.
    I nearly stuck my tongue out at him. ‘It’s badly cracked and he’s fond of it for some reason. Those plates over there are basically post-war tat. None of those glasses matches. I told you it was a mess, didn’t I?’
    â€˜Even so . . .’
    There was a horrible sliding noise. ‘I tell you, Morris,’ I said, jabbing the air with my finger because I really was alarmed, ‘you break one single thing and I tell the press you’re hounding a