Page 138 of Crocodile Tears

“Sure.” He turned it on, and the twenty-four-hour news feed automatically appeared.

“News – that’s what you usually watch?” Alexander queried.

“Yeah. Mostly.” That wasn’t entirely true. He remembered how he’d kicked back with Peter on the sofa, and they’d watched all kinds of different programmes – Peter had enjoyed shows Josiah thought were total garbage, but despite his best intentions, he’d usually become sucked into their absurd plotlines. There had been one particularly ludicrous detective drama that Peter had loved, and one of Josiah’s great pleasures had been pointing out everything they did wrong. Hattie had always joined them, her chin resting on any available knee or foot.

“Sir?” Alexander prompted softly.

“Sorry.” Josiah shoved the memory away. “Watch whatever you like.”

“Thank you.”

“The latest update on the Elliot Dacre murder is that, so far, Dacre’s indentured servant, Alexander Lytton, has not been charged,” the newsreader suddenly announced. Both men turned to look at the screen.

“It’s the latest scandal to hit the Lytton family, with Alexander Lytton once more at its heart.”

“Want me to turn it off?” Josiah asked.

“Yes.”

“We spoke to Charles Lytton, the famous Olympic and Paralympic gold medallist,” the newsreader continued.

“No,” Alexander said quickly.

The screen showed a big old house, surrounded by photographers, reporters, and film crews. The front door opened, and a broad-shouldered figure emerged, walking with a stiff, unsteady gait, holding on to a motorised wheelchair for support.

“Charles! Mr Lytton! Do you have any comment to make on your brother’s arrest?” a reporter asked, running across the wide driveway to accost Charles.

“He’s walking,” Alexander breathed, transfixed. “Last time I saw him, he was sitting in the wheelchair, not standing behind it.”

“They’ve made huge advances lately,” Josiah said. “Although, judging by how he’s holding on to the wheelchair, he’s not confident about his legs yet.”

“I didn’t know. Oh God – this is fantastic. I’m so happy for him.”

Onscreen, Charles gave an amiable smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it.”

“When did you last see your brother?”

“Not since he was sold as an IS – I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since that day.”

Alexander was gazing at his brother intently, visibly drinking in the sight of him. Josiah watched him, intrigued.

“Is it true that your father disowned him when he disgraced your family?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Charles’s amiable smile faltered. “Now, I’m so sorry, but I must leave. I have an appointment.”

“Charles! Charles! Do you think your brother is capable of murder? Did he murder Elliot Dacre?”the reporter demanded, pressing against the duck as Charles tried to climb in, blocking his path.

“Let him bloody well get into his duck,” Alexander said, his hands curling into fists. “He’s unsteady on his feet, for God’s sake.”

“I really don’t know. I don’t know anything about this poor man’s death,” Charles replied, looking visibly upset now. “Like I said, I haven’t seen my brother in several years.”

His legs suddenly gave way, and he hauled himself into the wheelchair to recover. Then, abandoning his attempt to leave, he glided back towards the house.

The screen cut back to the newsroom. “From teenage tearaway to national disgrace – and now a murder suspect. We examine the fall of Alexander Lytton.”

Alexander laughed, rolling his eyes, but Josiah was intrigued as the screen showed the mangled wreck of a duck on a country lane. Alexander’s laugh stopped abruptly.

“Lytton was expelled from three different boarding schools before the age of seventeen, and in 2082 was found responsible for the tragic duck accident that killed his mother and paralysed his famous brother.”

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