Chapter 4 #2
Penelope frowned. “He’s an earl, but as Susan is the daughter of a marquess, some would argue that she ranks higher.
” Penelope paused, then added, “And, of course, as the elder of the pair, Pamela ranks higher still.” She looked at Stokes.
“It might be useful to have Pamela in first. We can cast it as outlining for her what questions we intend to put to her guests—and that will, indeed, reassure her—while at the same time getting what insights we can from her.”
His fingers steepled before his face, Stokes nodded. “Good idea.”
“And then”—Penelope consulted her list—“we could alternate between male and female as we go down the ranks. Given the company is evenly split between the genders, that, too, might prove useful.”
“Meaning the ladies will have more to offer from observing the gentlemen?” Barnaby suggested.
Penelope nodded. “Just so.”
With her sister in tow, Rosalind walked out onto the rear terrace. As she’d hoped, at that moment, there was no one else inhabiting the long expanse of flagstones. She led Regina, subdued and rather wilting, to the balustrade beyond the steps leading down to the lawn.
Rosalind folded her arms and leaned on the stone coping. She glanced at Regina as her sister came to stand, much less relaxed, beside her.
Regina’s gaze was fixed on the trees at the far edge of the lawn. “Are you sure telling Percival is a good idea?”
“Perfectly sure.” Rosalind infused the words with as much crisp certainty as she could muster.
It had taken some time to get the full truth of what Regina had done the previous morning from her.
Following Regina’s gaze to the trees, Rosalind stated, “Percival said he was going for a ramble and would be back in good time for lunch.” Straightening, she turned to the wrought-iron tables and chairs set out farther along the terrace.
“If we wait here, we should be able to intercept him when he returns to the house.”
Somewhat warily, Regina trailed Rosalind to the nearest table, drew out a chair, and sat on its edge. For a few moments, the sisters looked out over the lawns, then Regina asked, “Are you sure he’ll help and not just be shocked?”
“He knows the investigators. I’m certain he’ll agree to help.
” Rosalind was a trifle surprised by how firmly she believed that.
She hadn’t known Richard for long, but thirty-six hours of acquaintance had, apparently, been sufficient to convince her that his reputation as a hedonistic libertine—while possibly valid in earlier years—no longer applied.
He was a man who was focused and deliberate, and she sensed that doing the right thing was important to him.
She couldn’t explain why she was so sure of the last, yet she absolutely was.
That said, she hadn’t answered the second part of Regina’s question.
She felt certain Richard would be as shocked as she had been on learning what had been going on.
Given she and Regina were sharing a room, Regina hadn’t been able to avoid Rosalind’s nighttime inquisition.
When confronted with the evidence of the blood on her gown’s hem, Regina’s brittle defenses had crumbled, and the entire story had tumbled out, after which Regina had begged Rosalind to help her.
Rosalind knew her sister. She unequivocally believed all that Regina had told her.
Regina wasn’t devious enough to have invented such a tale.
Moreover, every action Regina had taken was precisely how Rosalind would have predicted her young and impressionable sister would behave when faced with such circumstances.
Yet Rosalind could see how the facts might appear to others, especially the investigators. Indeed, she couldn’t fault Regina for attempting to hide her involvement nor for her reluctance to make that involvement known to the authorities.
Like Regina, Rosalind had been shocked to learn of what now appeared to be Monty Underhill’s little sideline.
She’d always viewed him as a genial, pleasant, and trustworthy gentleman.
Of course, there could be some other, perfectly innocent explanation for why he’d been in the orchard, apparently looking into the hollow in the tree shortly after Regina had been due to leave her pearls there.
Having heard Regina’s story first to last, Rosalind didn’t think that likely.
She glanced at the door leading onto the terrace. Before they’d come outside, she’d checked that all the matrons and older ladies, their mother included, were safely ensconced in the morning room. They’d all been there, gathered around Lady Pamela, who had come downstairs after breakfast.
Most of the younger ladies and gentlemen were strolling in the rose garden or shrubbery or playing a round of croquet.
Rosalind could hear the clink of balls from the distant green.
No doubt, her mother thought she and Regina were with one of those groups, doing what they were at Patchcote Grange to do, namely make connections with suitable gentlemen.
Being a touch older than the other unmarried ladies and having a particular gentleman she was supposed to be getting to know had subtly set Rosalind apart from her less directed juniors.
I suppose asking Percival for help in this matter qualifies. How he reacts will be revealing and will say quite a bit about his character.
When it came to it, while she hoped she’d guessed correctly, she had no guarantee as to how he would behave.
She shifted on the hard wrought-iron seat, then settled again, doing her best to project an air of calm assurance.
She’d arrived at Patchcote Grange believing that, once she’d met Richard Percival, it was highly unlikely that she would want to encourage the connection.
She’d imagined him as his reputation painted him—a hedonistic rake, albeit a discreet, handsome, elegant, and eligible one—and that was not at all what she wished for in a husband.
The events of the past two days had shown her a different man. One whom, possibly…
Rosalind glimpsed movement under the trees, then Richard strolled out of the shadows, and she felt a tiny yet undeniable thrill shiver through her.
As Richard approached the house, he looked ahead and saw Rosalind sitting on the terrace. Unexpectedly, his pulse skipped, then he realized her sister was sitting alongside her.
Keeping his stride slow and steady, he noted that both sisters were watching him with… Was it anticipation?
He focused on Rosalind, and as he neared the steps and she shifted forward, ready to stand, he realized she was waiting for him.
Specifically, him. For some purpose.
Instincts and intellect fully engaged, he went quickly up the steps and turned her way.
Both sisters rose, and he greeted them with a smile and an equable nod. “Ladies.”
Rosalind waved to the vacant chair at their table. “We were hoping you would join us.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Calmly, he drew out the chair, waited until the sisters subsided into theirs, then sat.
He didn’t miss Rosalind’s quick scan of the terrace before she said, “We have a situation with which we hope you’ll be willing to help us.”
She hadn’t said “able” but “willing.” He met her eyes. “Consider me entirely at your disposal.”
She searched his eyes, then exhaled. “Well, then. I’ve discovered a little more about what occurred yesterday morning. Before Monty was killed.”
Wholly focused on her, he nodded curtly. “Go on.”
She eyed him assessingly as she said, “It appears that our late host had a rather shocking secret life. As a blackmailer.”
He blinked slowly, then refocused on her face, her eyes, and confirmed she was deadly serious. Again, he simply said, “Go on.”
“We don’t know who else was a victim, but Monty had been blackmailing Regina since last summer.”
Richard shifted his gaze to the silent, younger sister. Her blush as she stared at her clasped hands was even more telling than her woebegone expression.
Despite the—entirely understandable—shock he felt at the news that Monty, of all men, had been blackmailing anyone, he didn’t for a second doubt Rosalind’s word. Or indeed, Regina’s. Slowly, he nodded, then returned his gaze to Rosalind’s fine eyes. “All right. Tell me the whole.”
Once he’d heard the full tale—and in truth, it all made terrible sense—he met Rosalind’s watchful gaze. After a moment, he admitted, “I confess I’m…flabbergasted.” He shook his head. “I don’t doubt your word”—he glanced at Regina—“either of you, but what Monty was doing is…a lot to take in.”
Rosalind leaned a trifle nearer. “We were hoping you might advise us as to what we should do.”
Instantly, he replied, “Trust me, the answer to that is exceedingly straightforward. You need to tell the investigators all you’ve told me and as soon as possible.
” He met Rosalind’s eyes, then Regina’s, and the hesitation he saw prompted him to say, “I can vouch for their integrity and also their acuity.” He found a wry and, he hoped, reassuring smile.
“I’m speaking from experience in saying that of all those who might have been sent to investigate this case, the Adairs and Stokes are the team you should most welcome.
I can promise you they won’t leap to unwarranted conclusions, and they’ll do their level best to protect all those who are innocent of this crime. ”
Rosalind looked reassured. “That’s quite a recommendation.”
He nodded. “And as I said, it’s drawn from personal experience.” He looked at Regina. “They are very good at what they do. Quite literally the best.”
Regina was still reluctant, but Rosalind leaned across and closed one of her hands over her sister’s tightly clasped ones. “You need to tell the investigators all you’ve told us.” She squeezed Regina’s hands encouragingly. “I’ll come with you.”
“I will, too.” Richard caught Regina’s startled gaze, pushed back his chair, and rose. “There’s nothing to fear in doing the right thing. And ask yourself this—if Monty Underhill was blackmailing you, who else was he blackmailing?”