Chapter 5
When the library door opened and Lady Pamela walked in, Penelope was standing before the chairs, waiting to guide their hostess into the comfortable armchair at the focus of the investigators’ “conversational grouping.”
Pamela looked wan and even a touch haggard. Her dark mourning gown rendered her gaunt and pale. After favoring the investigators with a severe nod, Pamela sat as directed, and Penelope sank into the chair directly facing her, with Barnaby on Penelope’s right and Stokes to her left.
Penelope opened with “Thank you for your support in our efforts to apprehend your husband’s murderer.
We thought it appropriate we speak with you first and outline the questions we intend posing to your guests and to advise you that, in the circumstances, we believe it will be wise to speak with each and every guest so that none will be seen to be singled out in any way.
” She clarified, “While we are in need of information, which we believe the guests can provide, we do not wish to imply that we suspect anyone of the crime.”
Pamela’s frown had been deepening, but Penelope’s last sentence gave her pause. After a moment, Pamela haughtily inclined her head. “I suppose that’s sensible.”
Smoothly, Penelope continued, “We felt that the best way to demonstrate how unthreatening our interviews will be is to put the same questions to you.” Penelope opened her eyes at her ladyship. “If you’re willing?”
Pamela clearly wasn’t eager but felt compelled to agree. “If you think it best.”
Penelope smiled understandingly. “Our first question is when did you arrive at the Grange?”
“I arrived with Monty, Vincent, and Cecilia on the Monday two weeks back. We’d been at Wyndham Castle, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, is my family’s principal seat. We often spend time there with my cousin, the marquess.”
“I see.” Penelope went on, “Shifting focus to Monday morning, when did you come downstairs?”
“I came down early, at a little before eight. I like to be there, in the dining room, on the morning of the first day of any house party to ensure the guests enjoyed a restful night and have everything they require for a pleasant stay.” Pamela added, “Cecilia came down with me. Naturally, many of the gentlemen were ahead of us and already at the table.”
“And after breakfast?” Penelope strove to keep her ladyship’s gaze on her rather than Stokes, who was taking notes. “Where did you go, and who went with you?”
“My sister and I left the table together with several of the matrons and older ladies. We went to the morning room for our usual morning coze, and Cecilia and the other young ladies went to the conservatory so that their chatter didn’t impinge on our conversations.”
“The third item on our list,” Penelope said, “is to ask where you were between nine and ten o’clock.”
“I remained in the morning room.”
“Are you aware of anyone who left the house during that time?”
Pamela frowned, then offered, “I didn’t see anyone outside, but Susan left the morning room and went for a stroll, I imagine to the rose garden. It’s a favorite haunt of hers when she’s here.”
“Excellent.” Penelope skipped their next question. They didn’t need to ask Pamela what she’d thought of her husband. “Our final query is whether you know of any reason why anyone would want to kill Monty.”
Pamela’s frown deepened. “No.” She appeared truly perplexed.
“I’ve thought and thought, yet I cannot imagine why anyone would want to kill him.
He was amusing in his way and, otherwise, perfectly harmless.
He had to have been killed by someone who didn’t know him.
A passing vagrant, an itinerant—someone of that sort. ”
Penelope shared a glance with Stokes, then rose. “Thank you for indulging us, Lady Pamela.”
Pamela blinked, then hauled herself to her feet. Somewhat suspiciously, she demanded, “Is that the full sum of your questions?”
Barnaby and Stokes had risen, and Barnaby replied, “For now. Our purpose is to check if anyone saw someone we can’t account for.”
“Oh.” The comment clearly fed into her ladyship’s belief that someone unknown had ventured into the orchard and murdered her spouse.
“I see.” She glanced at Penelope, who met her gaze with a look of limpid innocence.
Pamela huffed. “Yes, well. If that’s all, I’ll leave you to it.
I’ve told Gearing to arrange anything you wish for. ”
“Thank you.” Penelope ushered Pamela to the door. “We’ll be sure to let you know if we learn anything definite from the guests.”
After Penelope had seen Pamela out, Barnaby rang for Gearing and dispatched him to invite the Earl of Leith to join them.
When Barnaby returned to the armchairs, Stokes arched a brow at him. “That’ll sound as if we’re inviting him to give us his opinion.”
Barnaby grinned and resumed his seat. “I think we can reasonably predict that curiosity over our investigation is running high, so a bland request for attendance is sufficient to bring anyone through the door.”
“Hopefully, in the right frame of mind to answer our questions,” Penelope put in. “Fully yet succinctly.”
“So,” Stokes said, “before he arrives, what do I need to know about Leith?”
“He’s an interesting character,” Penelope remarked.
“His name is Frederick Armstrong. He somewhat unexpectedly inherited the title from his uncle a little over two years ago. His uncle’s son should have inherited, but he—the son—vanished decades ago and hasn’t been heard from since, so he was duly declared dead, and the title passed to Frederick. ”
“Nothing untoward known about him,” Barnaby put in. “In general, he’s a straightforward character, well-liked and well-regarded.”
“I should probably mention,” Penelope said, “that prior to inheriting the title, Leith was solid bachelor material—connected to the earldom, a gentleman, certainly, but not one to court attention. Now, of course, the title has transformed him into a rich matrimonial prize. He’s much sought after, and I gather he’s accepted the responsibility of keeping the line going and has started, rather warily and carefully, to look about him for a wife. I suspect that’s why he’s here.”
A tap on the door heralded the Earl of Leith.
Barnaby rose and, with a smile, gestured for Leith to join them. As, urbane and composed, the earl traveled the long length of the room, Barnaby seized the chance to match his memory with the current fact.
Somewhere in his late thirties, Leith was of above-average height, a few inches shorter than Barnaby and Stokes.
Leith possessed a solid build and an imposing presence and wore the mantle of earl well.
He had brown hair, thick but neatly trimmed, and mid-brown eyes set in an angular, rather squarish face with a strong, patrician nose.
His was not a handsome face but was sufficiently striking and pleasant to attract and hold attention.
As he approached the investigators, Leith’s expression remained relaxed and confident, and as Barnaby had predicted, a gleam of curiosity shone in his eyes.
With nods to Penelope and Barnaby and a curious glance and a dip of his head to Stokes, Leith complied with Barnaby’s unspoken invitation to sit in their interviewee’s chair.
Barnaby sat and opened the questioning with their agreed query as to when Leith had arrived and why he was there.
Leith readily replied, “I drove down from town in my curricle and arrived in the latter half of the afternoon.” He glanced at Penelope and smiled.
“As to why I’m here, you could put that down to wishing to stay in Lady Pamela’s good graces.
She was most insistent that I attend.” He paused, then, head tilting, self-deprecatingly added, “As I have yet to marry, I suspect she hopes that I might find her daughter appealing.”
Catching Penelope’s eye, Leith lightly shrugged. “As I will need to marry at some point, I’m amenable to casting my eye over the field.”
“You spent Sunday evening with the company, I assume?” Barnaby inquired.
“Indeed.”
“Moving on to Monday,” Barnaby said, “at what time did you come downstairs?”
“I breakfast early, usually just after seven o’clock—I reached the dining room about that time.
” Without further prompting, Leith continued, “After I rose from the table, I came in here to check the news sheets. That was a little before eight, I believe, and they’d just come in, but nothing caught my eye, and as I knew I had several letters I needed to write, I returned to my room to do so. ”
Barnaby inclined his head in acceptance. “Do you recall where you were between nine and ten o’clock?”
Leith’s brows rose. “Over the time Monty was murdered? I was still in my room, writing. I heard the commotion—people rushing downstairs—and after a little time, I came down to see what the fuss was about.”
“You didn’t hear Miss Hemmings scream for help?” Penelope asked.
Leith shook his head. “The window was shut.”
“Do you know if anyone else left the house during that period—nine to ten?” Barnaby asked.
“No. But I wasn’t paying attention to anyone or anything beyond my writing.”
Barnaby glanced at Penelope, then at Stokes, then proceeded with their next question. “What was your view of Underhill?”