Chapter 6
Richard sat at the luncheon table beside Rosalind. He hadn’t been surprised when Regina had claimed the place on his other side. Ever since speaking with the investigators, Regina had been quiet and subdued and had stuck close to Rosalind and Richard.
The company passed the platters of meats, breads, cheeses, and fruits and attempted to behave in a manner that echoed normality. Pamela, Cecilia, and Vincent had rejoined their guests, and Pamela had asked everyone to “carry on as well as we can while the investigators pursue dear Monty’s killer.”
Naturally, no one had quibbled, yet all three Underhills were somber and drawn and, at times, transparently distracted with thoughts of other things, but those around them tactfully averted their gazes and forged on with their conversations.
After the company had been consuming their selections for several minutes, Leith, seated opposite Richard, leaned forward and inquired, “How did you find your interview with our investigators?”
Richard briefly met Leith’s eyes and read nothing more than simple curiosity behind the question, one that had attracted a good deal of attention up and down the board.
Aware of that, Richard knew better than to try to avoid answering.
He lightly shrugged. “It seemed quite straightforward. Just the usual things one might imagine they would want to know, such as when I arrived and what I did on Monday morning.” That was true enough and not particularly concerning.
Leith nodded and sat back. “That was my take as well. They seemed to be checking our whereabouts over the critical period, perhaps”—he darted a glance up the table to where their hostess sat—“as a prelude to concluding they need to cast their net farther afield and search the area for itinerants or gypsies.”
Richard doubted that but nodded equably. “Perhaps.”
Leith regarded him for an instant, then ventured, “I must say that I found them—the investigators—a curious bunch. Two well-established members of the haut ton combining with a Scotland Yard inspector to investigate crimes. I can’t imagine why the Adairs—as busy as they are—would give up their time to such an endeavor. ”
Can’t you? Richard didn’t react but merely nibbled on a piece of cheese and waited.
Leith shrugged. “I haven’t heard of such an investigative team before.”
I have. Richard could have warned Leith—and all those listening—not to underestimate the trio, but he left the words unsaid. He had a strong suspicion that all three investigators, and Penelope especially, preferred to be underrated.
When neither he nor Leith volunteered more, those listening, somewhat reassured over what was in store for them, returned to their own low-voiced conversations.
Leith shifted his gaze to Rosalind. “Are you quite recovered from your ordeal, Miss Hemmings?”
Rosalind raised her gaze to his. “I am, thank you.” She paused, then added, “Finding Mr. Underhill’s body wasn’t pleasant, but in a way, I’m glad I found him. He might otherwise have lain there for hours or even days, and that would have delayed the investigation considerably.”
Graciously, Leith inclined his head. “Indeed. Have you had a chance to venture about the grounds as yet?”
“Only over the lawns and through the shrubbery. It’s quite pleasant in the wood beyond.” She glanced across Richard at Regina. “I believe there’s a croquet green somewhere.”
Her sister usually loved playing, and if anything could lift her spirits, a game of croquet would.
“There’s a lovely green,” Leith said. “It’s in the opposite direction to the shrubbery. Quite a nice expanse and usually perfectly trimmed.”
Regina’s gaze rose from her plate—at last!—and she glanced hopefully at Rosalind. “Perhaps…”
Alison Waterhouse, a pretty girl sitting beside Leith and quietly listening, leaned forward and replied, “Yes. Why not? Lady Pamela asked us to behave normally, so after lunch, we”—her sweeping gaze included several other younger members of the company sitting nearby—“should all go and play a round or two.”
The suggestion was met with considerable eagerness by the younger crew and with some relief by their elders.
Consequently, as soon as the meal was deemed over, those intent on playing croquet swept out to the terrace, with Alison drawing Regina with her.
Both Cecilia and Vincent Underhill joined the group, in a sense giving the event a measure of approval, and after rapidly gathering hats and parasols against the summer sun, the small crowd set off across the lawn.
Responding to the pointed look her mother sent her, Rosalind stepped out in the group’s wake. She wasn’t surprised to find Richard by her side but was mildly amazed when not only Leith but also Elliot joined them.
When the latter caught her faintly wondering gaze, he grinned. “I’m not used to sitting inside all day. I need to get some air.”
“Hear, hear,” Leith echoed as he walked on the other side of Regina, who had fallen back to walk beside Rosalind as she and the other more mature guests brought up the rear of the loosely ambling group.
“I hope you’ll forgive my curiosity, Miss Hemmings.” Leith leaned forward to speak to Rosalind across Regina. “But how did you come to find the body?”
Having expected that question from someone at some point, serenely, Rosalind replied, “I’d gone out to take a turn about the grounds and thought to venture into the orchard.”
Leith’s gaze fell to Regina. “Oh. I heard you were walking with your sister at the time. I apologize for bringing up the subject—I’d forgotten that.”
“Ah…” Regina shot a wide-eyed pleading look at Rosalind and, beyond her, at Richard.
Rosalind smiled reassuringly at Regina and smoothly replied, “That was one aspect for which I’m grateful. Regina had been with me, but at that point, we’d parted ways, and she’d continued via a different route.”
“Ah, I see.” Leith’s expression suggested that he, too, was grateful that his question hadn’t caused Regina any undue distress. “Now,” he said bracingly, looking ahead, “how is a company of this size going to manage a game of croquet?”
“It’ll need to be a tournament, surely?” Richard did his part to redirect the conversation.
“But how will we select the teams?” Elliot, too, stepped in, and those walking ahead heard and turned, and the remainder of the distance to the green passed in a lighthearted discussion of increasingly nonsensical criteria for team selection that lifted the collective mood considerably and effectively swung all thoughts from the finding of a dead body in the orchard.
After the investigators finished their meal and Gearing cleared away the platters, they resettled in the armchairs. The men lounged while Penelope studied her list of guests.
Eventually, she ventured, “I believe we can place Richard and his aunts at the bottom of our suspects list.”
Replete and comfortable, Stokes arched a brow at her. “We have a suspects list?”
The look Penelope sent him was severe. “Of course!”
Barnaby smiled. “She has a list for everything. Of course she has a list of suspects.”
“If that’s the case,” Stokes returned, “then for my money, Lady Pamela doesn’t rate highly, either.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Penelope agreed.
“Based on what we know thus far,” Barnaby said, “we can’t discount Leith, but if we find corroborating evidence that he stayed within the house, he, too, will be out of contention.”
Penelope waggled her pencil. “There was no hint of hostility toward Monty—not from Leith.”
“So Leith’s at least halfway down the list.” Stokes glanced at his fellow investigators. “What about Morland?”
“While we might all agree that he had no idea Monty was his blackmailer,” Penelope stated, “logically, he has to remain on the list for now. However, I suspect the gentlemen who were with him in the library at the time of the murder will provide him with a sound alibi.”
“He’s also not the type to crack open a man’s skull in a fit of rage,” Barnaby said.
Pencil raised, Penelope stilled, then said, “I hadn’t actually thought of that—that the murderer was, almost certainly, seeing red at the time he attacked.”
Stokes nodded. “Judging by the force behind the blow, he definitely was.” After a moment, he added, “While I’m not sure what help that might be to us, it’s worth bearing in mind.
” He met Barnaby’s and Penelope’s gazes.
“Anyone needs a powerful motivation to cave in a man’s skull, and blind fury fits the bill. ”
Penelope frowned. “By that reasoning, there has to be a more compelling motive than anything we’ve thus far heard.
If any of the victims had learned Monty was their blackmailer, why not just threaten to expose him?
In society’s eyes, blackmailing is a far worse sin than minor peccadilloes such as kissing a footman or having an affair.
He was at least as vulnerable as his victims to such pressure. ”
“You’ve just answered your own question,” Barnaby said. “In the murderer’s case, the secret of theirs that Monty discovered is too critical to the murderer for them to ever countenance another knowing it. The murderer simply can’t live with the ongoing threat of their secret becoming widely known.”
Stokes was nodding. “The murderer’s secret is so damning they can’t risk it ever coming out.”
Comprehension lit Penelope’s face. “The murderer’s secret is something that will ruin them. Utterly ruin them, not just cause a minor scandal.”
Barnaby tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“And that’s why Morland isn’t a strong suspect.
While from his point of view, keeping his secret buried—especially Monty’s twisting of it—was worth paying the price Monty asked, that secret simply isn’t sufficiently powerful.
It’s not the sort of secret that would push a man to murder. ”
“Remember what Percival said.” Stokes duly repeated, “‘There are more secrets within the ton than most will ever know, and many of those secrets are powerful ones.’”