Chapter 6 #3
Mrs. Hemmings shook her head and straightforwardly stated, “Obviously, he blackmailed the wrong person.” She shook her head again, this time in disbelief.
“Can you imagine? Blackmailing other members of the ton. Well, it reeks of betrayal, doesn’t it?
To prey on your own kind—a sort of cannibalism.
” She paused, then, in a faintly amazed tone, asked, “How on earth did he manage it?”
Penelope blinked, then slowly nodded. “Quite.”
Deciding that they’d heard enough from the rather garrulous matron, Penelope smiled at Mrs. Hemmings. “Thank you. That’s all our questions for the moment.”
She rose, waited for Mrs. Hemmings to get to her feet and exchange nods with Barnaby and Stokes, then showed Mrs. Hemmings out.
Penelope returned swiftly to the armchairs and pinned Barnaby and Stokes with her gaze.
“I know she meant the comment rhetorically, but it’s a valid question.
How on earth did Monty learn so many secrets?
About people who are usually rather good at keeping those sorts of secrets?
I can imagine that he might have stumbled across one or two such secrets in his time, but there were seventeen pages in his black book—eighteen if we include the one torn out. ”
Barnaby was nodding. “You’re right. He must have had some sort of source.”
Stokes finished jotting and looked at what he’d written. “Where and how did Underhill learn his secrets? At present, that’s an unknown.” He looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “Let’s leave it for later cogitation and forge on. Who’s next?”
Five minutes later, Barnaby ushered Lord Griffith to the central armchair.
Griffith was in his mid-thirties and, at least by birth and wealth, qualified as an eligible bachelor, yet within half a minute of him seating himself—with a flourish—in the interviewee’s chair, it was apparent to all that he was a distinctly silly man.
Viewing Griffith critically as, plainly agog at the drama of being involved in a murder investigation, he gushed at Penelope, declaring himself only too willing to assist, Barnaby decided that the man wasn’t acting even though his florid and colorful attire testified to a theatrical bent.
With his legs crossed and his hands clasped on his knees, Griffith leaned forward and earnestly confided, “It’s all so very exciting! Please, tell me how I can help.”
“The first piece of information we need,” Barnaby said, “is confirmation of when you arrived.”
“Oh! That’s easy. I drove down on Sunday afternoon.
” Without further prompting, Griffith explained, “M’mother’s a close friend of Lady Pamela, and the two of them insisted—positively insisted—that I attend this gathering.
And I’m so glad they did! A murder! Fancy!
” His eyes gleamed, then with unexpectedly endearing self-deprecation, he glanced at Penelope and added, “I suspect my inclusion was more a matter of making up the numbers, but really, who knows what they might have planned?”
With a poorly suppressed grin, Penelope inclined her head. “We also need to learn what you did on Monday morning. When did you come downstairs?”
“Oh, I’m always rather early. I left my room at just after seven.
I heard the clocks strike the hour before I made for the door, so I suppose it must have been about seven-fifteen when I reached the dining room.
” He paused, clearly recalling, then went on, “Percival, Carrington, Morehouse, Cordingley, and Elliot were all before me, and Leith left just after I arrived.”
Barnaby owned to mild surprise at the detail and clarity of the answer. “And after you rose from the table?”
“Ah. I came in here and had a quick glance at the news sheets there—”
“What time did you leave the dining room?” Stokes rumbled.
Griffith paused, then said, “It was a few minutes after eight. I recall the clocks striking again before I decided it was time to move.”
“So you came to the library…” Barnaby prompted.
“But I didn’t remain here. Elliot, Morehouse, and Carrington had taken up residence and were deep in the news sheets, and I knew the older men who were still in the dining room would soon join them, and no one likes a chatterer, so I ambled around to the billiards room and started potting a few balls.
After a time, Nevin-Smythe came in, and he and I played a game or two.
We were chewing the fat when we heard Miss Hemmings scream.
The sound was distant and faint, and at first, we weren’t sure what it signified, but then, we heard the ruckus and came out to see what was up. ”
Barnaby asked, “At any time that morning before the scream, did you notice anyone else of the company outside?”
Griffith paused, then volunteered, “When I was in the billiards room, a little while after Nevin-Smythe joined me, I saw Lady Wincombe go walking rather determinedly across the rear lawn. Toward the east. From her expression, she seemed set on something, which I thought rather odd, but”—he grimaced—“she wasn’t heading anywhere near the orchard, so I suspect that’s of little use to you. ”
“On the contrary,” Penelope assured him, “it helps us place Lady Wincombe during the critical period. With a company such as this, eliminating people is half the battle.”
Griffith all but preened.
“Now,” Barnaby said, “and we’re asking everyone this question, what was your view of Mr. Underhill?”
Predictably, Griffith gushed, but nothing he said deviated from the general consensus of a genial, pleasant, entirely unthreatening gentleman.
As for knowing of any reason why someone might have wanted to kill Underhill, Griffith declared, “No! I own to being utterly mystified and am simply agog to find out why. Well, the whole company is, aren’t they?
Everyone knows there must have been some reason, and as no one has any inkling of what that might be, imaginations tend to run rampant, don’t they? ”
Barnaby didn’t answer. He glanced at Penelope, who was still struggling to hide her amusement at Griffith’s histrionics, then looked briefly at Stokes, who was wearing his most stoic expression.
Returning his attention to Griffith, Barnaby rose.
“Thank you.” As Griffith rather uncertainly got to his feet, Barnaby waved him to the door.
As he reluctantly headed that way, Griffith looked over his shoulder and added, “If there’s anything else I can do to assist…”
“We’ll be sure to let you know,” Barnaby stated.
Once he’d shown Griffith out and shut the door, he returned to the cluster of armchairs.
“He might have been a touch excitable,” Stokes said, “but he was quite definite in what he remembered.”
“His recollection of details was strangely impressive.” Penelope rose. “I’ll call in our next interviewee.”
While they waited for Lady Carville to join them, Penelope shared what she knew of her ladyship.
“She’s not unintelligent and has been comfortably married to Lord Carville for decades.
He’s a Member of Parliament, and she’s known as a minor political hostess and has steered their son and two daughters into very suitable marriages.
She’s widely regarded as an established matron of the ton, and there’s long been a suspicion that she’s Lord Morland’s lover and has been for years. ”
“So,” Stokes said, “she’s the one Underhill was blackmailing Morland about?”
“Almost certainly.” Penelope’s lips thinned. “And Monty was also blackmailing her, presumably over the same liaison, but as with Morland, there must have been something else there for a more-or-less-known affair to be rendered blackmail-worthy. Something worth paying to keep hidden.”
A tap on the door heralded Lady Carville, and Penelope rose and went to welcome her ladyship and usher her to the armchair at the focal point of the investigators’ attention.
Lady Carville was in her mid-forties, a well-preserved, well-turned-out matron with curly blond hair and an air of no nonsense about her.
Penelope resumed her seat and quickly led her ladyship through their opening questions.
Lady Carville confirmed that she’d arrived in her carriage at the Grange on Sunday afternoon. “As to why I’m here”—she shrugged—“I’ve known Pamela and Monty for an age, and she invited me, and it’s the sort of thing people like us do in summer, isn’t it?”
Penelope inclined her head. “And on Monday morning, when did you come downstairs?”
“I came down at just after eight o’clock with several other ladies.
Many of the gentlemen had already breakfasted and left or were leaving the dining room.
I remained there with the other ladies, chatting over the teacups, then when Pamela led most of the more-mature crew to the morning room, I diverted to the conservatory.
” Lady Carville met Penelope’s eyes. “By then, I’d had a surfeit of chatter, and I have an interest in orchids, and Pamela has a few I have my eye on to add to my collection when next they’re divided.
I spent some time inspecting them and was still admiring them when I heard what sounded like a distant scream, followed by people rushing outside, and I went out and joined the other ladies who, by then, were on the front lawn. ”
“While you were in the conservatory,” Penelope asked, “did you see any of the company outside?”
“The only person I saw was Susan. She came out onto the terrace and went down the steps and across the lawn toward the rose garden. That was no great surprise—she’s fond of that rose garden, and like me, she can abide only so much chatter.”
“How did you find Monty Underhill?” Penelope asked. “You said you’d known him as well as Pamela for years. How would you describe him?”
Lady Carville shrugged. “He was a decent sort, usually very genial and oozing bonhomie. A steady, reliable gentleman, predictably conservative in his ways. Widely well-regarded and liked. I’ve never heard a word against him.”