Chapter 9 #2
Penelope nodded kindly to Grimshaw. “Best you get some rest.”
Stokes looked at Gearing. “We’ll take a look at the dressing room now.”
With Penelope, Barnaby followed Stokes and Gearing up the main stairs and along the corridor of the sprawling house’s central wing. Gearing led them to where Constable Walsh was standing before a plain door toward the end of the corridor.
“Thank you, Walsh.” Stokes nodded to his constable. “You can get back to the inn and your bed.”
Walsh had been on guard in the study over much of the night. Plainly relieved, he saluted. “Yes, guv.”
With a nod for Barnaby and Penelope, Walsh stepped past them and strode for the stairs.
Gearing had paused before the door. “This is the master’s dressing room, and as you’ll see, his bedchamber lies to the right and his bathing chamber to the left.” Gearing opened the door and stepped back, and Stokes led the way inside.
Barnaby followed Penelope into a typical gentleman’s dressing room. Halting behind Penelope and Stokes just inside the room, Barnaby surveyed the scene.
One long wall of the narrow room played host to chests of drawers, while the opposite wall held two wide wardrobes. At the far end of the room, before the single central window, a well-padded gentleman’s chair sat to one side with a tall cheval glass angled in the other corner.
Gearing, who had remained in the corridor, shifted. When Barnaby glanced his way, Gearing weakly smiled and confessed, “The staff need to set up for morning tea.”
Over her shoulder, Penelope flung him a smiling glance. “No need to stay. We won’t be long.”
Stokes leaned to look past the door. “We’ll return to the library shortly. If you need us again, you’ll find us there.”
“But please station a footman at the library door, as you did yesterday,” Penelope instructed. “That was a great help.”
“Of course, ma’am. And thank you. All of you.” Gearing bowed and left them and hurried back to the stairs.
Stokes pushed the door to the corridor shut. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has this place been searched?”
Penelope went forward and pulled open a drawer. She looked inside, then shut it. “Thoroughly searched.” She pulled out another drawer at random and examined the contents. “There’s not that much disturbance, but there’s no chance Grimshaw would have left cravats rumpled.”
Barnaby went to the open doorway to his right. “The attacker came from here.”
Penelope bustled up and past. The curtains in the bedroom were drawn, rendering the chamber gloomy and dark.
She went to the window and drew back the heavy damask, revealing a four-poster bed flanked by two small bedside tables.
A pair of armchairs stood angled before the hearth at the far end of the room.
She crossed to the nearest bedside table. “I expect he will have searched here as well.” She pulled out the single drawer, then huffed and closed it. “He did.”
Barnaby walked to a tallboy set against the wall opposite the windows. He glanced inside the top drawers, then checked the lowest. “It appears he’s been through every drawer.”
Stokes, who had remained in the dressing room, called, “He’s even moved the coats and jackets and turned out the pockets.”
Penelope returned to the dressing room, and Barnaby followed.
Stokes stood before one open wardrobe. Penelope pointed over his head. “He’s even moved the hat and boot boxes and put them back. They’re out of alignment.”
Stokes looked, then shut the wardrobe doors and turned to Barnaby and Penelope. “What does this tell us?”
Promptly, Penelope replied, “That he—the murderer—is still in the house.”
Nodding, Barnaby added, “And that at least to the time he searched in here, he hadn’t found what he’s after.”
“Presumably,” Stokes said, “the evidence he believes Underhill held of his misdeeds, whatever they are.”
“I think,” Penelope said, “that this also reinforces the notion that the murderer hadn’t previously known that Monty was his blackmailer.
If he’d known that prior to coming to this house party, he could easily have arranged to search the house—all of it—while the family was absent, for instance, when they were recently at Wyndham Castle. ”
Barnaby nodded. “There would have been only a skeleton staff here—much easier to avoid.”
Stokes’s features firmed. “You’re right. Everything we’re seeing fits with our theory that the murderer only learned Underhill was his blackmailer while here, at this house party.”
“So,” Barnaby said, “sometime since Sunday afternoon, once everyone was here.”
Penelope glanced around, then walked to the dressing room door. “Also,” she said, opening the door, “the attack on Grimshaw is proof positive that we’re not dealing with the actions of a passing vagrant, demented or not.”
Barnaby and Stokes shared a cynically amused glance, then followed Penelope into the corridor.
With Barnaby and Stokes, Penelope descended the stairs to the front hall to find Richard and Rosalind waiting.
As Penelope stepped off the stairs, Rosalind glanced up the flight. “What’s going on?”
Penelope looked at Stokes. He met her gaze, then Barnaby’s, before turning to Richard and Rosalind and waving the pair toward the library. “Come and join us, and let’s see what we can make of our latest developments.”
Richard and Rosalind looked eager, and soon, the five of them were settled in the armchairs at the far end of the library, well away from the door and any sharp ears.
Stokes regarded Richard and Rosalind. “You’re both sensible enough not to panic, so it’s better you know that the murderer—whoever he is—is still among the company here.”
Penelope clarified, “He’s almost certainly one of the guests.”
“And also almost certainly,” Barnaby added, “one of Monty’s victims.”
Rosalind darted a glance at Richard, then, pressing her palms together in her lap, stated, “I want to help. If that’s possible.
” She met each of the investigators’ eyes.
“I believe it’s uncontestable that until the murderer is identified and exposed, Regina—and her future—will remain under a cloud. ”
Penelope saw no grounds on which to argue.
“Perhaps…” She glanced at Barnaby and Stokes.
When both nodded, she returned her gaze to Rosalind and Richard.
“The pair of you are perfectly placed to watch and listen to the other guests. In particular, if you could keep your ears open for any mentions of where people were when the murder was committed—say between a quarter of an hour after nine o’clock and ten or so minutes before ten.
We’re asking them that, of course, but what they tell us and then reveal to others might not always be exactly the same. ”
Richard was nodding. To Rosalind, he remarked, “Everyone remembers where they were at the moment when some shocking event occurred.”
“Also take note of any unexpected behavior,” Barnaby said.
“And most importantly,” Stokes stressed, “tell us the instant you hear or see anything odd.”
Her expression stern, Penelope instructed, “Find us, wherever we are. Don’t dally.”
Rosalind and Richard regarded her with faint surprise, but then both saw that Barnaby and Stokes were equally serious, and their demeanors grew more solemn.
Tight-lipped, Richard nodded. “If we learn anything, we’ll bring it to you immediately.”
“Good,” Stokes said. “Whoever this murderer is, they and the threat they pose are not to be taken lightly.”
With nods confirming their understanding, Richard and Rosalind rose.
“The rest of the guests are presently taking their ease on the rear lawn.” Rosalind glanced at Richard. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”
Richard agreed, and the pair left the investigators to their day and quit the library.
As the door shut, Penelope drew out her list of guests. She scanned it, then looked at Barnaby and Stokes. “Best we get to it. We only have the younger crew to get through, and as none were Monty’s victims, with any luck, interviewing the lot won’t take too long.”
Barnaby rose and headed for the door. “Who’s first?”
“Mr. Angus Carrington,” Penelope replied.
After dispatching the waiting footman to fetch Carrington, Barnaby returned to the cluster of armchairs.
Looking at Stokes, Penelope said, “Carrington is about thirty. He’s a perfectly eligible bachelor who hasn’t yet shown any signs of wanting to alter his marital state.”
One black brow arching, Stokes said, “I presume that’s why he was invited. To nudge him into taking action.”
Penelope nodded. “That would have been the intention.”
When Carrington presented himself, Barnaby could find nothing about the amiable, urbane, well-dressed man to contradict Penelope’s insight.
Carrington settled in the central armchair and exuded an air of being completely relaxed regarding his present situation and a trifle curious as to how the investigation was proceeding.
In response to Barnaby’s initial question, Carrington replied, “I drove down with Morehouse. His leader had gone lame the day before, and I was happy to have the company. We arrived at about five o’clock on Sunday.
” With a disarming smile, Carrington glanced at Penelope and added, “I’m supposed to be casting my eye over the available young ladies with a view to seeing if any strikes me as a potential bride, but in truth, I’m in no hurry to marry. ”
Mildly, Stokes asked Carrington to describe his movements on Monday morning.
“I came down to breakfast with Morehouse at just after seven o’clock. We joined Percival at the table, and soon after, Cordingley, then Elliot, joined us. After a companionable time spent downing our coffee, bacon, and eggs, the five of us quit the table.”
“When was that?” Stokes asked.