Chapter 9 #7
“We went to the stable first, then after we’d looked over my new gelding, we went on to the kennels.
We left there—it must have been going on for ten by then—thinking to get back in time for the ramble that someone had suggested.
We’d left the kennels and were on the path that cuts through the trees and leads to the rear lawn when we heard the scream.
We paused for a second, then we started running for the house.
We couldn’t tell where the scream had come from, but it was in that direction. ”
“Did you see anyone else outside the house during that time?” Barnaby asked.
Vincent frowned. “When we were walking to the stable, I thought I glimpsed someone in the wood to the east, beyond the side door. But when I looked more closely, I didn’t see anyone, so…” He shrugged. “It might have been a trick of the light, a shifting of shadows under the trees.”
Stokes caught Barnaby’s gaze, then to Vincent, said, “Patterson saw the man, too.”
Vincent’s expression turned puzzled. “He did? When we were heading out? Not later, like Fentiman?”
Barnaby exchanged a glance with Penelope, then looked at Vincent. “It seems some man was going out at the same time as you three were heading for the stable, and he was returning when you heard the scream and came running toward the house.”
Vincent’s expression stated he hadn’t made the connection with his father’s murder. Again, he lightly shrugged. “I suppose that makes sense.”
After a moment of wordless communication with Stokes and Penelope, Barnaby continued, “If you had to describe your father to others, what would you say?”
Vincent hesitated, then offered, “He was all right. I can’t complain. All things considered, he was a pretty decent father. He didn’t get angry easily, and he usually listened to what one thought, what one had to say.” After a moment, he added, “He steered rather than pushed.”
When Vincent glanced at him, Barnaby nodded understandingly. “Last question—do you know of any reason why anyone might have wanted to kill your father?”
“No.” Confusion darkened Vincent’s eyes and was reflected in his expression.
“It seems so strange, so unbelievable that someone would want to kill him. He was never the sort to stir up trouble, and I can’t recall him ever being aggressive or mean or nasty.
He simply wasn’t like that…” Vincent paused, then tipped his head.
“Well, except for the disagreements about money, but that was entirely within the family. Really just between Mama and Papa. Cecy and I tried our damnedest never to get involved.”
“Disagreements over money? What were they?” Penelope inquired.
Vincent faintly grimaced and shifted in the chair.
“I expect it’s common knowledge that in our family, the funds flow from Mama, not Papa.
Just like Cecy and me, he managed on a quarterly allowance.
The reins for the funds are wholly and firmly in Mama’s hands, and there was always—as far back as I can remember—a sort of tension between them over that, if you know what I mean.
Understandable, I think. I can imagine how Papa must have felt, always having to ask Mama for any extra he might need. ”
“But your father managed the estate?” Barnaby asked, seeking confirmation.
Vincent nodded. “He did. He managed everything to do with the Grange estate, but the title deeds are in Mama’s name.
All the profits, every quarter, get paid to her, and she always made sure Papa handed the lot over.
Her father saw to it that she understood accounts well enough to oversee them, but otherwise, she’s not particularly good at—or interested in—managing money.
Every quarter, she takes whatever Papa hands over, pays our allowances from it, takes what she wants, then puts what’s left into the bank.
That’s how they worked their finances, and as I understand it, that’s how it was from the first—from the day they married. ”
He paused, then added, “It might seem strange to anyone outside the family, but Cecy and I can vouch for the fact that just as much as Papa was financially dependent on Mama, she needed his social standing to properly claim her place in the ton.” Vincent met their eyes. “They balanced each other, you see?”
Penelope assured him they did.
Vincent nodded in acceptance, then his puzzlement returned. “So, you see, there’s no earthly reason anywhere that explains why someone killed Papa.”
For several moments, silence held sway, then Barnaby rose. “Thank you, Vincent, for being so frank. Your insights will help us understand the situation as we work to unravel that mystery.”
Vincent looked at Barnaby, then nodded and rose. With a bow to Penelope and a polite nod to Stokes, Vincent allowed himself to be ushered to the door.
On opening it, Barnaby was pleased to see Patterson and Fentiman lurking in the hall, plainly waiting to take Vincent in hand and support him as they could.
With an approving nod to the pair, Barnaby handed Vincent into their care, then closed the door and returned to the armchairs.
He dropped into his and looked at Penelope, then at Stokes. Both met his gaze, then collectively, they exhaled and sat back.
After a moment, Stokes said, “We did well, getting through that lot, and now, we’ve got a lot more pieces to fit into our puzzle.”
Penelope nodded. “Never has the analogy of solving a mystery being like putting together a jigsaw been more apt.” She looked at the mantelpiece, at the clock ticking there. “Best of all, we managed that marathon in time for lunch. I suggest we reward ourselves with a short break to eat and recoup.”
Barnaby and Stokes immediately agreed, and Barnaby rose and crossed to the bellpull to summon Gearing.