Chapter 1 #3
“Moran House is in Park Lane,” Penelope informed them absentmindedly.
“Not far at all.” Frowning, she went on, “Now I think of it, I didn’t see any of the Fitzhugh family at the opera, which is rather strange.
Lady Cleome—one of the earl’s sisters—is a regular patron, yet I’m sure she wasn’t there tonight. ”
“There was some sort of family gathering at Moran House earlier in the evening,” Stokes said, “but the earl had left the company and gone to his study.”
Barnaby glanced up at Phelps and Connor, waiting patiently—and rather interestedly—atop the carriage. “It appears we’ll need you both shortly. Give us ten minutes or so.”
Both coachman and groom dipped their heads, plainly very ready to embark on a new investigation.
Amused and inwardly shaking his head, Barnaby waved Stokes and Penelope to their front door. “Let’s go inside, and you can tell us what you know.” He led Penelope forward.
Stokes grunted and followed them up the steps.
“Sadly, as yet, I know precious little. I’ve dispatched O’Donnell, Morgan, and Walsh straight to Moran House, and Findlay’s been sent for.
I doubt he’ll arrive for some time—he has to come from Islington—but we should make haste to get to Park Lane sooner rather than later. ”
“Indeed,” Penelope concurred as Mostyn, their majordomo, opened the door at their approach. She bent a frown on Barnaby as he ushered her into the foyer. “We can go?—”
“After you change your gown.” He grinned at her. “Not even you can charge into a murder scene dressed as you are.”
As Mostyn shut the door behind Stokes and Barnaby lifted the dark-blue velvet opera cloak from her shoulders, Penelope glanced down at her gown.
Created from midnight-blue silk shot through with iridescent silver, it was eye-catching and, for most observers, distinctly distracting, especially when combined with the impact of the magnificent sapphire-and-diamond necklace that graced her throat and dripped tantalizingly down her décolletage.
And then there were the blue and silver feathers in her dark hair.
Catching sight of her reflection in the hall mirror, she grimaced. “Unfortunately, that’s true.”
She was about to say that changing her gown would take only a few minutes, but Mostyn, relieving Barnaby of her cloak, earnestly said to Stokes, “I’m very glad you’re here, Inspector.”
Mostyn collected the top hat Barnaby doffed, but both Barnaby and Stokes elected to retain their coats.
In explanation, Mostyn continued, “Mr. Curtis and young Julian are waiting in the drawing room. It seems the Earl of Moran has been bludgeoned to death, and the butler has, entirely falsely, accused Julian’s mama of the crime.
Julian went to Curtis and appealed for his help, and in turn, Curtis brought the boy here, no doubt hoping to elicit your assistance in saving poor Mrs. Alder from the gallows. ”
Along with Barnaby and Stokes, Penelope stared at Mostyn for a few frozen seconds while she absorbed that information, then she swung on her heel and made for the open drawing room door.
On crossing the threshold, she beheld Julian, sitting tentatively on the edge of one of the twin sofas and anxiously twisting his cap in his hands.
He saw her and leapt to his feet, blushing furiously.
Penelope smiled, she hoped reassuringly, but in truth, she was beyond curious.
Curtis, who’d been sitting alongside Julian, lumbered more slowly upright.
To her surprise, Penelope sensed an unexpected tension in Curtis, as if this case meant more to him than she’d imagined it might.
She knew he was fond of Julian and approved of the lad and saw a great deal of promise in him, but this seemed something more.
More focused. More committed. More determined.
Before either unexpected visitor could speak, she informed them, “We’ve just heard that Moran has been murdered.
” With a swish of her silk skirts, she sat opposite Curtis, on the twin of the sofa he and Julian had been occupying, and waved at the pair to resume their seats.
Briskly, she asked, “What can you tell us?”
Curtis and Julian paused to exchange polite nods with Barnaby and Stokes. All had met before, while working on a previous case. Barnaby sank onto the sofa beside Penelope, and Stokes claimed one of the armchairs.
Stokes nodded at Julian and, in a reassuring tone, stated, “Don’t worry. We’ll sort this out.”
With an inward smirk, Penelope noted that Stokes had already taken the position that Julian’s mama could not be the guilty party.
His gaze on Julian’s face, Barnaby leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “We need to get to Moran House as soon as we can, but first, tell us what you know.”
Curtis glanced at Julian, then rumbled, “Young Julian here came to fetch me about half an hour ago.” Julian glanced at Curtis, and Curtis nodded encouragingly at the boy. “Go on, lad. Tell them what you told me in the hackney on our way here.”
Pale-faced, Julian swallowed, then, returning his gaze to Barnaby, said, “All I actually know is that, last Friday, the earl told Mama that her services were no longer required so she and I had to leave the house, and we were to go tomorrow morning.” Julian paused, then added, “Just like that. But Mama was to continue with her duties to the dowager—she’s the dowager’s companion—until tomorrow morning, so, as usual, Mama went to the study to give the earl a list of the dowager’s appointments and meetings for tomorrow.
Mama does that every night at ten o’clock. That’s what the earl ordered.”
Julian paused to draw breath, then went on, “So tonight, we were upstairs in our rooms, packing for tomorrow morning, and just before ten o’clock, Mama stopped at my door to tell me that she was going down to the study with her list. And so she went.
” Julian’s chest rose and fell. “The next thing I knew was that one of the footmen—Thomas—came rushing up to tell me that old Winslow, the butler, had found Mama standing over the earl’s dead body, and Winslow was saying that Mama had killed the earl. ”
Julian’s fingers tightened and twisted, mangling his cap even more.
“I went straight down to the servants’ hall.
They wouldn’t let me go to the study where Mama still was, and all the staff were in a flat panic, but everyone was saying the same thing and that the police had been sent for.
” His breath came faster. “I didn’t know what to do, so I dashed out and found a hackney—most of the drivers around Mayfair know me—and Bill Wallace took me to Curtis’s house.
” Julian paused, then carefully—as one trained to report accurately—added, “I don’t actually know more than that. ”
Penelope exchanged a look with Barnaby and Stokes, then nodded. “Right, then.” She rose, waving at the men to remain seated. “Give me five minutes to change my gown, and we can go.”
Stokes growled, “Five minutes. I can’t dally any longer.”
Haughtily, Penelope looked down her nose at him as she swept past.
Six minutes later, Barnaby handed Penelope, now gowned in sober gray, into their carriage and followed her inside.
Stokes, Julian, and Curtis climbed in as well and crammed themselves onto the opposite bench seat.
Connor shut the door, and a second later, Phelps set the horses trotting.
“Julian,” Penelope said, studying the boy, “can you tell us a little of your mother’s background? Was she born in London?”
Julian shook his head. “Her family lives in Shropshire. It’s quite large, the family—I have three uncles and two aunties who live out there. But when Mama married m’father—he was a captain of a merchantman—she came to live in London with him.”
Barnaby knew that Julian’s father had perished when his ship went down in a storm in the Bay of Biscay. Gently, Barnaby asked, “When was your mother widowed?”
Matter-of-factly, Julian replied, “Back when I was just three.”
“So,” Penelope said, “about eleven years ago?”
Julian nodded. “Mama thought of going home to Shropshire, but by then, London had become her home, and she had a payment from the shipping company to tide her over, so she looked for a position and was offered the post of the dowager’s companion.
” Julian shrugged. “We’ve lived with the dowager ever since.
Mama made it a part of her employment that I lived with her, and the dowager said that was all right. ”
“So you have a room in the servants’ quarters?” Stokes asked.
“Yes. My room is next to hers.” Julian paused, then added, “At Moran House, all the staff have rooms in the attics. The house is huge, so the attics are roomy as well.”
The carriage turned onto Park Lane, then slowed and turned through a pair of gates, onto the crescent of a gravel drive before the looming bulk of a rather gloomy-looking house.
The carriage halted. The dark of the night was only slightly alleviated by the carriage lamps and the beam of a distant streetlamp. It was a cloudy night, so the moon and stars delivered only fitful illumination.
Connor opened the door, and Barnaby alighted first. He glanced briefly at the massive house shrouded in shadows, then gave Penelope his hand and helped her out of the carriage.
They stepped to the side to allow Curtis, Julian, and Stokes to alight. Once they had, the trio joined Barnaby and Penelope in examining the dark edifice before them.
Moran House was one of the older mansions gracing Park Lane.
Julian had described it as huge, but that didn’t do the sprawling bulk justice.
Built of old dark-red bricks, with what appeared to be a central section flanked by substantial wings to either side, the three-storied house squatted heavily in the center of its plot, squarely facing the thoroughfare and the dark expanse of Hyde Park beyond.
Penelope murmured, “It reminds me of a crouching beast.”
“Indeed,” Barnaby concurred. “A dark, brooding, and potentially malevolent one.”