Chapter 1 #4
Stokes softly huffed and turned to Julian.
“I’ve been thinking. If you and your mother are already packed, almost completely, it might be best if you slip inside via the servants’ entrance and finish packing for both of you, then bring down your and your mother’s things, and tell the butler or housekeeper that you’ve got another place to stay and you’re leaving as per the earl’s orders. ”
Through the gloom, Curtis studied Julian’s face. “Are they likely to make a fuss about you leaving now, before morning?”
Julian thought, then shook his head. “We get on well, like a big family. They know I was upstairs when it happened—Gwen, one of the maids, saw me up there, and Thomas, the footman who told me about Mama, found me there.” Julian shot a look at Curtis.
“If I tell them I’m going to stay with my employer… ”
Curtis nodded. “Yes, you tell them that.” He glanced at Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope. “I’ll wait outside the back door and help Julian with the suitcases and take him and them home.”
Stokes glanced at Barnaby and arched a brow.
“Actually,” Barnaby said, having understood Stokes’s unvoiced question, “I’ve a better idea, but by all means, Curtis, wait for Julian by the rear door and help him take the luggage to the carriage.
” Barnaby tipped his head at the carriage behind them, on which Phelps and Connor were perched, listening.
“Wait in the carriage, and let’s see what we learn inside. ”
“And what we can manage regarding your mama,” Penelope said to Julian.
Stokes, who’d been staring at the dark door of Moran House, softly added, “Unless the evidence against your mama is uncontestable, and I see little likelihood of that, then we’ll arrange to send her out to join you.”
Julian’s relief was palpable, and Curtis’s nod indicated that he approved, too.
Barnaby lifted a hand to Julian’s slight shoulder and lightly gripped. “As Stokes said, we’ll sort this out.” Gently, he pushed Julian toward the side of the house. “Go and get your bags.”
Julian drew in a breath, nodded, and went.
Curtis gave them a look and followed silently at his protégé’s heels.
With Stokes and Penelope, Barnaby waited for the pair to fade into the shadows, then Penelope headed for the steps leading to the porch. “So,” she declared, “let’s see what there is to see.”
They paused before the door, and Stokes pulled the bell chain.
A full minute passed, then the door was swung wide by a transparently distracted butler.
He was tall, thin, and garbed in the ton butler’s traditional black suit. His white hair formed a corona about his head, rendering his pallid complexion even more wan. His faded-blue eyes were wide, and his gaze held incipient panic as he gulped and inquired, “Yes?”
Stokes calmly stated, “I’m Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. Mr. and Mrs. Adair”—he indicated Barnaby and Penelope—“are consultants who will be assisting with this case.”
Relief replaced panic in the butler’s pinched features. “Oh, thank God!” Then he pulled himself up and, more formally, bowed and stepped back. “Please come in.”
Penelope led the way inside, and Stokes and Barnaby followed.
As the butler—presumably the Winslow Julian had mentioned—shut the front door, a door to the right of the foyer opened, and O’Donnell slipped out of the room beyond, then quietly closed the door behind him.
Approaching them, O’Donnell nodded to Barnaby and Penelope, then halted before Stokes.
“I hoped it was you, sir.” The experienced sergeant tipped his head toward the room he’d left.
“The whole family, root and branch, were here for a dinner, it seems. They’re all still here and were in the drawing room when the body was found.
So far, they’re shocked enough to stay put, although I gather two of the gentlemen—the brothers of the deceased—went to look at the body, but they’d already returned to the drawing room when we got here. ”
Stokes asked, “Morgan and Walsh?”
“Walsh is in the study, keeping an eye on the body, and Morgan’s in the servants’ quarters with Mrs. Alder, the lady who found the body.”
Stokes nodded approvingly. “Good.” He cocked a brow at O’Donnell. “Findlay?”
“Not here yet, but he should turn up soon.”
Stokes inclined his head and turned to the butler. “Winslow, isn’t it?”
Surprised that Stokes knew his name, the butler nodded. “Yes, Inspector.”
Stokes continued, “The body was found in the study?”
“Yes. And no one’s touched or moved anything.” Reluctantly, Winslow added, “As the sergeant said, Mr. Frederick and Mr. Christopher did go in to look at the body, but they didn’t touch anything and came straight back out again.”
“Excellent.” Stokes gathered Barnaby and Penelope with a glance. “We’ll start in there. When the medical examiner arrives—name of Findlay—show him straight to the study.”
“Yes, Inspector.” Winslow gestured to a corridor leading away from the rear left corner of the foyer. “If you’ll come this way?”
With Penelope and Stokes, Barnaby followed the butler down a poorly lit corridor that led ever deeper into one of the massive house’s wings.
“Winslow,” Penelope said, “the sergeant mentioned that all of the family were here for a dinner. Did that include the younger members?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Winslow threw her a glance. “All the way down to the youngest, Miss Lydia and Miss Ella.”
Penelope arched her brows. “Is that usual? That the children attend?”
Winslow waggled his head. “Yes and no. When the dowager calls a family dinner, as she did for this evening, then everyone in the family, including the children, generally attends.”
“I see.” Penelope said no more, but clearly, like Barnaby, she remained curious as to why the children had been present.
At this time of year, with the Season in full swing, children of the ton tended to be relegated to their schoolrooms. The Season was all about adult society rather than family in the wider sense.
“Had any of the family left before the body was found?” Stokes asked.
“No, Inspector. They were all still in the drawing room.”
Barnaby glanced at Penelope and, from her frown, deduced that she also found that strange.
The Season was at its height, and there were so many events held every night that, normally, attendees at a dinner would move on to a ball, a soirée—or the opera.
And as Penelope had mentioned, Lady Cleome, who was presumably sitting in the drawing room, was an avid patron who rarely missed a performance.
Winslow halted before a door. Reaching for the doorknob, he declared, “His lordship’s study,” then he opened the door and pushed it wide.
Penelope swept through, and Barnaby and Stokes followed. All three halted just over the threshold and paused to take in the scene.
Walsh was there, standing at ease before the wall directly opposite the door.
The room was rectangular, but not that large.
The long wall behind Walsh was broken by two tall windows, both presently screened by heavy amber-velvet curtains.
To Barnaby’s right, the wall played host to a good-sized fireplace, the fire in the grate now little more than glowing coals.
Two armchairs were angled before the hearth, with small side tables beside each.
Glancing around, Barnaby located a tantalus positioned against the inner wall, half concealed by the open door.
The left half of the room was dominated by a massive, highly polished mahogany desk.
It sat square within the room, facing the fireplace and positioned a good yard in front of a sideboard and the ceiling-high bookshelves lining the side wall.
An imposing leather-covered admiral’s chair was stationed behind the desk and was presently swiveled as if the last occupant had stood and walked toward the nearer curtained window.
After nodding respectfully to Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope, Walsh tipped his head toward the area behind the desk. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s disturbed the body.”
Stokes walked toward the desk, and Barnaby and Penelope followed.
On rounding the desk, they halted and looked down at the body of a large man, well dressed, heavily built, lying on his left shoulder, his face toward the desk, and his right hand extended but limp.
His left arm was trapped beneath him, and his legs were bent at hips and knees.
Most notable was the vicious dent in the man’s skull, so deep that the ivory of bone showed in several places.
Blood matted his sable-brown hair and had congealed in a pool of darkening red beneath his head.
Stokes eased his way farther behind the desk, and Penelope shifted and leaned forward until she could peer over the man’s raised shoulder at his half-hidden face.
After a second, she sighed and straightened. “Definitely Moran.”
Barnaby nodded at the head wound. “That was quite a blow.”
Stokes pointed to a small marble bust lying on the carpet closer to the sideboard, near where he was now standing. “The murder weapon, perhaps.”
Stokes raised his gaze to Winslow, who had shut the door and, with his hands nervously clasped, was waiting before it. “Who found the body?”
Winslow looked uncomfortable. “It was Mrs. Alder, sir. The dowager’s companion. Well, ex-companion, I suppose. I came in and found her standing over there”—he pointed to the space at the far end of the desk, closer to the window—“looking down at the master.”
Barnaby shifted and fixed his gaze on Winslow. “I understand there’s been some speculation that Mrs. Alder killed the earl.”
Winslow colored, dull pink flushing his thin cheeks. “I did…er, leap to that conclusion, although on calmer reflection, I suspect I was overhasty.”
“What made you think it was her?” Penelope asked.