Chapter 2 #2
Stokes drew his trusty notebook from his pocket and stepped forward, pencil poised. After the dowager responded in haughty tones that she would be there, at Moran House, Stokes progressed from adult to adult around the room.
Barnaby seized the moment to study the younger members of the company.
They ranged in age from early teens to about their mid-twenties, and all exhibited signs of being intrigued by the investigators’ process.
None projected any degree of concern or anxiety, much less showed any hint of a guilty conscience or, indeed, grief.
Stokes completed his circuit of the company and respectfully nodded to the group. “Thank you. We won’t detain you any longer.”
The ladies promptly rose, gathered their families, and ushered them toward the door.
With Penelope and Stokes, Barnaby stood back and allowed the family groups to file past them, into the mansion’s foyer.
The dowager, in her chair, pushed by one of her grandsons, brought up the rear. Imogen had called for Winslow and dispatched the butler to summon the dowager’s footmen; the burly pair were now hovering just outside the drawing room.
As the dowager drew level with Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes, she raised a hand, and her grandson obligingly halted the chair. The dowager’s sharp if faded blue gaze scrutinized their faces, then she asked, “Mrs. Alder and Julian?”
There was a demand for reassurance couched in the words.
Stokes stated, “We’ll be speaking with Mrs. Alder in a moment, and Julian is currently in the care of his employer.”
The dowager considered that, then nodded.
“Good.” She looked at Stokes. “I want them taken care of. I have no idea what bee got into Gordon’s bonnet that led him to dismiss Mary, but”—her lips tightened—“he wouldn’t be swayed.
I wish you to know that I have nothing but admiration and affection for Mrs. Alder and for Julian as well. He’s a bright and caring lad.”
“We think so, too,” Penelope said. “As does his employer.”
“In the circumstances,” Stokes stated, “we’ll be removing Mrs. Alder from Moran House, but at this point, we have no grounds on which to believe she killed the earl.”
The dowager snorted dismissively. “Of course you don’t. Because she didn’t.” She waved toward the open door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, these fellows are here to escort me upstairs.”
Stokes half bowed. “Of course.”
Her grandson propelled the dowager’s chair through the doorway and on to where the footmen now waited at the foot of the stairs.
After halting the chair and farewelling his grandmother, bending to place a kiss on her paper-thin cheek, her grandson turned and left, presumably to join the rest of his family in quitting the house.
With Stokes and Penelope, Barnaby watched as the footmen bent and, between them, hoisted the Bath chair with the dowager in it and started up the stairs.
Barnaby followed Stokes and Penelope into the foyer, where they found Winslow waiting.
Stokes nodded to the butler. “We’ll speak with Mrs. Alder now.”
Penelope followed Winslow through the green-baize-covered door at the rear of the foyer and into the bowels of the huge mansion.
The butler led them to the servants’ hall and on into an adjoining corridor to where Morgan was standing, apparently on guard, outside a plain wooden door.
On seeing them approaching, Morgan straightened. As they halted before the door, he tipped his head toward it. “Mrs. Pratchett, the housekeeper, is inside with the lady.” To Stokes, he added, “There’s no other way out, so I left them to talk.”
Stokes nodded his approval.
Penelope noted Morgan’s designation of Mrs. Alder as a lady. The fresh-faced constable was too experienced to make a mistake.
Morgan reached for the doorknob and opened the door, and more than passingly curious to meet Julian’s mother, Penelope led the way inside.
The housekeeper’s room was rather small and contained a neat desk with two chairs.
The one behind the desk was occupied by a worried-looking older woman, an upright figure with iron-gray curls half concealed by a housekeeper’s mobcap, while the second chair, angled before the desk, had been claimed by a younger woman, presumably Mrs. Alder.
And yes, Morgan was correct. Mrs. Alder was definitely gentry-born.
She sat upright, her hands clasped in the lap of her neat blue day gown. Her glossy brown hair was restrained in a no-nonsense bun at her nape, and her hazel eyes—quite fine hazel eyes—reflected concern and anxiety in equal measure.
The set of her eyes reminded Penelope of Julian, but Mrs. Alder’s tapered chin and delicately molded lips were distinctly feminine.
She possessed a well-rounded figure and an English-rose complexion, but there was something about her that hinted at strength and resilience beneath the apparent delicateness.
At Penelope’s entrance, Mrs. Alder’s eyes widened, then as Barnaby and Stokes filed in, her gaze flitted to them. With her fingers spasming tightly together, along with the housekeeper, somewhat uncertainly, Mrs. Alder came to her feet. In a clear, even tone, she stated, “I didn’t kill the earl.”
Stokes inclined his head. “Having seen the body, we don’t believe you did.” His gaze shifted to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Pratchett?”
Stiffly, the housekeeper nodded, then defiantly said, “One thing I think you should know. One of our maids—Polly—and the countess’s dresser, Orla, both spoke with Mrs. Alder in the attics when she was on her way to the study to leave the list. She was up there then, where she should have been, just two minutes before the clocks struck ten, and it takes that long to get down the stairs and around to the study.
No way did she have time to kill the earl and then be found by Winslow at a minute after ten o’clock. ”
Stokes had pulled out his notebook and took down the names. “Thank you.” He nodded to the housekeeper. “Every extra fact helps.”
Mrs. Pratchett, pink rising to her cheeks, looked mollified.
Barnaby smiled at her. “I assure you that Mrs. Alder will be safe with us, but we do need to speak with her alone.”
Penelope added an encouraging smile.
Glancing at Mrs. Alder, reluctantly, Mrs. Pratchett came out from behind the desk. “I’ll be just outside, dear, if you need me.”
Mrs. Alder smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Mrs. Pratchett.”
As the housekeeper made for the door, and Morgan, remaining outside, closed it behind her, Mrs. Alder regarded Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes with the air of one who didn’t quite know what to make of them.
Penelope grinned and went to claim Mrs. Pratchett’s vacant chair and waved Mrs. Alder to resume her seat. “Please sit.”
Sinking into the housekeeper’s chair, Penelope watched as Barnaby moved to lean against the wall behind her, while Stokes remained before the door. Space was limited, and both men were on the large side.
“Now.” Placing her hands flat on the desk, Penelope met Mrs. Alder’s gaze.
“The first thing we need to tell you is that, immediately Julian heard that you had been accused of the earl’s murder, he rushed off and found his employer—Curtis—and appealed for Curtis’s help.
Subsequently, Curtis brought Julian—whom all three of us here have met before, when he helped us solve another murder—to our house, to our attention, which in part is why we are here.
Julian is safe and well and is currently finishing packing his and your things, after which he’ll join Curtis outside to wait in our carriage.
” Penelope paused, taking in Mrs. Alder’s stunned expression, then concluded, “So you don’t need to worry about Julian. ”
“Oh, thank God!” The relief that flowed through Mrs. Alder was obvious to any observer. She glanced at Barnaby and Stokes. “Thank you. Thank you all.”
“Well, then, with that explained,” Penelope continued, “as Julian might have mentioned, I am Mrs. Penelope Adair, and my husband, Barnaby”—she waved over her shoulder at Barnaby—“and I often assist Inspector Stokes”—she indicated Stokes—“in solving crimes involving members of the ton. Officially, that’s why we’re here. ”
Mary Alder nodded. “Julian has told me of your association with Scotland Yard.” She glanced at Barnaby. “I understand that it’s through your offices, sir, that Julian found his way into the information-collecting business and, through that, secured his position with Curtis.”
Barnaby smiled. “Julian’s a bright lad, and we all believe he’ll go far.”
Penelope saw that Mary Alder was now a great deal more relaxed, at least in terms of trusting them.
“Getting back to the here and now,” Penelope said, “we’ve seen the body and we—and, indeed, Winslow, now he’s calmed down—do not believe it was you who killed the earl.
We’ve spoken with the family, and the dowager said she’d just learned that a part of your duties was to give the earl an accounting of her planned engagements for the next day. ”
Mary nodded. “Yes.” She looked at Barnaby, then at Stokes. “That’s why I went to the study—to deliver the list.”
“Do you have the list?” Stokes asked.
Mary blinked, then said, “I had it in my hand…and I dropped it on the desk when I realized there was a body on the floor and went around to see…”
Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “So it’ll be there, on the desk.”
Stokes nodded. “We’ll check before we leave.”
“We need to look over the papers on the desk, regardless,” Penelope pointed out.
“We should have a gander at what he was working on,” Barnaby agreed.
Penelope returned her attention to Mary. “If you would, could you take us through what you did from, say, nine-thirty, when the dowager retired and left the drawing room?”