Chapter 2 #3
“I was waiting for her at the base of the stairs with the footmen—the pair who carry her chair when needed, Edward and Thomas.” Mary drew in a breath and continued, “They picked up the chair, and I followed them up the stairs and around to the dowager’s room.
” She smiled faintly, fondly. “Despite what she allows people to think, the dowager doesn’t normally get into her bed until later.
I think she uses her infirmity as an excuse to escape the noise of the family, even on those occasions, like tonight’s, when she was the one who organized the gathering. ”
“She arranged for the dinner?” Penelope asked.
“Yes, but that wasn’t unusual. She insisted on having family dinners every three or so months. The last was in February, just as the Season started, and all her children came up to town.”
“So,” Stokes said, “you followed the dowager to her room, and then?”
“Sometimes, I read to her, but this time, she was in one of her testy moods and said she wouldn’t need me further that night. I confirmed her appointments for tomorrow—well, today, now—and then I left her with Hilda, her dresser and maid.”
“So that was, what?” Barnaby asked. “Nine-forty?”
Mary nodded. “It must have been about then.”
“What did you do next?” Penelope asked.
“I went upstairs, checked over the list—I’d written it based on the dowager’s diary earlier in the day—then I packed more of my things until just before ten o’clock.
” Mary met Penelope’s gaze. “The earl was a stickler for time, and he insisted that I give him the list or, if he wasn’t in the study, leave it on the desk on the dot of ten o’clock.
He got irritated if I didn’t do exactly that. ” She shrugged. “So I did.”
“So you spoke with”—Stokes consulted his notes—“Polly and Orla, then went downstairs to the study.” He looked at Mary. “Did you knock?”
“Yes, of course. But he didn’t answer, so I assumed he was in the drawing room with the rest of the family, and I opened the door and went in.”
“And?” Penelope asked.
“I couldn’t see him and thought the room was empty, so I walked toward the desk.
But then I noticed the lamps were turned high, and his papers were strewn all over…
That wasn’t like him. He was usually very tidy and precise.
I kept walking toward the desk, puzzling, and started to put the list on the corner where I normally leave it when the fact the chair was swiveled to one side struck me, and I looked over the desk and saw… ”
Her gaze distant, Mary swallowed. “At first, I thought he must have collapsed—his heart or something like that. So I dropped the list and rushed around the desk.” She paled and put her hands to her face. “It was awful.”
After a moment of reliving the horror, she drew in a steadying breath and lowered her hands. “I was horrified. I froze. And I was still standing there, staring down at the earl, when Winslow walked in and saw me.”
Penelope exchanged a quick glance with Stokes, then asked, “Did you see or hear anyone else, inside or outside the study? In the corridor or even in the courtyard?”
Mary blinked and looked puzzled. “The courtyard?” When Penelope merely arched her brows, Mary shook her head. “No. I saw no one while making my way to the study—which was not surprising given I came from the servants’ stair—and I didn’t see or hear anyone outside, either.”
“Tell us about Winslow,” Barnaby said. “When he walked in, how did he appear?”
“Just as normal, until he saw me standing there and walked to the desk to see what I was staring at.”
“Was he carrying a decanter?” Penelope asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes. I remember that, when he saw the earl, he started shaking and almost dropped it on the desk. The last I saw of it, it was still there.”
Stokes nodded. “It is. Now, we understand that the earl had decided to let you go. Do you know why he made that decision?”
Mary faintly colored. “No. He gave no reason, which left me mystified. Frankly, all the staff, and the dowager, too, were equally at sea.” Mary paused, then, patently uncomfortable, revealed, “Higgs, his lordship’s valet, mentioned to me that over recent months, the earl had been grumbling about missing small amounts of cash and had wondered if Julian was to blame, but Higgs had told him, and all the staff know this as fact, that Julian never goes through the green-baize-covered door.
He never ventures out of the servants’ side of the house. He never has.”
Mary’s lips tightened. “Regardless, the earl never mentioned the matter of the missing money to me. Or the dowager. As I said, he gave no reason for my dismissal at all. Not to anyone.”
Penelope frowned. “But that would leave the dowager with…whom?”
“Just her maid-cum-dresser, Hilda. And her two footmen, Edward and Thomas, who are more or less at her beck and call.” Mary hesitated, then added, “I did wonder if, perhaps, the earl was preparing to replace me with a full-time nurse, as, of course, the dowager has aged significantly over the time I’ve been with her. ”
“Hmm.” Penelope didn’t point out that, in such circumstances, the common practice would be for the dowager to be left with all the staff she’d grown accustomed to having around her, and a nurse would be added to the group.
“Did you have much interaction with the earl?” Barnaby asked.
Mary shook her head. “None of the staff did, not really. He held himself aloof from the lower orders. Winslow and Higgs would have spent the most time in his orbit, but he said very little to any of the staff, even them.”
“Who runs the household?” Penelope inquired. Given there were two countesses in residence, that was a valid question.
Mary’s lips quirked upward. “Outwardly, Lady Victoria, but in reality, ever since the dowager returned to this house last year, the reins have, bit by bit, slid back into her hands.”
“Is there tension between the two?” Penelope couldn’t see how that would impinge on the earl, but if Lady Victoria was violently unhappy…
Mary grimaced lightly. “To a degree, but no more than you would expect given that this was the dowager’s home and household for decades before Lady Victoria married the earl.”
Penelope had run out of immediate questions, and a quick glance at Barnaby suggested he’d reached the same point. She looked at Stokes and arched her brows.
Stokes duly addressed Mary Alder. “At this point, we have no more questions for you. However, given the circumstances, namely of an earl being violently murdered in his own study, coupled with Winslow’s earlier speculation, even though he’s retracted that, and also given that you and Julian were expecting to quit Moran House”—he glanced at the small clock on a cupboard against the wall—“this morning, we believe it would be best all around if you and Julian were to come with us, at least for the immediate future.”
“To that end,” Barnaby said, “Julian should, by now, have taken your cases outside, to where Curtis was waiting.”
“I would like to send you in the care of Constable Morgan”—Stokes tipped his head toward the door, behind which Morgan would presumably be standing—“to join Julian and Curtis in the Adairs’ carriage and have the carriage convey you all to the Adairs’ residence in Albemarle Street.”
“Although the night has already been a long one,” Barnaby explained, “we need to interview Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett and take another look at the study. After that”—he glanced at Penelope and Stokes—“we’ll reconvene at Albemarle Street and decide on our next steps.”
“And part of that,” Penelope declared, rising to her feet, “is to keep you and Julian far away from the press.”
“Oh, I see.” Mary’s expression cleared. She studied their faces, then nodded. “If you think it best, Julian and I will fall in with your wishes.”
“Excellent.” Stokes stepped away from the door, opened it, and called Morgan inside, then firmly shut the door on all interested ears. In a low voice, Stokes gave Morgan orders to take Mrs. Alder out by the rear door to join Julian and Curtis in the waiting carriage.
Barnaby said, “Tell Phelps to take you to Albemarle Street. It’s so close, he can take you lot there and return for us in good time. We still have several things to do here before we can leave.”
“Just don’t tell anyone where you’re going,” Penelope warned. “Behave as if you’re escorting Mrs. Alder to Scotland Yard.”
Morgan’s face cleared. “Ah. I see. So I’ll take the lady, and we’ll all go and wait for you at the Adairs’.”
Barnaby and Stokes both stated, “That’s right.”
Morgan smiled at Mrs. Alder, bobbed his head, then reached for her elbow. “If you’ll allow it, ma’am, that’s what I’d normally do if I were escorting a lady to the clink.”
Morgan’s cheeriness was difficult to resist. Mrs. Alder strove to straighten her lips and inclined her head. “Of course, Constable. Lead the way.”
Morgan’s expression leached into one of stern authority, and Mary adopted a bland, blank expression as he opened the door and, with gentle care, steered her out and along the corridor.
Barnaby followed Penelope out of the housekeeper’s room. Stokes, having been closer to the door, had led the way, and they followed him into the servants’ hall.
There, they found Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett. Beyond them, the servants’ hall was empty.
Winslow noticed Barnaby looking and quickly explained, “It being so late, sir, and what with the shock of the master’s murder, Mrs. Pratchett and I sent the rest of the staff to their beds. Everyone is so discombobulated, and tomorrow is already here.”
“Understandable,” Stokes allowed. “That said, we have a few questions we need to put to you, but we’ll try to keep it brief.”
Both Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett looked unhappy but resigned, and both complied with Stokes’s gesture to seat themselves at the long deal table in the center of the room.
Barnaby sat on the bench on the table’s opposite side, beside Penelope, who was on Stokes’s left.