Chapter 2 #4
Stokes began by stating, “We understand that the earl had terminated Mrs. Alder’s employment, the dismissal to take effect this morning. Do either of you have any idea why he took that step?”
Mrs. Pratchett looked at Winslow, who briefly met her gaze.
When Winslow looked back at his clasped hands and volunteered nothing, Mrs. Pratchett raised her head and replied, “Honestly, none of us have any notion of what was in the master’s mind, but we did wonder if it had something to do with a wild idea the master had taken that young Julian, Mrs. Alder’s son, was responsible for the thefts of small amounts of cash that the earl says have been happening, but truly, that’s just daft.
Aside from Julian never going into the front of the house, which is where the cash went missing from, there’s not a bad bone in that boy’s body, and I’ll take an oath on that. ”
His tone lugubrious, Winslow added, “All of us would. A very good lad all around, is young Julian. We’re all very sorry to see him and Mrs. Alder go.”
Stokes eyed the pair. “Do you have any idea who might have been responsible for those small thefts?”
Again, Mrs. Pratchett and Winslow shared a glance, then Winslow offered, “It seemed to us—all the staff who work in the front of the house—that the thefts the earl was complaining about always occurred, or at least were always noticed, after Lady Constance’s boys had been around.”
“Mr. Vincent and Mr. Theodore,” Mrs. Pratchett supplied. “Rascals, the pair of them, and very good at slipping unseen all over the house.”
Barnaby wondered what connection, if any, a series of small thefts might have to the earl’s murder.
After a moment, Penelope asked the butler and housekeeper, “How did Mrs. Alder react to being dismissed?”
Mrs. Pratchett’s expression lightened, and a degree of approval invested her features.
“Gracious about it, she was. Truth to tell, many in the servants’ hall were a bit up in arms about it on her behalf, but she said as it was well within the master’s rights as he was her employer, and that after being with the dowager for over ten years, perhaps it was time for her to move on. ”
Winslow shifted on the bench. “She did mention that with the dowager growing so old and frail, perhaps the master was thinking of replacing her—Mrs. Alder, that is—with a nurse.”
Mrs. Pratchett angled her head. “And indeed, that might be a good thing and what was intended, but regardless, we’re all sorry to see Mary and Julian go.”
“Most of us here,” Winslow said, “have known Julian since he was a little tyke, because whenever the dowager visited here—she used to live in Regent’s Square—Mary and Julian came as well and would spend their time back here with us, so in a way, to us, Mary and Julian are a bit like family.”
Stokes had pulled out his notebook and was scribbling.
“All right.” He looked across the table at the pair.
“To last night. We’ve heard that Mrs. Alder had been ordered to deliver a list of the dowager’s appointments for the following day to the earl’s study every night at ten o’clock.
” He focused on Winslow. “I take it you were both aware of that.”
Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett nodded, and the latter added, “Every night, regular at ten. That’s what the master wanted.”
“Mrs. Alder kept the dowager’s diary,” Winslow explained. “And after writing the list, which she usually did every afternoon, she would tell the dowager’s footmen, Thomas and Edward, and also the coachman, Hollis, so they would know when they would be needed the next day.”
Mrs. Pratchett added, “Quite aside from letting the master know where his mama and some of her staff would be, it helped that the staff knew what to prepare for come the next day. Helped things run more smoothly, knowing when we’d have extra footmen about and also if the big carriage would be here or not. ”
“I see.” Stokes focused on Winslow. “At what time did you first go to the study?”
The butler glanced at the housekeeper. “We think it must have been about nine-forty when the master rang the study bell, and I went to see what he wanted.” Mrs. Pratchett nodded her agreement, and Winslow returned his gaze to Stokes.
“It seemed the whiskey decanter was empty, and the master wanted it refilled, of course, so I took it with me and came back here.” He tipped his head toward the corridor, which led to Mrs. Pratchett’s room and, it seemed, also the butler’s pantry.
“I had to fetch the key from my room, then I went down to the cellar, filled the decanter from the stock there, and brought the decanter up again. I stopped to return the key to my pantry before I headed back to the study.”
Mrs. Pratchett put in, “The clocks struck the hour—for ten o’clock—while Winslow was putting the key back.”
Jotting that down, Stokes nodded. “Thank you.”
“When you first went to the study,” Barnaby said, “was there anyone else with the earl?”
Winslow shook his head. “No. He was quite alone, as usual.”
“Did you see anyone in the corridors after you left here with the refilled decanter?” Stokes asked.
Winslow frowned and, clearly, replayed his memories, but eventually, he shook his head.
“No. There was no one about that I saw.” He refocused on Stokes.
“As far as I know, at that time, the rest of the family were all still in the drawing room, even the younger ones. I’d fetched away the tea trolley about ten minutes before the master rang, and I saw them all there then. ”
Mrs. Pratchett volunteered, “When Thomas and Edward went to fetch the dowager—and that was at nine-thirty, as usual—they crossed paths with Winslow, bringing the tea trolley down.”
Stokes nodded. “We’ll check with Thomas and Edward tomorrow, to confirm they didn’t see anyone leave the drawing room.” He studied his notes, then looked at Winslow. “The first time you entered the study, did you notice if the French door to the courtyard was open?”
Winslow frowned. “Was it open?”
“It’s open now,” Barnaby said. “We believe it might have been open when the earl was killed.”
“Heavens!” Mrs. Pratchett looked taken aback. She glanced at Winslow.
Deep puzzlement was evident in the butler’s frown as, slowly, he said, “I’m sure that door was shut earlier. The master would have noticed if it wasn’t. Very sensitive to cold drafts, he was.”
Penelope said, “The wall at the far end of the courtyard, opposite the study. What lies on the other side?”
“A lane,” Winslow replied. “A very narrow one. It runs between Park Lane and the mews behind the houses.”
Stokes stated, “We’ll check with the rest of the staff tomorrow, but were either of you aware of any person the earl might have been expecting last night?”
“No.” Winslow’s reply was definite. “And the master never had meetings he didn’t tell me about.”
In a scandalized tone, Mrs. Pratchett added, “Much less meetings with the sort of people who might come over the wall from the lane.”
Barnaby clarified, “Regardless of their route of approach, is it correct to state that neither of you were aware of anyone expected to come to the house and meet with the earl yesterday evening?”
Both Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett nodded emphatically.
Winslow insisted, “There was no one expected.”
“And why would there be?” Mrs. Pratchett asked. “It was a big family dinner, one the dowager had called. When she calls, they all come, and they know better than to expect to do any other business while they dance attendance here.”
Barnaby saw Penelope tip her head consideringly, no doubt assimilating what that statement said of the family and the dowager’s place in it.
Stokes looked over his notes, then shut his notebook and inclined his head to the pair across the table. “Thank you both.” To Winslow, he said, “We’ll be back later today, but for now, you can lock up.”
With obvious relief, the butler and housekeeper rose, as did Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes.
“Before we leave, we need to check the study,” Penelope reminded Barnaby and Stokes, and they headed for the foyer.
They made straight for the study. During their absence, the body had been removed and, presumably, transported to the morgue at Scotland Yard.
On halting before the desk, they surveyed the papers strewn upon it.
Penelope picked up a sheet of notepaper that had been lying on the front edge of the desk. “Here’s Mrs. Alder’s list.” She scanned it. “Just what one would expect of an ageing dowager countess at the height of the Season.”
Barnaby rounded the desk and, without disturbing the papers, bent to read them. After a moment, he reported, “These appear to be submissions to a parliamentary committee on workers’ rights.” He straightened. “Nothing overtly threatening or revealing in them.”
Stokes grunted. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that the murderer might have left anything to point his way.”
Penelope sighed. “Apparently so.” She handed Mary Alder’s note to Stokes, then looked around the room again.
“I can’t imagine we’re likely to learn anything more here.
” She returned her gaze to Barnaby and Stokes.
“Phelps should have returned with the carriage by now. Let’s leave poor Winslow to lock up and continue discussing our next steps at home. ”
Stokes nodded and waved her toward the door.
After one last glance at the disarranged papers, Barnaby left the desk and followed his coinvestigators as Penelope led them to the front door.