Chapter 3
C urtis sat perched on a sofa in the Adairs’ drawing room, feeling even more awkward than he usually did in the refined ambiance of the Mayfair home.
He was, however, determined to triumph over his uncertainties—which, after all, were a form of shyness and thus a weakness to be overcome—because the lady seated beside him needed his support.
Mary Alder’s gaze was fixed on Julian, who was standing before one long window and peering between the curtains, keeping watch for the Adair carriage that would deliver Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes to the house.
Then they would all learn what was what and decide what to do next, but in the meantime, while gazing at Julian, Mary Alder was worrying something fierce.
If Curtis possessed one talent, it lay in reading people, and from the set of her lips and chin and the faint frown tangling her delicately arched brown eyebrows, Mary Alder was imagining all sorts of unlikely outcomes.
Feeling compelled, even in the teeth of his shyness, to try to alleviate her worry, he ventured, “You can put your faith in the Adairs. They may be top-of-the-trees, yet they’re good people.
Ones you can rely on.” He thought, then grunted and added, “Stokes, too, even if he is an inspector of police.”
His comment had, at least, drawn her attention and distracted her. Plainly curious, she asked, “Have you known them long?”
“A few years now.” He paused, then, seeing that she was still watching him, as if eager to hear more, he went on, “I was working for a client—another nob by the name of the Honorable Mr. Richard Percival. I was helping him find his missing niece and nephew, who he’d thought had fled with his stepniece, who was older but still a youngish lady.
He—Percival—wasn’t sure why the trio had done a bunk in the dead of night from the ancestral home, but it turned out, they were in fear of their lives, and to top it all, they thought it was Percival—Richard Percival, my client—who they were fleeing from.
A right mess, it was, but it was all the work of another Percival, a cousin who was trying to kill the nephew—who was a viscount having inherited the title from his father—and make it seem that it was Richard Percival who’d done the deed.
That way, the cousin’s path to claiming the title and the estate would be free and clear.
It was through untangling all that and getting it sorted out that we—Percival and I—crossed paths with Stokes and the Adairs.
Once we’d got all squared away and realized who the real villain was, we worked together, and in the end, the villain was caught. ”
Curtis felt he could drown in Mary’s hazel eyes.
Lamely, he added, “That was how I came to know the Adairs and Stokes, and since then, I’ve worked with them on a few other cases.
” He forced himself to look across the room at Julian.
“As you no doubt know from young Julian, my business deals in information, and these days, if we stumble on anything untoward, I pass it on to Stokes.”
Mary followed his gaze to her son. “I see.” After a tiny pause, she went on, “I have to say, your story makes me even happier about Julian working for your firm.”
Quietly, so the boy wouldn’t hear and get a swollen head, Curtis responded, “Not half as happy as we are to have him. He’s got a good head on him.” Curtis tipped his own head toward Julian. “As he’s shown in this case.”
He met Mary’s eyes. “He didn’t panic when he learned the earl had been murdered and you stood accused of the crime. Instead, he did the wise and sensible thing and came straight to me for help.”
Mary searched his eyes, then nodded. Looking back at her son, she murmured, “He’s growing up so fast. Sometimes, I think he’s much older than he should be for his years, yet at the same time, he’s content and happy with what he’s doing, and I tell myself that that’s enough.”
“It’s more than enough,” Curtis gruffly said. “It’s far more than most his age can claim.”
Mary sighed and glanced at the open doorway.
“Maybe so, but for how long? At this moment, I feel that we—Julian and I—are in limbo, but we’re also at some sort of crossroads.
The sort where there are multiple ways we could go, but which we choose will be vital for our future.
” She shook her head. “It all happened so quickly, I can barely take in the whole of it.”
At the window, Julian straightened. “I think I see the carriage.” A second later, he shut the curtains and, with his young face full of hope, turned to Mary and Curtis. “They’re here!”
Instantly, Curtis was aware of the tension that gripped the lady beside him. He glanced at her profile as she stared at the doorway. “Trust me,” he murmured. “It’ll all come out right.”
Penelope led the way into their drawing room to find Curtis standing unexpectedly close to Mrs. Alder. Both were on their feet before the sofa, and Julian—who had apparently been keeping watch on the street—was on his way to join his mother.
Smiling reassuringly, Penelope waved at Mary Alder and Curtis to resume their seats. “Finally, we’re here.”
She claimed the position on the sofa opposite the pair, and Barnaby came to sit beside her while Stokes claimed his usual armchair, angling it so he could view the occupants of both sofas.
Although Curtis wore his usual imperturbably stoic mask, Penelope noted the faintly concerned look he directed at Mary. For her part, Mary was looking with incipient trepidation at Stokes.
Noting that, Stokes mildly stated, “We’ve asked all the questions we reasonably can to this point, and what we know is this.
” He raised his hands and, with one index finger, ticked off his points on the fingers of his other hand.
“First, yesterday evening, the Earl of Moran was seated behind his desk in his study, reading some documents.” He moved on to his next finger.
“At about nine-forty, he summoned his butler, Winslow, and ordered him to refill the empty whiskey decanter.”
Shifting his attention to his third finger, Stokes continued, “At some moment between Winslow leaving the study at nine-forty and Mrs. Alder entering it at ten o’clock, someone struck the earl on the head with a small marble bust that was kept on the shelf behind the desk.
The blow was sufficiently hard to cave in the earl’s skull and kill him, most likely instantly. ”
Tapping his fourth finger, Stokes tipped his head Mary’s way.
“Mrs. Alder entered the study because she’d been ordered by the earl to leave a list of the dowager’s plans for the next day on his study desk every night at ten o’clock.
Consequently, she was the one who discovered the body and was, soon after, found in the study by Winslow, returning with the refilled decanter. ”
Stokes told Mary, “Winslow has recanted his assertion that you had anything to do with killing the earl. In addition, it’s well-nigh impossible to imagine that the earl would have allowed you to walk behind him in such a way that you might have struck the blow that killed him.
Further, there are several staff members who can testify to your presence upstairs, in the attics, until you left to go to the study just before ten o’clock.
You could not have been hidden in the study prior to Winslow seeing the earl alive, and you could not have gone to the study earlier than you did, so you could not have committed the crime. ”
Tiredly, Stokes smiled at Mary. “All of that means that, as far as Scotland Yard is concerned, you are not a suspect.”
“Thank God!” Mary breathed, her hand at her throat.
Stokes sighed. “However, to continue with our findings, no one was seen going into the study or lurking elsewhere inside the house during the critical period, namely, between nine-forty and ten o’clock.
All the other members of the earl’s family were in the drawing room, save only the dowager, who had been carried upstairs to her room at nine-thirty.
Our one potential lead is that the French door to the courtyard was open—unlocked and left ajar—and the courtyard is bounded by a narrow alley that runs between Park Lane and the mews behind the houses along there. ”
A pause ensued while they all digested that summary.
Then Barnaby said, “One point. We gathered that the dowager hadn’t previously known of the list of her engagements that you supplied to the earl every evening.”
Mary colored. “She knew I always checked with her every evening regarding her engagements—I also kept her diary, but I would check, nonetheless. I…didn’t know if the earl had told her of his order or not, and I didn’t feel it was my place to mention it if he hadn’t.
” She faintly grimaced. “Truth to tell, it seemed rather intrusive and a touch callous in that his only interest appeared to be where her staff—the footmen and coachman—and also the carriage were at any time. It wasn’t any interest in his mother’s life that lay behind the order. ”
Penelope studied Mary’s expressive face.
“We also heard that the dowager and the staff and, it seems, everyone else are mystified as to why the earl dismissed you. They know of no reason for his action, yet Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett said you’d accepted the dismissal with notable grace.
” Penelope cocked her head. “Why was that? Normally, if a member of staff of your long service and seniority was given short shrift, I would expect you to make some protest, even if that was merely to grumble to the housekeeper.”