Chapter 7 #2
Walking into the front hall, Penelope noted the black armband adorning the butler’s coat sleeve, a very proper observance in response to the earl’s death.
Even more striking was the contrast between the severely austere Moran House foyer and the space in which she now stood.
The Fitzhugh front hall projected an image of relaxed tonnish life more commonly found in country houses, where strict adherence to the ton’s expectations of appearance and exactitude was often allowed to slide.
A clutter of assorted reticules and shawls was piled around the base of the large ornate vase that stood on the round hall table, and cloaks and greatcoats were tossed haphazardly on the coatrack, with hats balanced atop the mounds.
With unimpaired calm, the butler ushered them into the drawing room. “I will inform the master and mistress that you have called. As you might expect, given the events of last evening, the family have only just risen for the day.”
Glancing at the mantelpiece clock, Penelope confirmed that it was just after one o’clock. She turned to the butler. “Have any of the family left the house this morning?”
“No, ma’am.” The butler paused as if consulting his memory, then added, “Having only recently broken their fast, all the members of the family are presently still under this roof.”
Penelope smiled. “Good, because we need to speak with all those who attended the dinner at Moran House yesterday evening. Please inform Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhugh of that, and please ask Mr. Fitzhugh if he would spare us a few minutes of his time.”
The butler bowed. “Indeed, ma’am.” He turned and went to fetch his master.
Penelope looked around. The room exuded much the same ambiance as the hall.
The chintz-covered sofa and large armchairs were irregularly grouped around a low table, as if the seating had been shoved around by recent occupants and left wherever it ended up.
Wide windows flooded the room with light, and the same chintz had been used in the curtains that hung to either side of the panes.
A large fireplace filled quite half the wall opposite the door, while a profusion of flowers spilled from a vase on a sideboard against one wall.
Penelope moved to the sofa and sat—and promptly sank into the thick cushions.
Subsiding beside her, Barnaby grinned. “Much more comfortable than the usual ton effort.”
After assessing the available seating, Stokes claimed an armchair beyond the end of the sofa on which Penelope sat. He, too, sank into the cushions. “Comfortable seems to be the watchword here.”
“From what little I know of Imogen Fitzhugh, she has always been more focused on her family and their well-being than on meeting society’s expectations.
” Penelope paused, then went on, “She and Frederick have six children. The eldest two, both young men now, are on the town, although I believe they still live at this address. The oldest girl is in the throes of being presented to the ton this Season, and I’ve heard that the Fitzhughs are working with the Mitchelmores and the Southerlys to share expenses, with all three families having young ladies to puff off this year.
And after the Fitzhughs establish their eldest girl, they have three more to follow, so Imogen will have her hands full in the years to come. ”
“Not that I know all that much about the costs associated with young ladies being presented,” Stokes said, “but it sounds as if Christopher’s assertion that Frederick’s finances are a mite stretched could be well founded.”
Barnaby nodded. “Almost certainly. The costs of bringing up children within the ton and meeting the expected standards along the way—for instance, Eton and Oxford for the boys—and then supporting them as they venture onto the town, let alone the expense involved in presenting and marrying off young ladies, are, indeed, considerable.”
“And largely unavoidable,” Penelope added.
“That said, given that Gordon—the late earl—had no children of his own, most in the ton would have expected him to take an interest in Frederick’s children.
Certainly, most would assume that Gordon would have assisted Frederick with the costs associated with educating the eldest son—William—who, after all, will at some point accede to the title. ”
Approaching footsteps put an end to their discussion, and a moment later, the door opened, and Frederick Fitzhugh, now the Earl of Moran, paused on the threshold. He regarded them for a moment, then stepped over the threshold, closed the door, and walked to join them as they rose to their feet.
In the harsher, brighter light of day, Frederick’s resemblance to Christopher, to Frederick’s own sons, and his older nephews was even more pronounced. All possessed straight dark hair, and the shape of their heads, the set of their blue eyes, and their long, lean frames were notably similar.
Now, however, Frederick’s features were drawn and tinged with what appeared to be genuine sorrow. That, however, seemed to be the extent of his grief.
Barnaby introduced them again, and Frederick half bowed to Penelope and shook Barnaby’s and Stokes’s hands, then waved them to resume their seats while he drew another armchair to face the sofa and sank into it with a small sigh.
“I apologize in advance if I seem somewhat distracted. While I’m still in shock over Gordon’s death—and the manner of it—I’ve discovered that the demands of the Moran estate wait for no man.
” Tiredly, he smiled at Penelope and Barnaby.
“I have the steward in my study, wanting me to make decisions on issues advanced by the agents, the bankers, and several others. And then there’s the polite note from the government whip in the Lords.
” Looking decidedly frazzled, he ran his fingers through his hair, then ruefully shook his head.
“Of course, our father—the previous earl—made sure that, as second in line, I was taught the basics of managing the estate, but with Gordon as earl, I never imagined that I would have to remember those lessons.”
“It must, indeed, be quite a shock,” Penelope soothed, “coming on top of the shock of the murder.”
“Exactly.” Frederick looked at Barnaby and Stokes. “So I fear you’ll have to excuse any mental disarray on my part.”
Barnaby inclined his head. “That’s understandable, and we’ll endeavor to keep this interview as brief as possible.
Our first question is whether, after having had a chance to think of the matter, you’ve remembered anyone with whom your brother had a falling-out.
Or anyone he mentioned as being a threat. ”
Frederick frowned and shook his head. “No. Gordon never mentioned anyone he feared. That said, we rarely spoke of his activities, so there might have been something…” After a few seconds of silence, during which Frederick stared at the low table, he sighed and met Barnaby’s gaze.
“The truth is that Gordon and I weren’t close.
Not ever, really. We are—were—very different people.
Gordon was always focused on being the earl and shaping his life as he thought it should be.
He liked the prestige and the power the position afforded him, and while he was careful with money, he was also very set on keeping up appearances. ”
Regarding Frederick, Penelope tilted her head. “And you?”
Faintly, Frederick smiled. “I’m much more concerned with taking care of the people around me—my family, of course, but also the staff who serve us and, were it in my power, the people on our estates and farms.”
Unstated was the fact that, with his older brother now dead, he was free to pursue those goals.
Barnaby shifted, drawing Frederick’s attention. “You said Gordon was careful with money. By that, did you mean he was tightfisted?”
Frederick considered the point, then admitted, “When Imogen and I married, Gordon made it very clear that, as far as he was concerned, my allowance from the Moran estate would not be increased. As you can no doubt imagine, that’s led to a degree of financial strain.
Gordon even refused to give William an allowance, even though, eventually, William will be the earl.
If we hadn’t had Imogen’s portion and the help of her family, I honestly don’t know where we would be. ”
Barnaby caught a pointed look from Stokes and took a moment to find the right words. “I take it Gordon’s attitude created a rift between you?”
Frederick’s brows rose, but he answered apparently openly, “Yes and no. After all, I had to respect the fact that, beyond the allowances stipulated in our father’s will, the estate’s funds were Gordon’s to do with as he wished.
And as I said, we weren’t close to begin with, and after I married, it’s true to say that we grew even further apart.
I daresay that, if we had been in the habit of exchanging views, we wouldn’t have seen eye to eye on many, so perhaps the distance between us wasn’t such a bad thing.
Having Gordon and me at daggers drawn would only have caused Mama more angst.”
Penelope’s instincts quivered. “More? Was the dowager at odds with Gordon?”
Frederick frowned. After several moments, he offered, “I am aware that, over recent months, Mama seems to have felt a growing…frustration, I suppose one would call it, with Gordon.”
“Did that in any way stem from his marriage to Lady Victoria?” Penelope probed.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Frederick readily met her gaze.
“This is more recent, and aside from all else, Gordon married Victoria to placate Mama and our aunts. They were adamant that, socially, he needed a countess at his side, and although he argued that, courtesy of my sons, the succession was secure, they kept pushing and prodding until he agreed. As Victoria was their chosen candidate, I don’t think the issue between Mama and Gordon had anything to do with him marrying Victoria. ”