Chapter 7 #5
Penelope exchanged a faintly amused but long-suffering look over the predictability of certain witnesses’ behavior with Stokes, then Barnaby was back, ushering in George Fitzhugh, Frederick and Imogen’s second son.
Smiling easily, Barnaby informed them, “As it happened, George was waiting in the hall just outside.”
Although in all respects similar in appearance to his older brother, George did not exude the same level of confidence, and he returned their greetings in a subdued tone.
As he sat as directed in the armchair, he glanced somewhat nervously at Stokes, but when Stokes commenced by confirming that George had heard of Winslow’s death, George responded readily, demonstrating that he, too, felt greater sorrow over Winslow’s death than his uncle’s.
Stokes followed with their now-standard questions regarding the time the family arrived at Moran House and who else had been in the drawing room at the time, and George replied with increasing steadiness and decreasing resistance.
Then Stokes baldly stated, “When the company was moving from the dining room to the drawing room, you were walking at the rear of the group, and in the front hall, you slipped away.” Stokes met George’s startled gaze. “You were absent from the group for over ten minutes. Where did you go?”
George stared at Stokes, then bit his lip and looked at Barnaby. Eventually, George glanced at Penelope and glumly stated, “I suppose I’d better tell you, or else you’ll think I did something even worse.”
Penelope nodded encouragingly. “That’s the right decision.”
George hauled in a breath, then shifted his gaze to Stokes.
“I went into Uncle Gordon’s study and checked to see if he’d left any money lying about.
He sometimes did—just a few quid he’d taken from his pockets, that sort of thing.
Small change for him, but it helped me and William.
Especially as Uncle Gordon refused to give William even a tiny allowance, even though, in most families, that would be the natural thing to do. ”
Barnaby confirmed, “So you were in the habit of removing small amounts of money from the earl’s study.”
Lowering his gaze to his clasped hands, George nodded.
“It might interest you to know,” Barnaby continued, a thread of steely condemnation in his voice, “that your uncle blamed the thefts on the fourteen-year-old son of the dowager’s companion.”
George’s head snapped up. Eyes wide, he asked, “Julian? He blamed Julian?”
Penelope nodded. “Yes, Julian.” She studied George. “Do you know him?”
“Yes. All of us—the younger ones—do. He’s been there—well, in Grandmama’s household—forever.
But for Uncle Gordon to think it was him…
that’s absurd!” George shook his head in disgusted disbelief.
“Julian never came into the front of the house. You couldn’t get him to cross the threshold out of the servants’ side for love nor money.
And trust me, over the years, several of us have tried.
” As if in explanation, George met Penelope’s gaze and added, “He’s a bright one, is Julian.
He’s really good at inventing games, and we all appreciated that. ”
Stokes stated, “The staff of Moran House have already confirmed what you’ve said about Julian, so we knew he wasn’t to blame for the thefts. Now, we know it was you who took the cash.”
George protested, “It wasn’t just me! Sometimes William, and we know Byron, Hugh, Vincent, and Theodore all did the same.
We’ve caught them at it, on occasion.” George grimaced.
“And they’ve caught us, so…” He paused, then, chin firming, said, “But truly, Uncle Gordon had it coming, given the way he treated all of us as if we were invisible. As if we didn’t even exist.”
Curious, Penelope asked, “You all stole only from him?”
Emphatically, George nodded. “We only took things that were his. All of us agreed to that, and really, that was why we did it in the first place. To at least inconvenience him. And after all, we’re family, so”—George shrugged—“if one of us had been caught, I seriously doubt even Uncle Gordon would have wanted us prosecuted for theft.”
Barnaby dipped his head, then met Stokes’s gaze.
“A valid point.” He returned his gaze to George.
“And strange as it might seem, we’re grateful to you for being truthful.
Now, we won’t go searching for whoever was behind the thefts, just in case your uncle surprised a thief in action and that, somehow, led to his murder. ”
Stokes asked, “Can you recall if all the younger Fitzhughs, your cousins, remained in the drawing room after the earl left and went to his study?”
George readily replied, “Yes. After Uncle Gordon left, no one else did. We just sat and talked, and then Winslow came to tell us that Uncle Gordon was dead.”
Frowning, Penelope asked, “When you slipped into the study, did you happen to notice if the whiskey decanter was empty?”
George was surprised to be asked but nodded. “As a matter of fact, it was.” Then he blushed and glanced at Barnaby. “Sometimes, we fill our flasks from it, but this time, it was already empty.”
Barnaby glanced at Stokes, who paused in his scribbling to shake his head, then Barnaby rose and waved a relieved George to his feet. “Come on. You can introduce me to your oldest sister.”
When, two minutes later, Barnaby ushered a willowy young lady into the room, Penelope rose and smiled invitingly.
“Good afternoon, Mathilda.” She’d been introduced to the girl, better known as Tilly, at a ball only a few weeks before.
Tilly was a taller, slimmer version of her mother, with the same glossy brown hair combined with wide hazel eyes.
From the few phrases Penelope had exchanged with Tilly, she suspected the girl also shared her mother’s practical bent.
A reassuring smile in place, Penelope waved the slightly hesitant girl to the vacant armchair opposite. “Please join us. We have a few questions for you regarding the gathering at Moran House last evening.”
Very much on her dignity and cautious with it, Tilly glided forward, nodded politely to Penelope and, rather more wide-eyed, at Stokes, then, as Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes all sat, Tilly gracefully subsided to perch on the edge of the chair’s seat.
By way of an opening, Penelope ventured, “We’ve gathered that you and your cousins, Geraldine and Diana, are being presented this year, more or less as a shared endeavor.”
Tilly nodded. “Yes.” When Penelope waited, Tilly added, “It was easier that way—for the three of us, because we’d have each other for support, and also for our parents, what with the organizing being shared.”
Penelope decided the query might bear fruit so evenly asked, “What was your opinion of your uncle Gordon?”
Tilly’s eyes widened. “Uncle Gordon?” She blinked, twice, then offered, “Well, he was the head of our house, being the earl.” She met Penelope’s gaze, then shrugged.
“Other than that, I really didn’t know him.
Our paths didn’t cross, as they say.” She paused, then stated, “I’ve haven’t really thought much about Uncle Gordon, but I know Grandmama and the others—our parents, aunts, and uncles—always seemed irritated with him. ”
Other than confirming the absence of Vincent and Theodore from the drawing room when Tilly and her family had arrived, there was little more she could tell them.
Tilly’s view of the earl was echoed, one after another, by her three sisters. Their knowledge of their uncle Gordon was next to nonexistent, and while all had sensed the tension between the earl and the other adults in the family, none had worried their heads about the reasons for it.
Ella, the youngest at twelve years old, simply said, “Uncle Gordon was snippy with everyone. I don’t think anyone in the family liked him much, not even Aunt Victoria, which is rather sad, but then, he never seemed to like any of us, either.”
Penelope escorted Ella out to the hall, then returned to Barnaby and Stokes, who had remained standing by the chairs. “It seems,” Penelope said, “that the youngest in the family gave a fair summation of the family’s attitude to the erstwhile head of their house.”
Barnaby smiled, and Stokes grunted.
“Incidentally,” Penelope continued, “I do not believe Frederick’s was the hand that signed Chifley’s register.” She tilted her head. “However, I also think it would be unwise to show Frederick the register with his faked signature.”
Stokes arched his brows. “Because he might recognize the writing?”
She nodded. “I think, in this instance, playing safe might be wise.”
“I agree.” Barnaby looked at Stokes.
Stokes grimaced. “Given the pressure that’s already mounting over solving this case, we need to act expeditiously but, I concede, also without making mistakes.”
Barnaby glanced at Penelope. “So should we ask Frederick to come with us to Chifley’s and allow Joseph to take a good look at him?”
Penelope frowned, then stated, “The sooner we can establish that it wasn’t Frederick who bought the strychnine, the better for all concerned.”
“And, with any luck, the clearer our path forward will be,” Stokes said.
“Indeed.” Penelope marched to the fireplace and the bellpull that hung beside it. She tugged peremptorily, and when the butler appeared, asked him to convey their compliments to his master and mistress and request a further moment of their time.
After the butler bowed and withdrew, she returned to Barnaby and Stokes and answered the question she saw in their eyes. “We need Imogen because she’s the more practical and also the more likely to see the implication and seize the chance to clear her husband of all suspicion.”
No more than a minute later, Frederick and Imogen came in.
Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes walked to join the pair nearer the door.