Chapter 8 #2
Reflecting that there was nothing wrong with Mitchelmore’s powers of deduction, Barnaby dipped his head.
“Indeed. Thank you for your time.” He waved Mitchelmore to the door and fell into step beside him.
“We need to speak with your children—purely routine—simply to check their recollections of the gathering yesterday evening.”
Mitchelmore halted and, glancing back at Penelope and Stokes, explained, “The only one of our children still living under this roof is our younger daughter, Geraldine. Lizbet is now Lady Brompton and can be found, no doubt, at Brompton House, and Byron and Hugh have lodgings in Duke Street.”
Penelope exchanged a glance with Stokes, then said, “It might not be necessary to speak with your older children. Geraldine might well be able to tell us all we need to know.”
Michelmore dipped his head to Penelope and Stokes. “I’ll send Geraldine in now.”
After exchanging a nod with Barnaby, Mitchelmore opened the door and left.
No more than two minutes later, a light rap on the open door had them rising to greet Geraldine Mitchelmore.
A pleasant-faced young lady, with her father’s black hair and blue eyes more like his than her mother’s, Geraldine was unfashionably tall and a touch mannish in build.
She was also widely held to be bookish, and her mother, Cleome, was known for dressing Geraldine in a particular shade of petunia in an attempt to catch gentlemen’s eyes.
Of course, today, Geraldine was gowned in somber black, and given her very pale skin and glossy black hair, the contrast was quite striking.
Penelope smiled encouragingly and gestured to the girl to join them. She suspected that Geraldine would prove to be an observer of other people, a hope bolstered by the way the girl readily glided forward, studying them as she came.
“Good afternoon.” Penelope directed Geraldine to the armchair opposite, and after exchanging polite nods with Barnaby and Stokes, Geraldine sank onto the cushions.
Resettling on the sofa, Penelope observed, “It seems quite unfair that your uncle’s death will put an end to your come-outs. Yours, Diana’s, and Tilly’s.”
Geraldine lightly grimaced and nodded, then, with a faint smile, met Penelope’s eyes. “To be perfectly candid, Mrs. Adair, while our mamas are no doubt dismayed at the disruption and delay, I’m not at all perturbed by the enforced hiatus, and I daresay neither are Tilly or Diana.”
Curious, for it was patently clear Geraldine was, indeed, speaking truthfully, Penelope cocked her head. “Why so?”
“We are, one might say, half out,” Geraldine said, “and given what we’ve seen thus far of the ton and the Marriage Mart, we really would prefer to have another year to look over the field, as it were, without the pressure of being officially out and, therefore, searching for a husband.”
“Ah.” Penelope smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I take your point.” She did, and her assessment of Geraldine’s intelligence rose several notches.
Before Penelope could pose any questions, Geraldine’s expression clouded and, her attitude respectful and sincere, she offered, “I was deeply sorry to hear of Winslow’s passing.”
Penelope waited, but Geraldine made no comment regarding her uncle’s demise.
Consequently, Penelope grasped the opportunity to elicit Geraldine’s view of the earl, which, unsurprisingly, mirrored that of all the others in the family with whom they’d spoken.
“He was aloof and distant,” Geraldine stated.
“Always. I can’t ever remember him freely interacting with us—the younger lot—or even with our parents.
At family gatherings, he was there, much like a column might be.
Not something anyone made an impression on nor something that contributed to the party. ”
She paused, then met Penelope’s gaze. “I know Grandmama—the dowager—felt it, Uncle Gordon’s distance from the rest of us, quite keenly. You could see it in the way her lips pinched whenever he said something dismissive about one of us. And he did that regularly.”
“I see.” Penelope was intrigued by the insight. “Now, one thing we need to check is the movement of your siblings during the evening. As they’re no longer living here, we were hoping you could help us establish their movements.” She met Geraldine’s blue gaze. “Let’s start with your sister, Lizbet.”
Geraldine readily supplied, “Lizbet came here earlier in the evening and went with Mama, Papa, and me in our carriage to Moran House. Brompton was otherwise engaged.”
Penelope questioned, and Geraldine confirmed that Lizbet did not leave the company at any point and that she departed Moran House with Geraldine and their parents and returned to Charles Street in the Mitchelmore carriage.
“As for Byron and Hugh,” Geraldine volunteered, “they were already in the drawing room when I walked in with Mama, Papa, and Lizbet.” Geraldine frowned slightly, plainly trawling through her memories, then her chin firmed, and she nodded.
“And I’m sure neither Byron nor Hugh left the company at any point.
” She confided to Penelope, “They’re both very fond of Grandmama, and they tend to hover beside her to help with anything she needs.
I can’t absolutely swear that neither slipped out for perhaps a minute, but I honestly don’t think either did.
Every time I glanced toward Grandmama, they were beside her, as usual. I would have noticed if they weren’t.”
Penelope could think of nothing else to ask.
She glanced at Barnaby and Stokes, and when both shook their heads slightly, she returned her gaze to Geraldine, smiled, and rose.
“Thank you. We have no further questions, and in light of your recollections, I doubt we’ll have to hunt down your brothers and sister. ”
Geraldine smiled and curtsied, and Penelope waved her to the door, then fell in beside her.
Barnaby and Stokes followed.
They emerged into the front hall to find Lady Cleome waiting, and after confirming that there was no one else they needed to speak with at Mitchelmore House, Penelope assured her ladyship that it was unlikely they would need to speak with the family again, and they took their leave.
On the pavement, Stokes halted and fixed Barnaby with a questioning look. “I know what we just told her ladyship, but should we confirm Byron’s and Hugh’s movements with the lads themselves?”
Penelope frowned. “I vote no.” She met Stokes’s and Barnaby’s gazes. “I trust Geraldine’s insights, and we have others to speak with who are more likely to have observed something relevant.”
Barnaby huffed. “Byron and Hugh sound like typical young gentlemen who spent the evening playing doting grandsons for their grandmother’s benefit.
” He smiled ruefully at Stokes. “I seriously doubt either one paid any attention to anyone else. I would be very surprised if they had anything useful to tell us.”
Stokes nodded. “You’ve convinced me.” He looked at Penelope. “So who’s next?”
“The household of Viscount Southerly,” she replied. “And Southerly House is in Mount Street.”
She waved at their waiting carriage and led the way.
As they climbed the steps of Southerly House, Penelope assumed that they would find a household much like the others they’d visited that day—fashionable, in some degree of respectable mourning, yet not really touched by the murder of the Earl of Moran.
Barnaby tugged the bell chain, and they waited.
And waited.
Frowning, Barnaby was reaching for the chain to tug it again when the door was flung wide, and without even looking at them, a panicked butler declared, “The family is not receiving!”
He started to shut the door, but Stokes stepped forward and leaned his shoulder against the panel, holding the door open.
The butler blinked at Stokes, who informed him, “I am Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard, and these”—he tipped his head toward Penelope and Barnaby, and finally, the butler followed his gaze—“are Mr. and Mrs. Adair, who are assisting in the investigation into the murder of the Earl of Moran. Whatever’s going on, I’m certain that the family is definitely at home to us. ”
For an instant, the butler stared at Penelope and Barnaby, then he blinked and, stiffly, stood aside. “Yes, of course. The master mentioned…” Still looking decidedly harassed, he cleared his throat and bowed them in.
Immensely curious, Penelope followed Stokes over the threshold.
His gaze downcast, the butler closed the door behind Barnaby, then waved them to the open drawing room doorway. “If you would take a seat, I’ll inform the master…although I really don’t know if he or the mistress will consent to come downstairs just now.”
“Good Lord, man!” Barnaby rapped out in a tone that had the butler drawing himself up. “What is going on?”
In a more normal voice, the butler replied, “It’s Master Theo, sir. He’s fallen quite dreadfully ill, and the doctor has just arrived…” The butler looked hopeful. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather call back at a later time?”
“Quite sure,” Penelope replied. “Please tell your master and mistress that we are here and wish to speak with them as soon as they are able to see us.”
“The doctor, too,” Stokes ordered. “He’s not to leave the house before speaking with us.”
Although transparently uncertain over the likely outcome, the butler nodded and hurried up the stairs, leaving them to find their own way into the drawing room.
Shaking her head, Penelope led the way. “How very odd.” She dropped onto the sofa and looked at Stokes. “How old is Theodore?”
Stokes pulled out his notebook and consulted the pages. “Fourteen. He’s the younger of Southerly’s sons. The older one, Vincent, is fifteen.”
Considering that, Penelope tipped her head. “I suppose it’s possible that it was just a piece of bad meat.”
“Except,” Barnaby said, sitting elegantly beside her, “that it seems no one else in the family has fallen ill.”