Chapter 9
O nce again, Curtis found himself sitting alongside Mary Alder in the drawing room of the Adairs’ Albemarle Street home and watching Julian, who was peering out of the window, scanning the street.
Surreptitiously, Curtis glanced sidelong at the woman beside him. Although assured that she was no longer considered a suspect in the earl’s murder, Mary Alder still seemed tense, as if that reprieve could, at any time, be rescinded.
Knowing all he did of the capriciousness of the so-called justice system, Curtis reflected that he couldn’t blame her.
He could, however, reassure her. Choosing his words, in a matter-of-fact tone, he ventured, “I expect Stokes and the Adairs will have made some headway by now. I’m keen to hear what they’ve found so we can see where the information Julian and I turned up fits into the picture.”
Mary—he’d decided, circumstances being what they were, that he could think of her by her given name—turned to smile tentatively at him.
“Thank you for keeping Julian busy—for making him feel he’s actually contributing to the investigation.
” She glanced fondly at her son, then her expression sobered.
“It certainly seems a complicated affair, what with the earl’s involvement in business as well as politics. ”
“Truth to tell, he seems an odd fish all around,” Curtis said.
When Mary merely nodded and went back to staring at Julian, Curtis doggedly hunted for another tack. Eventually, he fell back on asking, “How are you finding living here? In this house?”
Happiness returned to Mary’s face, and he felt thoroughly vindicated.
“I don’t think,” she confided, “that we could have found a better, more agreeable temporary place. The house and household are comfortable in all respects, and the staff seem very accustomed to adjusting to the unexpected.”
Curtis grinned. “I can imagine that the staff here have learned to take all in their stride.”
“Indeed.” Mary paused, then went on, “Julian and I are very grateful to the Adairs for this chance to catch our breaths, as it were. And I’ve actually been enjoying myself, helping with Oliver and Pip—they’re such an engaging pair.”
“Don’t forget the hound, Roger,” Curtis warned.
Mary laughed, and his heart skipped a beat.
“I would never be allowed to forget Roger,” she agreed. “He’s constantly around the boys, and it’s lovely to see how they play with him.” Her gaze went to Julian. “We’ve never been able to have a pet, so growing up, Julian missed that.”
“He’s managed, regardless,” Curtis said. “He’s a fine lad. You did well with him.”
Her gaze on Julian, Mary’s smile held a wealth of maternal affection.
“I count myself lucky—he was always easy to teach. But, of course, it’s now been years since I’ve had to deal with small boys.
I’d forgotten what they’re like at that age, but I’ve discovered that I haven’t forgotten the tricks to managing them. ”
“I imagine, as curious as Julian is, he would have been a handful.”
“He was.” Pride and fondness colored Mary’s tone.
After a moment, her voice quieter, her gaze still on Julian, she went on, “His father spent most of his life at sea, so having Julian with me was a blessing. Without him, I would have been entirely alone.”
Her tone clearly stated that being alone wasn’t a state she liked.
Curtis hesitated, then, reasoning that she’d told him something of her past, he offered, “I know all about being alone.” He, too, looked across at Julian; it was easier to speak of matters like this that way.
“My mother was a washerwoman in Hackney. She was alone, too, before I came, and she tried her level best to do everything she could for me. Until the day she died, she was my most stalwart supporter. Now that she’s gone, even though I’ve gathered a good crew in the business and they’re around me every day, I live alone, and yes, I feel it.
” He paused, then, his voice even lower, added, “As if there’s something missing. ”
Glancing at Mary, he saw that she was regarding him with sympathy in her eyes.
“Not that I can complain,” he hurried to assure her.
“I’ve done well over the years, and now, I have a house in Red Lion Square.
” He paused, then confided, “Truth to tell, I bought the place, which is nice enough, because it seemed the sort of thing a man with a sound business should have. But I’m there, with Mrs. McGinnis, my cook-housekeeper, and Jilly, the maid who comes in, yet sometimes, I feel even more alone than I did when I was on my own in lodgings. ”
Mary nodded. “Oh, I know how that—a change in circumstances—can make one feel. It’s a bit like losing your moorings, and you drift for a while before new connections form.
That was one of the things I appreciated about my position with the dowager.
The staff—both the smaller group when we lived in Regent’s Square and the larger household at Moran House—were very settled, and they behaved more like a family of sorts.
” She gestured at the house around them.
“And the staff here are the same. There’s comfort in having others about who you know will support you, even if they’re not related. ”
Curtis nodded understandingly. “It’s odd, because you think you’ll get used to it—to being alone—but the older I get, the more I find that living all alone, while making life easier in that you don’t have to consider anyone else, leaves me with the definite feeling that, somehow, life lacks meaning. ”
Mary inclined her head. “That is so very true.” After a moment, she went on, “I can’t imagine how the staff at Moran House must be feeling, now that Winslow is gone. It has to have been a huge shock.”
“Aye,” Curtis said. “It would have been that. Especially as it seems likely that Winslow dying was pure accident, and it was the earl who was the real target. Seems he had his share of enemies.”
“It does,” Mary agreed.
Julian stiffened, then whirled from the window. His expression animated, he declared, “They’re here!”
Mary grinned and patted the sofa on her other side. “Come and join us, and let’s see if the Adairs and the inspector have any advances they’re willing to share.”
They heard the front door open and Mostyn’s brisk steps as he crossed the front hall, followed by the sounds of Barnaby’s voice and Penelope’s lighter tones.
Julian came to stand impatiently beside Mary and Curtis as they got to their feet.
Penelope swept in, closely followed by a strolling Barnaby.
On seeing them waiting, Penelope’s eyes gleamed. “Excellent! You’re all here. We need to tell you what we’ve learned and see what you can add.”
As she subsided onto the sofa facing Mary and Curtis, Penelope noted that the pair seemed increasingly comfortable with each other.
Fingers crossed. Unfortunately, they’re both too mature and independent to be prodded.
She didn’t like relying on propinquity to achieve her matchmaking aims, but in this case, she had to sit back and allow matters to progress as they would and at their own pace.
Drat.
As Barnaby joined her on the sofa, she regarded the three sitting opposite. “Just to be clear, we’re all in this together. Finding out who killed the earl is a joint endeavor, so please don’t hesitate to speak up if you think of anything pertinent or find anything we report strange or unexpected.”
Ruefully, Mary said, “I have to admit I’m still rather reeling after hearing of Winslow’s death.”
Barnaby responded, “I think almost everyone is. No one imagined anyone else in the household was at risk, so we’ve all been jolted by the unexpectedness of the poor man’s passing.”
From beside his mother, Julian piped, “He was all right, was old Winslow. A bit of a stick in the mud, but everyone in the place got on with him.”
His gaze on Julian and Mary, Barnaby asked, “Had there been any disagreements involving Winslow downstairs?”
Julian and Mary shook their heads. Mary elaborated, “In general, the household ran very smoothly. Winslow and Mrs. Pratchett saw to that. In our year at Moran House, there were no dramas, at least not downstairs, and even over the years we lived with the dowager in Regent’s Square, we would have got wind of any wranglings when we visited, which was often enough, yet I never heard of any ructions among the staff. ”
She looked at Julian, and he nodded. “Never heard of any problems. Everything ran as smooth as silk.”
Mostyn came in, carrying a salver which he proffered to Barnaby. “Two notes. Both arrived together just now at the back door.”
Barnaby picked up the missives and studied their faces. “One’s from Montague, and the other’s from Thomas.”
The doorbell pealed, and Mostyn hurried out into the hall. A second later, Stokes strode in, his expression rather grim.
Stokes nodded to Mary and Julian. “I’m glad you’ve joined us. We could use your insights into the household.” He shifted his gaze to Curtis and nodded. “Curtis. I hope you have something for us, because the pressure for an early arrest is ratcheting ever higher.”
“You were quick,” Penelope observed.
Stokes slumped into the armchair he usually chose.
“I escaped as quickly as I could. Nevertheless, the Commissioner managed to buttonhole me. I think he was lying in wait. Apparently, he’s been fielding pointed questions from all levels of government and Parliament and, now, the newspaper editors.
According to the Commissioner, the newspapers are currently of most concern. ”
Shifting his gaze to Barnaby, Stokes went on, “It seems your father and the other governors have gone in to bat for us. They’re attempting to fend off the loudest voices and give us some breathing space to find the earl’s killer.”
Barnaby brandished the notes. “These just arrived from Montague and Thomas. I was about to see what they’ve found.”
Stokes gestured for Barnaby to get on with it.