Chapter 9 #2
Smiling, Barnaby broke the seal of the first missive, spread the single sheet, and read, “Montague states that he does not have detailed knowledge of the earl’s financial affairs, but he knows the earl’s man of business and will speak with him tomorrow.
Montague’s understanding is that the earl and the earldom are in sound and solid financial health.
However, he’s not so sure about the minor branches of the family.
He has heard that Frederick Fitzhugh is strapped for funds, and there have been rumors regarding Christopher Fitzhugh as well.
And a connection—Lord Mitchelmore—is currently attempting to buy out several co-owners of a factory in Leeds and is known to be seeking funds.
The younger Fitzhughs are also not free of financial woes.
However, at this point, all the above is merely scuttlebutt, and Montague cannot say how serious any of the gentlemen’s difficulties are.
He’s spoken with Thomas, and between them, they will endeavor to answer that question over the next day. ”
Barnaby set aside that letter and opened the second one.
He spread the sheet, read, and reported, “Thomas confirms all Montague has written and adds that initial inquiries have suggested that, financially speaking, both Frederick and Christopher are sailing very close to the wind. Whether either is in danger of capsizing, Thomas cannot yet say, but he notes the possibility is there. About the earl, however, Thomas can confirm that, over the last decades, more or less since succeeding to the title, the earl has been investing in what Thomas labels ‘high-risk ventures.’ That said, overall, Thomas judges that the earl has been surprisingly successful, and he appears to have been deeply involved in several recent schemes concerning industrial innovations. Thomas says he will concentrate on learning more about those investments tomorrow.”
Stokes blew out a breath. “Right. Well, obviously, during our interviews with the various family members, there’s been rather a lot of skirting around financial difficulties.”
Mildly, Barnaby pointed out, “We didn’t actually ask about their financial state, but now we know more?—”
“And,” Penelope put in, “now we know more about the earl’s parsimonious habits.”
Barnaby inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Clearly, we’ll need to speak with at least the male members of the family again.”
In his growly rumble, Curtis said, “You might want to wait until Glendower and Montague give you more information. Then you’ll know what you’re dealing with. Otherwise, you’re trusting these jokers to tell you the truth, and that, in my experience, is often a waste of time.”
Stokes was nodding. “Best we know at least some of the answers before we ask those questions.”
Penelope glanced around the circle of faces. “Let’s review what we know so far.”
Between them, she, Barnaby, and Stokes summarized their findings, covering the events of the day and their various interviews. They revisited their assumptions, namely, that Winslow was poisoned via the whiskey in the earl’s decanter, which Stokes said Findlay had now confirmed.
“That,” Stokes stated, “means that we can take it as read that the poison was, in fact, meant for the earl.”
Penelope continued by describing the search for the source of the poison that had resulted in the packet of poison being found in Frederick’s old room.
“Mrs. Pratchett is adamant that Frederick hasn’t been in that room for decades, let alone since last Thursday, which was the day on which the packet was purchased. ”
Mary frowned. “I’m sure Frederick hasn’t been in the house since the week before last. Not until he arrived for the dinner.
” She met Stokes’s gaze. “I can be certain because, whenever he calls, he always—invariably—comes to see the dowager. He was the most caring of her sons, and as I was always by her side during the day, I would know if he was in the house.”
Pleased, Stokes scribbled in his notebook.
“Every bit of corroborative detail helps.” He glanced at Barnaby and Penelope.
“That negates the possibility that, even if he wasn’t the one who bought the stuff, Frederick handled the packet at some point and, afterward, hid it in the drawer in his old room. ”
Penelope nodded. “More and more, the placing of the packet of poison appears to be a bid to implicate Frederick as the poisoner.”
All agreed with that conclusion.
Refocusing on Curtis, Mary, and Julian, Penelope went on, “We know Frederick wasn’t the one who bought the poison because the packet carried the chemist shop’s label. It was bought from Chifley’s Chemist Shop.”
Julian sat up. “That’s in Piccadilly. Not far away.”
Smiling, Barnaby nodded. “Indeed. We called on Chifley, and the assistant who served the gentleman who purchased the poison described the man, and later, the assistant confirmed for us that gentleman wasn’t Frederick.”
“You took the assistant to see Frederick Fitzhugh?” Curtis asked.
“The other way around,” Stokes said. “And while the assistant was sure the purchaser wasn’t Frederick, he was also certain that the purchaser looked very like Frederick. The assistant is adamant that he would know the man if he saw him again.”
“That’s useful.” Curtis narrowed his eyes. “But from what Julian and I have seen of the family, Frederick’s description could fit any of the adult Fitzhugh males.”
“Indeed,” Barnaby said. “And until we have more by way of motive or other evidence to point to the right man, we can’t simply troop them all through the shop.”
“Even if the assistant identified the Fitzhugh involved, it would end up being the assistant’s word against that of a member of a noble family.” Penelope pursed her lips. “Not an easy case to make before a judge.”
Mary’s expression cleared. “Ah. Yes, I see.”
“But,” Penelope said, “we’ve skipped ahead of ourselves.
To return to our first interview, which was with Frederick and Imogen.
” In broad terms, she summarized what they’d learned.
“Frederick was also happy to show me a letter he’d written, with a signature, so even before we took him to see the chemist’s assistant, I was certain he wasn’t the poisoner.
The signature in the poison register might read F.
Fitzhugh, but it was written by someone else. ”
She continued, describing the outcome of their visit to Charles Street and the Mitchelmore family. “Again, the earl’s tightfistedness with regard to the family featured.”
Penelope noticed a fleeting expression in Mary’s open countenance, as if some suspicion had been confirmed. Fixing her gaze on Mary’s face, Penelope asked, “Have you seen anything of that?”
Mary hesitated, then straightened and said, “Not specifically about that, but the earl demonstrating a generally parsimonious nature, certainly. For instance, he ran only one household staff—one butler, one housekeeper, four footmen, a senior and junior coachman, and one groom, one stableman, and so on. When the earl and the rest of the immediate family move to the country, to Moran Place in Gloucestershire, all the staff move, too.”
Penelope let her surprise show, and Mary nodded. “I can confirm that, at present, the only staff at Moran Place are an ancient stableman and two maids-of-all-work from local families.”
“So”—Penelope frowned—“Moran Place is essentially closed up.”
Mary went on, “I’ve never worked with any other noble family, so I didn’t know that was unusual, but Mrs. Pratchett and Winslow frequently grumbled over the dislocation whenever they had to move house, and after we came to live at Moran House, both explained that there should be, at the very least, a housekeeper and a small skeleton staff including a younger underbutler left at Moran Place.
As matters stand, every June and November, when the household moves to the country, and every February and September, when they come back to town, there’s chaos and upheaval among the staff as they rush to get the respective house opened up while shutting down the other.
” She paused, then glanced at Julian. “We experienced that for the first time last summer, and it was a discombobulating time for the staff.”
Stokes looked up from his notebook at Penelope. “I take it that—having only the one staff—is unusual.”
Her expression distinctly disapproving, Penelope stated, “Very. For a noble house of that rank, it’s…well! I can’t think of any comparable family who would dream of doing that.”
“So,” Stokes said, “that’s another thing the earl stinted on. ‘Tightfisted’ seems to have been his middle name.”
Penelope inclined her head and went on, “The final household we called on was the Southerlys’, and there we came across another, totally unexpected twist to our tale.”
Barnaby explained how they’d learned that Theodore had been poisoned, and according to his doctor, it was, again, due to strychnine.
Julian looked horrified. “Is Theo all right?”
Curtis was equally stunned. “Good Lord! How did the youngster get hold of the stuff?”
“Indeed,” Barnaby replied, “and yes, Julian, Theo is expected to recover fully within a few days. But from his brother, Vincent, we had it confirmed that, as their older male cousins had told us, all six of the earl’s nephews were in the habit of pilfering this and that from the study and have been doing so for years.
On Monday evening, while everyone else, including the earl, was in the drawing room, Vincent and Theodore slipped into the study.
They didn’t find any cash lying about—which was confirmed by George, who looked later—so instead, Vincent and Theodore helped themselves to a cigar each from the earl’s cigar box. ”
With an eloquent shudder, Penelope continued, “This morning, Theodore lit his and took one puff and started choking and stopped. Stopping at that point saved him, so although he became quite ill, he is recovering.”