Chapter 10
T he following morning, after noting that the newspapers had sunk their teeth into the story of the murder of the Earl of Moran and, having also learned of the unexpected and mysterious death of the earl’s butler, were busy stitching the few facts they’d gleaned into a predictably sensational account, Penelope set out for Grosvenor Square and arrived at St. Ives House, on the square’s north side, promptly at ten-thirty.
Although it was rather early in the day for ton events, she knew she would find at least some of her usual sources gathered over the teacups.
While today’s morning tea was not one of the Cynster ladies’ regular at-homes, which drew a large crowd of connected ladies, given it was the height of the Season, she was nevertheless hopeful that a decent number of the family’s females would be present and prove sufficient for her needs.
On opening the front door, Hamilton, the butler, smiled upon her in welcome. “Mrs. Adair. The ladies will be especially pleased to see you, ma’am.”
Penelope walked into the black-and-white-tiled foyer. “Are they avidly following the latest news from Moran House?”
“Indeed, they are.”
After surrendering her bonnet and coat, smiling, Penelope waved Hamilton back. “I know my way.”
Hamilton half bowed, and she headed to the rear of the foyer and took the long corridor that led to the back parlor that had long been the favored haunt of the ladies of the house.
She walked through the open doorway and was pleased to find a goodly number of her favorite ladies—and her most useful sources of information—gathered in the comfortable chairs and on the sofas surrounding a central low table on which reposed a large and amply stocked tea tray.
“Penelope, dear!” Helena, the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, was the first to notice her. “My dear girl, how fortuitous. We were just speaking of Moran’s unexpected demise.”
Lady Osbaldestone, seated beside Helena, asked, “Dare we hope you’ve been called in, along with that handsome husband of yours and that inspector chap, Stokes?”
Penelope beamed at the circle of faces. As well as Helena and Therese Osbaldestone, of the older generation, Lady Horatia Cynster, Lady Celia Cynster, and Lady Louise Cynster were present, while the next generation was represented by Honoria, Duchess of St. Ives, Patience Cynster, and Alathea Cynster.
Joining the group, Penelope sat on a love seat beside Alathea and confirmed, “Indeed, we’re on the case. Along with Stokes, we’ve been asked to discover who killed the earl. And now, who poisoned his butler.”
“Poison, was it?” Patience arched her brows. “That hasn’t turned up in the papers as yet.”
“And one can imagine what a furor it will cause when it does.” Smiling, Honoria handed Penelope a cup of tea.
Accepting the cup and saucer, she sighed. “Yes, indeed. The whole case looks set to be a nine-days’ wonder.”
“So what can you tell us of the murder?” Helena inquired.
Penelope had long understood that sharing her knowledge of what had occurred was, in a way, a trade in exchange for what the ladies could and would tell her of the people involved.
She sipped, then lowered her cup and began, “Well, it started with the earl being found bludgeoned to death in his study. The murder weapon appears to have been a small marble bust that sat on a shelf behind the earl’s desk.
” She continued relating the known facts of the case, omitting all mention of Mary, Curtis, and Julian but including all the Fitzhugh family members into whom she was seeking greater insights.
After outlining the finding of the packet of poison and stating that the description of the purchaser of the poison would fit any of the six adult Fitzhugh males, she concluded with the tale of Theodore’s poisoning via a cigar from the box in the earl’s study and the subsequent finding that the box had been moved, although as yet, they hadn’t established by whom.
“And that,” she declared, “is where we stand at the moment.” She paused to take a sip of her tea and allow the ladies to make of the tale what they would, then she set down her cup and saucer and looked hopefully around the circle.
“What we most need at this point is a better understanding of the members of the Fitzhugh families—all those directly connected to the House of Moran.”
“Well”—Honoria glanced around the circle—“I don’t believe any of us can claim to be particularly close to any of the ladies involved.
” None of the others contradicted her, and she went on, “However, regarding the earl and his household, I’m equally sure we’ve all heard whispers and wondered ourselves about what, in fact, is going on. ”
Patience nodded. “At Moran House in particular.”
“Indeed.” Helena nodded sagely. “The oddity lies in that we are all aware the earldom has always been regarded as significantly wealthy, and we know of nothing that would indicate that has changed.”
Lady Osbaldestone offered, “The Moran estate has always featured as one of the ton’s most wealthy, as far back as any of us can remember.”
“Some noble families,” Helena said, “like the Cynsters and the Fitzhughs, have through many generations enjoyed very deep reserves stemming from the entailed landholdings and accumulated funds. Other houses are not so lucky, but usually, once an entailed estate reaches a certain worth, despite any minor hiccups generation to generation, such estates will usually remain financially solid and strong. With such wealth behind the family, there should never be any reason for pecuniary stress.”
Celia nodded. “Exactly.”
Lady Osbaldestone snorted. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Moran ought to be rolling in funds. Arthur, the late earl’s father, and his predecessors come to that, had a knack for managing their acres and expanding their wealth in various ways.”
“In a nutshell,” Horatia stated, “all the Fitzhughs should be, at the very least, well-off. Instead…”
“Instead,” Alathea supplied, “they all show those telltale signs that in anyone else would suggest the family is strapped for funds.”
Honoria shook her head. “It’s mystifying. There have been no sudden sales of properties or any of those indicators of retrenching, but the fact remains that none of the ladies—and as far as we know, none of the men of the family, either—present as being comfortable money-wise.”
“Mind you,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “they all hide it well, but it’s the little things that are impossible to conceal—like the carriage not being refurbished and the current countess, Victoria, barely entertaining at all.”
Horatia was nodding. “Certainly not on a par with what one would expect of Moran’s social or political rank.”
“Also of note,” Celia put in, “is that the countess is not active in supporting any charity.” She caught Penelope’s gaze. “These days, that’s rather odd.”
“There are not many who have been inside Moran House in recent years,” Helena said. “But those that have crossed the threshold mention outdated hangings and outmoded furniture.” She arched her brows at Penelope. “You must have been inside the house. So what did you see?”
Penelope thought back. “The earl’s study was…
exactly as one would expect. However…” After a moment studying her memories, she inclined her head.
“As usual, your information is correct. Victoria’s sitting room struck me as being particularly out of fashion—as if she hadn’t changed anything since first coming to the house.
The dowager only moved back to Moran House last year, so her sitting room isn’t so dated. ”
“The drawing room?” Patience asked.
Calling up her memories, Penelope surveyed what she recalled, then nodded. “In general, I focus on the people, of course, but again, you’re correct. The upholstery hasn’t been renewed for some time.”
“See?” Helena sat back. “It’s little things like that, minor details, perhaps, but taken together, they paint a picture we all interpret as penny-pinching.” She raised her hands, palms up. “But in the Fitzhughs’ case, why? The family coffers have to be overflowing, and yet…”
Penelope nodded. “I take your point. All of your points. Clearly, there is something strange going on financially.” They needed to learn what Montague and Thomas had found in that arena.
She refocused and scanned the circle of faces.
“So what can you tell me of the people involved? The members of the Fitzhugh family and those directly connected?”
“Well,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “you should know that the dowager countess is rather older than we are.” She tipped her head toward Helena and Horatia, who nodded. “So we’re not contemporaries and haven’t mixed with her as much as you might think.”
“That said,” Horatia put in, “she’s always been rather frail and, these days, appears to be fading quite quickly.”
Helena said, “She keeps to her own circle of old and close friends—a shrinking number, these days—and she no longer goes widely into society.”
“So you won’t see her at any balls, no matter how major,” Lady Osbaldestone stated.
Helena added, “What little I have heard over the years is that hers was an arranged marriage, but one that turned out very well. She was devoted to her Arthur, and he to her.”
“She was an earl’s daughter herself,” Lady Osbaldestone said, “and while the match was made for all the usual reasons, Imelda and Arthur simply suited. They worked very well as a couple on every plane.”
That, Penelope knew, was high praise, coming from the most feared of the ton’s grandes dames. “What about Victoria?” Penelope asked. “The current countess?”
The ladies conferred, and the most surprising aspect of their collective insights was that while they all knew Victoria to speak with, none of them knew much about her.
“She’s there,” Honoria said, “swanning about the ballrooms, much as one would expect, but beyond that, I have to confess she and I have never really engaged.”
The others’ expressions suggested their experience was similar.