Chapter 10 #3
Julian’s eyes lit, and Curtis readily sank into the armchair.
Swift steps heralded Barnaby and Stokes, closely followed by Mostyn and the new footman, Henry, both bearing large platters stacked with sandwiches.
Barnaby and Stokes stood back to allow Mostyn and Henry to place the platters on the low table between the circle of sofas and chairs, then, as the majordomo and footman departed, Barnaby moved with Stokes to sit on the sofa facing Penelope and Mary.
“Is that chicken?” Stokes peered at the sandwiches on top of the pile.
“Cook said she’d send up chicken and cucumber, and egg and celery, and a few other combinations.” Penelope picked up the top sandwich from the nearest platter. “I warn you. She’s been experimenting.”
Henry rushed in with a stack of plates and napkins, and they all made their selections and sat back to munch.
After one bite, Curtis studied the sandwich he held. “Whatever’s in this, it’s delicious.”
“Hmm” came from several throats.
Barnaby had noticed that both Julian and Curtis had an eagerness about them that suggested they’d turned up something noteworthy.
He set his half-eaten sandwich on his plate.
“Let me report first.” He caught Curtis’s eyes.
“My information on Moran’s political foes might connect with Curtis and Julian’s findings. ”
The ready nods from Curtis and Julian suggested Barnaby’s guess had been right.
He duly reported, “I spoke to my father, and he said that while Moran was not well-liked by his peers—my father among them—he was widely tolerated, primarily because he seemed to have interesting ideas. In general, people were willing to listen to him explain and expound. However, those interesting ideas largely revolved around the tighter regulation of labor, and through his speeches in the Lords and elsewhere, Moran had painted himself as something of a target for the various labor movements.”
Mostyn arrived, carrying a tray with mugs of ale for the men and cider for the ladies and Julian.
Barnaby paused while the drinks were handed around, then sipped his ale, lowered the mug, and went on, “According to my father, Moran’s efforts to regulate and reduce workers’ rights had reached the point that, if some of the labor movements’ more rabid adherents had learned of the proposals the earl intended to advance this parliamentary term, then to believe that he was attacked and killed by someone sent by those rabid adherents doesn’t require any great stretch of the imagination.
“So,” he concluded, reaching for his plate, “no sign of any clash among his peers, but him being killed by someone sent by one of the labor movements is a definite possibility.”
His expression serious, Curtis nodded. “Just so.” He glanced at Julian.
“It took a bit of finagling, but eventually, we persuaded the earl’s coachman it was better to talk to us than the police.
Seems he—the coachman—was approached on Monday night by a man saying he spoke for the secretary of the dockworkers’ union.
The man said he wanted to know if there was any dirt the coachman knew of that might be used to persuade the earl to drop his more reactionary views.
It seems it was that man who was seen by others leaving the mews that night. ”
Curtis nodded encouragingly at Julian.
Julian swallowed a mouthful of sandwich, then piped, “I found the jarvey that took the cove from the end of the mews to, it seemed, his home. I gave Mr. Curtis the address.”
Curtis glanced at Stokes. “I’m thinking I’ll drop around later this evening and have a word to see what the situation is, but on the face of it, this man—who I think must be Nate Samuel—was speaking with the earl’s coachman all through the time the earl was being murdered in his study.
According to the coachman, Samuel appeared at about nine-thirty and left just before the bells tolled for ten o’clock.
” To Stokes, who, with a sandwich in one hand, was juggling his notebook on his knee and scribbling, Curtis added, “That fits with when the others farther up the mews saw Samuel—assuming it was him—walking by.”
Stokes looked at Curtis. “You know what to look for?”
Curtis faintly smiled. “Any suggestion Samuel was keeping the coachman talking while an accomplice finished off the earl in the study.”
Stokes grinned. “Just so.”
Barnaby looked at Julian. “The jarvey you mentioned—he only took up one man? Not two?”
“Just the one,” Julian assured them. “And I asked specially. He—the jarvey—said as only one man walked out of the mews. He was waiting on the box seat of his hackney directly opposite the entrance to the mews, and he saw the man coming out of the shadows. He didn’t see anyone else around.”
“I’ll see what I can learn,” Curtis rumbled, “but for my money, and knowing how thorough young Julian here is, there was no other man lurking about Moran House at that time. Only Samuel.”
Stokes grunted. “Watch yourself when you go to see him.”
“Don’t worry,” Curtis mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed and added, “He and I have met before.”
Stokes huffed, then reported, “Findlay sends his compliments, along with the information that the cigars were, indeed, poisoned with strychnine, and apparently, it was very craftily done.”
Leaning forward, Stokes set his empty plate on the table, then sat back.
“According to Findlay, who seemed quite impressed, the cap sealing the end of the cigar had been removed, a solution of concentrated poison applied to the rolled leaves, and the cap reattached. All very neat. Findlay examined the cigar Theodore started smoking, and Findlay says that not being an experienced cigar smoker, the lad had cut off the entire cap, so there was only the barest trace of the poison remaining. If Theodore hadn’t, in his inexperience, overtrimmed the cap—and no connoisseur would—his first puff would unequivocally have killed him. ”
“So the cigars were an even more serious threat than the whiskey,” Penelope observed.
Stokes nodded. “It seems so.”
“Whiskey or a cigar.” Barnaby met Penelope’s eyes. “Whichever Moran chose that night, he was slated to die.”
“Except,” Penelope said, “someone else killed him first.”
“At least,” Stokes said, “courtesy of Penelope’s quick thinking, we have all the poisoned elements contained.
They’re no longer a threat to anyone. Sadly, however, now that the newspapers have got the bit between their teeth, the pressure to solve the case quickly is mounting, and it’ll continue to grow with every passing day.
The Commissioner is being as understanding as he can be and acting as a bulwark of sorts against the press—as are the governors—but for us, the clock is definitely ticking, and we need to make some progress in identifying actual suspects and building a sound case against them. ”
“In respect of identifying suspects,” Penelope said, “the information I gathered from my usual sources this morning might be helpful.”
Stokes nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
“The conversation wandered somewhat, as such discussions do, so I’ll endeavor to summarize,” Penelope said.
“First, among the ladies present, there was a general puzzlement regarding the family’s financial state.
On the one hand, all there were convinced the earldom should be significantly wealthy, and no one knows of any factual evidence that suggests otherwise, meaning there have been no sudden sales of property or whispers of similar divestments to realize funds.
However, contradicting that view, over the past several years at least, the ladies of the ton have gradually become aware of the signs normally associated with straitened circumstances being increasingly displayed by members of the Fitzhugh family.
” She glanced at Stokes and Curtis. “For instance, the countess, Victoria, entertains at a level that is considered decidedly subpar for Moran’s social rank.
Also curious is that the countess is not active in supporting any known charity, which, these days, is distinctly odd, especially when judged against Moran’s parliamentary rank.
“And then there are the signs like carriages not being replaced or refurbished to generally accepted ton standards, and outdated hangings and outmoded furniture, even in the reception rooms of Moran House.” Looking at Stokes, Penelope said, “Those might be minor details, but taken together, they create a picture of thriftiness being doggedly and consistently pursued, but in the case of the Fitzhughs, for no apparent reason.”
Penelope glanced at Mary. “Mary’s dismissal is a case in point.
It’s a reduction in expenses for which there appears to be no rationale or reason.
The dowager is known to be frail and of an age when she would be expected to have a companion, as indeed, until recently, she did.
” Penelope looked at Stokes and Barnaby and concluded, “All in all, there seems to be some financial situation in effect that impacts the earldom’s coffers or, at least, the flow of money from those, but no one has any notion of what such a situation could be. ”
She paused, then went on, “The ladies also made clear that Moran’s attitude in not assisting his brothers, especially Frederick, his heir apparent, while legally excusable, is not considered socially correct.
Frederick, and William after him, are the heirs to the earldom, and accepted practice is that Moran should have ensured they lived in appropriate comfort and style.
Further, the odd lack of funds is affecting the younger generation—both the males who are out on the town and, even more, the three girls who are about to be presented. ”
Meeting Barnaby’s eyes, she explained, “Of all the signs suggesting that something is financially amiss within the earldom, that Imogen, Cleome, and Constance are planning a combined come-out ball for their three daughters, and they aren’t planning on using the ballroom at Moran House, which is apparently perfect for such an occasion, is unquestionably the most telling sign of all. ”
Mary shifted, and when the others glanced her way, she said, “I heard the…argument. Between the earl and the three ladies. They tried to persuade him to allow them to use the Moran House ballroom—and it is, indeed, a gorgeous room, albeit now thick with dust—but he said it had been shut up too long, and he was not of a mind to authorize the…” Mary closed her eyes and said, “In his words, ‘the necessary expenditure to bring it up to snuff.’” She opened her eyes and shook her head.
“Not even for three of his nieces at once.”
Stokes, who had been jotting, glanced at Barnaby. “We definitely need those reports from Montague and Thomas.”
Barnaby nodded. “Given the direction in which the information’s pushing us, we should go over there and see what they’ve turned up so far.” He met Penelope’s gaze. “What you’ve heard might nudge them onto the right track.”
“Indeed, but there’s one other potentially highly pertinent fact that I learned this morning.
” She caught Stokes’s gaze. “When I asked about Christopher Fitzhugh, I created a spot of bother in that the ladies were unsure how to explain what they’ve seen.
It’s a bit like the financial issue—a case of seeing the effects, the symptoms, but not being able to identify the cause.
In short, all the ladies—and I suspect one might say, all the ton—have noticed a link of sorts between Christopher and Victoria, but no one believes it has a romantic basis.
Everyone sees it as a type of friendship, and when I pressed, all agreed it was more as if Christopher and Victoria were working together toward some shared goal. ”
Mary leaned forward. “The staff at Moran House have seen the same thing. The countess and Christopher are definitely friends—they’re forever sitting chatting together or whispering to each other.
The staff put it down to them being closer in age to each other than to the earl and so having more similar interests and so on. ”
“Has Christopher always lived at Moran House?” Stokes asked.
Mary nodded. “As far as I know. He’s certainly lived there for the past ten years I’ve been with the dowager.
” She paused, then chin firming, added, “That said, I can assure you that the staff never caught even a hint of them being lovers or anything even approaching that.” She tipped her head toward Penelope.
“Mrs. Adair’s sources have reported exactly what the staff have seen. ”
“Good to know,” Stokes replied.
“One last thought of my own,” Penelope said.
“When I was listening to the ladies struggling to explain what they’d observed with Christopher and Victoria, the word that leapt to my mind was ‘coconspirators.’” She met Stokes’s gaze.
“That seemed the most accurate description of Christopher and Victoria’s relationship. ”
Leaning forward, his gaze on Penelope, Stokes snagged the last sandwich left on the nearer platter. “Coconspirators, you say. To what end?”
Grimly, Penelope smiled. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Is it an innocent end or something more sinister?”
Stokes consumed the sandwich in two bites.
He swallowed, flipped his notebook shut, then looked at the others.
“While I’m sure we’re all tempted to speculate, in this case, we have little leeway and no time to follow possibilities, no matter how tantalizing.
With the pressure escalating, we need to focus on gathering facts. ”
“In that case”—Barnaby uncrossed his long legs and stood—“let’s head to Montague’s and Thomas’s offices. Regardless of who is behind the poisonings, the financial situation afflicting the House of Moran is shaping up to be their motive.”