Chapter 12
P leased on one score and confounded on the other, Barnaby and Penelope left Stokes to make his report to the Commissioner and returned home.
They’d only just shed their coats into Mostyn’s arms when the doorbell pealed.
Mostyn set aside their coats and opened the door, revealing Montague and Violet, standing with Thomas and Rose on the porch.
Penelope beamed and waved the four inside. “You’re exceedingly prompt. Come in.” She and Violet touched cheeks, then Penelope did the same with Rose. Stepping back, Penelope arched her brows. “No children?”
With a glance at Montague and Thomas, who were being welcomed by Barnaby, Violet replied, “We decided this case sounds too serious.”
“And in discussing it, we’ll do better without distraction,” Rose concluded.
Penelope nodded. “I agree. We’ll need our wits fully focused to unravel this mystery. We need to look beyond the facts, and I’m very glad you two came. The situation is quite complicated, and fresh insights will be valuable.”
The knocker was plied again, and Mostyn admitted Stokes and Griselda, also unaccompanied by their children. The ladies spent a few minutes exchanging greetings, then the door at the rear of the hall swung open, and Mary Alder and Julian joined the gathering, with Curtis bringing up the rear.
“Good!” Penelope clapped her hands. “We’re all here.”
She waited while Barnaby introduced Mary and Julian to Montague, Thomas, Rose, Violet, and Griselda; Curtis was already known to all those there.
Then Penelope gestured with both hands toward the drawing room. “Shall we get settled and commence our deliberations?”
With expectant smiles, everyone filed into the drawing room and settled in what had become their customary places.
Extra chairs had been added to the circle for Julian and Curtis, and Penelope drew Mary to sit beside her and Barnaby on one of the sofas.
Violet, Rose, and Griselda settled on the sofa opposite, while Stokes, Thomas, and Montague availed themselves of the three armchairs that, with the additions for Julian and Curtis, formed an arc between the ends of the sofas, facing the fireplace.
“First,” Barnaby said, “to bring everyone up to date with the latest developments, Christopher Fitzhugh and Victoria Fitzhugh have been arrested and charged—Christopher with the murder of Winslow and the attempted murder of the late earl, and Victoria with a second but connected and coincident attempt to murder the earl.”
Everyone bar Barnaby, Stokes, and Penelope looked shocked. A weak “Good heavens” and similar exclamations came from various throats.
“That’s a turn-up,” Curtis observed, summing up the general reaction.
Into the ensuing silence, Stokes added, “The Commissioner has reviewed our evidence and approved the charges. Consequently, from the investigation’s perspective, the poisoning case is dealt with and done.”
“Perhaps,” Thomas allowed. “But such charges, such crimes, are going to cause a significant amount of uneasiness among the ton.”
Penelope inclined her head. “Indeed.”
Stokes sighed and gloomily prophesized, “And that will only strengthen the voices clamoring for us to declare who actually killed Moran forthwith! If only it was that easy.”
“So”—Montague surveyed Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope—“where has the investigation got to with regard to the murderer?”
“We’re still unclear as to the motive behind the attack that killed the earl,” Barnaby stated.
Penelope said, “Independently, Victoria and Christopher stated that their murderous intentions were driven by the earl subjecting them to long-standing monetary pressure.” She tipped her head toward Montague and Thomas.
“Montague and Thomas saw evidence of that in the earldom’s accounts.
In essence, the earl behaved toward Victoria, Christopher, and all the rest of his family in an extremely miserly, penny-pinching fashion, despite the earldom being exceedingly flush with funds.
Neither Victoria nor Christopher had any real idea of why the earl elected to behave as he did, and in lieu of any understandable reason or explanation, they both assumed his motivation arose from a vengeful form of meanness.
That he did as he did because he enjoyed making their lives a constant financial and social struggle. ”
Barnaby nodded. “They saw his behavior as a vindictive exercise of personal power.”
Thomas and Montague exchanged a glance, then Montague said, “As to that, we can confirm that three of the branches of the family—the Frederick Fitzhughs, the Mitchelmores, and Christopher Fitzhugh—are in debt. In Frederick’s and Christopher’s cases, significant debt.
Both are in deep with creditors and increasingly desperate for respite.
Mitchelmore’s case is less fraught. We understand he approached the earl for a loan in order to buy out the co-owners of a factory that he and the co-owners jointly operate in Leeds. ”
“The other owners want to sell,” Thomas stated, “but the factory is a sound business, and Mitchelmore is right in trying to hold on to it. The factory has its best days ahead of it, and for him, retaining ownership would be the better option. However, the earl refused. That meant Mitchelmore was forced to take out a sizable mortgage at business rates, which are quite high.”
Thomas glanced at the others. “In short, Mitchelmore has been forced into significant debt by the earl’s intransigence, but Mitchelmore is not yet at the point of sinking beneath the burden, and it’s possible he’ll manage well enough.
However, both Frederick and Christopher are well out of their depth and floundering. ”
“So,” Stokes said, “potentially, the earl’s death benefits them all.”
Thomas and Montague responded in unison, “Unquestionably.”
Thomas went on, “As I expected, Viscount Southerly and his family are in rude financial health. More, it’s widely known that Southerly severely disapproved of how Moran dealt financially with the other Fitzhughs.
Consequently, Southerly has been almost fanatically careful over keeping his family financially separate from the earldom.
Also, Southerly’s sons are as yet too young to be any real drain on his coffers.
The Southerly family are the only branch connected to the Fitzhugh tree with no financial problems.”
Thomas looked at Montague as if passing a baton.
Montague obligingly picked up the tale. “While the Southerlys have nothing to worry about, the same cannot be said of the young gentlemen of the family, meaning the four who are already on the town. Although none are in absolutely dire straits yet, their debts are steadily mounting and have been for some time. The more pressing issue is that, when combined with the other pending demands on their fathers’ purses—Frederick with his large household and four daughters to present to the ton, and Mitchelmore with his household, a daughter to present this year, and a hefty unexpected mortgage—the younger men’s debts pile yet more pressure on their fathers’ ability to manage and would, of themselves, constitute a growing concern. ”
“Another financial straw for the camels’ backs?” Penelope asked.
Montague nodded. “Indeed.”
“What you’re suggesting,” Stokes said, “is that, setting aside Christopher Fitzhugh, Frederick Fitzhugh and Mitchelmore had the most to gain from the earl’s death.”
“Assuming that Frederick, when he inherits, will be freer with the earldom’s funds, then yes.” Montague looked at Penelope and Barnaby. “And by all accounts of Frederick’s character, that he will be more receptive to assisting with family debts is a reasonable assumption.”
Barnaby said, “I can see that Curtis has something to report, but before we leave the financial realm”—Barnaby looked at Thomas—“did you uncover anything more about Moran’s investing?”
Thomas grinned. “I’m glad you asked, because I’m quite pleased with myself that I managed to learn what I have.
While my assistants pursued the paperwork, I tracked down two investors who, in the past, had joined Moran in separate investments.
Neither have any current association with him, and both were happy to share their views of him as an investor. ”
“And?” Stokes prompted.
“Essentially, both told the same story. Namely, that Moran was a careful and rather possessive investor, always wanting to know every last little detail and insisting on being kept informed of every financial and also operational decision.” Thomas glanced around the circle of faces.
“That level of involvement by an investor is unusual. My sources said that Moran always drove a hard bargain and, in their view, was himself driven to ensure his chosen project—the one in which he’d invested capital—succeeded.
Indeed, they maintained he was obsessed with success to an extraordinary degree.
While the two projects my sources had helped fund were wildly successful, both men had heard of other projects that Moran had backed that had failed, in some cases spectacularly, and they suggested that his current behavior was in reaction to those past failures. ”
Stokes narrowed his eyes. “Any hint of anyone likely to bear a grudge because of one of those past failures?”
“Or Moran’s obsessiveness with regard to his current projects?” Barnaby added.
Thomas shook his head. “No. And I would say that, in general, with company failures, the shoe would be on the other foot. Meaning as an investor who’d lost money, Moran might bear significant ill will toward those involved in the failed project.”
Montague was nodding. “That’s usually the way risky ventures play out—it’s buyer beware, quite literally.”