Chapter 14
T hey found Jeffrey hovering in the front hall and sent him to request an audience with the dowager.
He returned almost instantly. “The dowager says she’ll see you now.”
The immediate reply put Penelope on her guard, and after they’d climbed the stairs and she entered the dowager’s sitting room, she knew her instincts were sound.
The second she laid eyes on the old lady, sitting upright in her Bath chair beside the fireplace, the shawl over her knees militarily straight, and her chin raised in a challenging manner, Penelope felt sure that the dowager had been expecting them.
Unlike the previous occasion when they’d been in that room, today, the curtains over only one window had been drawn back, leaving much of the room wreathed in soft shadows, yet plainly by design, the dowager sat in a shaft of early-afternoon light as if signaling that she had nothing to hide.
Indeed, a sense of serenity cloaked the old lady; she seemed at peace with herself, confidently so, yet her assurance was mellowed by a tinge of… was it rueful regret?
Feeling the gravity of the situation settle on her shoulders, Penelope halted and waited just inside the door until Barnaby and Stokes joined her, and Jeffrey drew the door shut. Then, with an innocuous smile on her lips, she walked forward.
On reaching the armchair angled toward the dowager’s chair, Penelope curtsied. “Ma’am. Thank you for obliging us.”
With a smile of gentle yet apparently sincere pleasure, the dowager inclined her head. “Mrs. Adair.” The dowager waved her to the armchair.
Barnaby had followed Penelope, and the dowager inclined her head to him, acknowledging his bow, then she smiled at Stokes, as having halted deeper in the room, he straightened from his obeisance. “Well met, Mr. Adair. Inspector.”
Barnaby didn’t sit but took up a stance behind Penelope’s chair, while Stokes elected to remain at a distance, almost swallowed by the shadows nearer the door.
After settling in the chair, with increasing wariness, Penelope met the dowager’s faded-blue eyes. The awareness she detected there had her dispensing with caution. “You know why we’re here.”
A statement, not a question; the dowager took it as such, and graciously, she inclined her head.
“I knew this moment would come the instant I learned that you and your husband were assisting with this case. You”—her gaze shifted to include Stokes—“and the inspector have made quite a name for yourselves.” The curve of the dowager’s lips deepened.
“I was confident you would figure it out.”
Penelope allowed, “We believe we have, yet…it would help to hear your reasons for why you picked up that marble bust and smashed in your son Gordon’s skull.”
The dowager’s lips faintly twitched. “It was rather dramatic, wasn’t it?
But ladies are a great deal less squeamish than society likes to paint us.
My only regret was that I hadn’t known that Mary was scheduled to deliver the list of my engagements to the study at ten o’clock.
If I had, I would have delayed my action until such time as she was no longer in contention as the murderer.
” The dowager met Penelope’s gaze. “It was never my intention to have dear Mary caught up in the killing. Please do assure her of that and of my continuing regard for her and Julian.”
Penelope nodded. “I’ll tell them.”
She waited, but from the dowager’s expression, the old lady was in no hurry to reveal her reasons. Not unless they asked the right questions; she was waiting to see them perform. Accepting that, Penelope ventured, “Why, exactly, did you arrange the dinner on Monday evening?”
Her gaze on Penelope’s face, the dowager tipped her head. After a moment, still steadily regarding Penelope, the dowager stated, “That’s not where or when this story starts.”
Penelope widened her eyes. “When does it start, then?”
“Many years ago,” the dowager replied. “Beside my husband’s deathbed.”
“The previous earl?”
The dowager nodded. “Yes. My Arthur. He passed in 1824, when Gordon was thirty-seven years old. Gordon’s first wife, Ursula, had died seven years before that.
Sadly, their marriage lasted only three years before a fever took her, and as a way of recovering from the loss, Gordon grew increasingly absorbed with investing. ”
Her gaze growing distant, the dowager paused as if surveying the events of the past. “Initially, Arthur and I viewed Gordon’s early successes with some pride, but by the time Arthur was fading, he had already detected symptoms of what he—Arthur—referred to as ‘that damned trait.’ He meant a family trait, one he’d seen in one of his uncles and also one of his brothers.
The trait was, in essence, an obsessive nature, where the pursuit of one endeavor overrides all other considerations.
Those affected feel perfectly justified in focusing on only that one thing and neglecting all else. ”
The dowager’s chin rose, and she went on, “Arthur knew, of course, that Gordon would inherit the title and become the earl and that, therefore, the responsibility for the well-being of all those dependent on the earldom would fall to him. However, in his final days, Arthur began to fear that Gordon was afflicted by the trait and would grow obsessed with his single endeavor, that being, for Gordon, investing, and progressively and increasingly, Gordon would neglect all his other responsibilities.”
She paused for a moment, then looked at Penelope.
“I was the daughter of an earl, and, like Arthur, I was brought up to understand and accept—indeed, revere—the concept of a nobleman’s familial responsibility.
Because of his experiences with his uncle and brother, Arthur honored that calling above all else.
He knew in his bones how important supporting and nurturing one’s family was. ”
When the dowager fell silent, Penelope guessed, “You made a promise.”
The dowager nodded. “I did. Just before he passed, in his very last hour, Arthur asked me to promise that I would ensure that the Fitzhugh family—the family he and I had built—did not fall victim to ‘that damned trait.’” Steadily, the dowager held Penelope’s gaze.
“I gave Arthur my word that I would ensure that the Fitzhugh family thrived.”
Penelope held her tongue and waited.
After several seconds, the dowager lowered her gaze, then she sighed and eased back in her chair.
“The crux of the problem was that I didn’t appreciate that Victoria was no Ursula.
Ursula understood about family, and although she and Gordon didn’t have any children, she was devoted to the next generation of Fitzhughs, and she was able to influence Gordon to a significant degree.
While Ursula was alive, I had reason to believe that all was well and Gordon had been drawn back from succumbing to the trait.
Then Ursula died, and in the aftermath, Gordon deteriorated, leading to Arthur’s fear and my promise to him.
My first act—mine and that of Gordon’s paternal aunts, who were also aware of the trait—was to press him to remarry, and when he married Victoria, I hoped she would be able to deal with Gordon as Ursula had.
That she would draw him away from the seductive lure of the trait. ”
The dowager paused and seemed to gather her strength before continuing, “Unfortunately, after their marriage, thinking I was doing the right thing by Victoria, I moved to the house in Regent’s Square, and because I wasn’t here, in this house, I was unaware of how badly Gordon was behaving—how deeply the trait was affecting him.
My other children never liked to complain about Gordon to me, and of course, in their younger years, I hadn’t encouraged them to carry tales.
I had my own circle, and it only rarely overlapped with Gordon’s. ”
She sighed, and it seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
“After returning to this house—and the irony of it is, that move was driven by Gordon’s adherence to the dictates of the trait—I realized that Victoria had never stood any chance of rescuing Gordon from the trait’s clutches.
It’s likely that by the time she married him, he was past the age of being influenced by anyone, let alone a pretty lady ten years his junior.
He was too deeply ensnared. I saw that when I returned, and gradually, I realized just how far beyond bearing matters had progressed.
Over the past months, I sought and gathered as much information about the family as I could, and viewed through the prism of my promise to Arthur, the full picture was horrifying.
“Gordon had gone unchecked for too long. I pleaded with him to change his ways, but of course, he wouldn’t listen.
” She paused for several long heartbeats, then in a quieter tone, said, “Then the doctors told me I had only weeks, perhaps a month, to live. My strength has been fading for some time, and I am, indeed, ready to go, but the news meant that I had only a short time in which to keep my promise to Arthur.”
The dowager shifted her gaze and fixed it on Penelope.
“So I arranged the dinner on Monday evening as a way to confront Gordon with the full gamut of the results of his familial neglect. All at once, in a forum in which I hoped he would be forced to pay attention. My aim was to jar him sufficiently so that he opened his eyes and saw the reality of the damage he was causing. Or more correctly, was allowing to happen.”