Chapter 14 #2
She shook her head. “He refused to pay the slightest attention. As if the problems of the family were of no account to him. And I knew he had the funds. I have my trusted sources, and I know how much money flows into the earldom’s coffers month to month, year to year.
I know that income is more than enough—by a very long chalk—to allow Gordon to increase the allowances to reasonable levels, and just that alone would have enabled the others to climb out of the holes into which they’ve tumbled.
” She recaptured Penelope’s gaze. “It would have meant nothing to him financially, yet he wouldn’t do it.
He preferred to risk that money in his many ventures. ”
Penelope blinked; she’d wondered if the dowager had known much of Gordon’s investing.
Seeing her reaction, the dowager smiled.
“Oh, I know all about those as well. His latest scheme is quite fantastical, and I daresay, given his record of success with such investments, he might well make a mint.” She shook her head.
“But that was never my point. I didn’t begrudge him playing investor.
But I abhorred him ignoring the family’s financial health in order to plow more and more capital into his investments. ”
Regarding Penelope, the dowager tilted her head.
“It had become an illness of sorts with him. He was addicted to…the sense of power and euphoria he felt when an investment paid off. I could see it made him feel invincible and that his business acumen was beyond compare. That spike of euphoria and the rush of power and pride were drugs he grew to crave above all else.” Her features grew stern, and she nodded.
“Yes, it was an addiction—no more and no less—and so he wouldn’t listen to reason. ”
The dowager exhaled. “So the dinner on Monday was my last and final attempt to make him see and change his ways. When he refused…”
Penelope waited, but when the dowager remained staring into space, gently, Penelope supplied, “That night, you walked from the music room to the study.”
The dowager nodded. “He’d dismissed me—me and all that I’d tried to show him. He’d effectively disowned the family. He’d refused point-blank to care about the family at all. He’d reached the point of only caring about his obsession.”
“His investments,” Penelope clarified. She hoped Stokes was jotting everything down.
“Yes.” The dowager’s chin sank toward her chest. “I went into the study, and he glanced up, then ignored me. When I neared the desk, he still refused to look at me, but instead, he said, ‘No matter what you say, I’m not going to change my mind.’” She drew a slow, slightly shuddering breath and raised her head.
“So I walked to the shelves behind the desk. I think he thought it was merely a ploy to make him look away from his papers and turn to me and engage, so, of course, he continued to ignore me.” She paused, then went on, “So I picked up the bust, and using every bit of my remaining strength, I smashed it down on his head.”
The dowager drew another slow, shuddery breath. There was not a shred of guilt to be seen in her face or heard in her voice as she went on, “I waited only to make sure he was dead, then made my way back to the music room.”
She looked at Penelope, then raised her gaze to Barnaby, then shifted her head to look down the room at Stokes. “I suspect you already know the rest, but that is how the Earl of Moran was killed.”
Returning her gaze to Penelope, the dowager went on, her voice raspy and tending reedy as she hurried to say, “I kept my promise to Arthur. It was he and I who gave Gordon life. It was within our purview to take back what we’d given.
He was our firstborn, and it was his duty to keep this family, the Fitzhughs and all its branches, healthy and secure.
In that respect, Gordon didn’t fail so much as refuse to act.
So I removed him. Frederick will make a much better head of the family. ”
Stokes walked nearer, and the dowager looked at him and smiled—serenely, confidently.
“Don’t worry, Inspector. You won’t need to prepare a cell for an elderly countess.
You have one countess on your hands already, I gather, and I’m sure that must be putting the amenities of Scotland Yard under significant strain. ”
The dowager shook her head and, with her voice lowering and fading, said, “A feckless, reckless pair, Christopher and Victoria. If only they’d had the sense to speak to me, I would have saved them from their now-inevitable fates.”
Stokes shot a puzzled and concerned glance at Penelope.
Penelope caught it, then looked again at the dowager, who was struggling to keep her head raised.
In sudden comprehension, Penelope half rose and peered around the dowager at the small table beyond the dowager’s chair, until then hidden from their sight. On the table stood a small dark-brown bottle. Sinking back onto the chair, Penelope stared at the elderly lady. “You’ve taken laudanum.”
A faint smile curved the dowager’s lips. “Clever child. Yes. My family is now safe, and my work on this mortal coil is done. I’ll be with Arthur soon, and he’ll absolve me. He’ll understand.”
Her features eased, and her lids lowered. “It won’t be long now. I can feel it drawing me under. It’s quite gentle, you know.” She paused, and her next words came in a whisper. “I’ll be gone soon, and I have few regrets, and those I have, my last testament will put right.”
With an obvious effort, the dowager raised her head slightly and smiled, still serenely, at the three of them now gathered before her, then her lids drooped, and she whispered, “Farewell, Mrs. Adair. Mr. Adair. And Inspector Stokes.”