Chapter 3
Chapter Three
They all got to their feet when he stepped into the room, and a few glanced at him warily. All looked as if the news of their master’s death had struck them hard.
“This is Detective Inspector Pierce,” Mr. Burton announced. “You must answer him in a forthright manner and as would be befitting a member of Mr. Pennington’s household.”
One housemaid with straw-blonde hair, who looked to be quite young, sniffled and reached up to dash away a tear that slipped down her flushed cheek.
Gideon would normally interview staff members separately, but this evening he was in the very first steps of gathering information about the deceased’s habits and actions on the day that led to his demise.
He needed to understand the outline of Percival Pennington's life to understand what had led someone to cut him down just a few steps from his door.
“All of you may sit, if you please,” Gideon said, gesturing to the polished dining table and the dozen chairs surrounding it. “I have a few questions that I will put to all of you to begin, and then I, or a constable, will speak to each of you separately.”
After they’d all taken a seat, he chose a chair near the table’s head and set his notepad in front of him.
“I’ll start by taking your names and what position you hold in the household.” He fixed his gaze on a lanky dark-haired young man.
“Robert Spivey, footman, sir.”
The young blonde housemaid, who sat beside him, said, “Sarah McGuire, sir. Housemaid.”
A stiff-spined, red-haired woman next to her, who looked to be a few years older said, “Isobel Keane. I serve as housemaid and lady’s maid.”
“And you?” Gideon asked a broad-shouldered, bronze-haired man, who looked a bit older and more well-dressed than the footman.
“Nicolas Teague, Inspector. I am Mr. Pennington’s valet.”
“Is there anyone not present who is employed as part of the household staff?”
“There is Silas Jones, Inspector. He serves as groom and coachman. And Mrs. Potter, the cook.”
“Did Mr. Pennington employ his carriage today at all?”
Mrs. Coyle cleared her throat. “Mr. Pennington took his carriage into town as he does most days, but he does not ask Silas to wait for him. He brings the carriage home, and the master hires a hansom to deliver him back to Mount Street most evenings.”
Gideon noted the details and nodded. “And you said there are two other family members who reside here?”
Burton said, “Aside from Mr. Pennington, his niece, Miss Lucy Faraday, has lived here for almost two years. And occasionally, Mr. Lancelot Pennington, Mr. Pennington’s younger brother, returns to the house.”
“Does he reside here currently?”
Mrs. Coyle looked momentarily flustered and finally said, “Not in the last fortnight, no, but he has a room set aside for him that the master insisted should be maintained and tidied for his use whenever he chooses.”
“And where can he be found when he is not at Mount Street?”
“He has lodgings elsewhere,” Mr. Burton explained. “In Soho.”
“I’ll need that address.”
“Of course, Inspector.” Burton nodded.
Gideon scanned the assembled servants. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Percival Pennington?” he asked, his gaze landing on the footman.
“That would have been this morning, sir. He took his breakfast as usual here in the dining room with Miss Faraday. Then he went to his study for a while and departed for the day at around ten.”
“And you assisted him to dress, I assume?” Gideon asked the valet, Mr. Teague.
“I did, sir. He woke at his usual time, around half eight. I assisted him to dress and then, as mentioned, I believe he took breakfast with Miss Faraday.”
“When would he normally return home?”
Mrs. Coyle shifted in her chair. “It varied, Inspector. As late as midnight. If he had a soiree or dinner to attend, he might return even later. If he wished to dine at home, he would return earlier.”
“And do you know his intention this evening? Did he have an event to attend, or did he plan to dine at home?”
Mrs. Coyle shook her head before he’d even gotten the question out. “He made no mention of his intentions.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gideon heard a little gasp and noticed the blonde maid reacting to what Mrs. Coyle said. He turned to the young woman.
“Miss McGuire, do you have something to add?”
The girl’s already flushed cheeks flamed to crimson, and she looked as if she might burst into tears.
“Go on,” Mr. Burton urged. “Whatever it is, girl, you must tell the inspector.”
That drew a reaction from Mrs. Coyle, who glared at her counterpart.
“I overheard something,” Sarah McGuire said softly, then looked up at Mrs. Coyle, as if seeking permission.
The housekeeper gave her a stern look, then nodded. “Go ahead, Sarah.”
“I heard him say he was going to have dinner with Mr. Callister,” the girl said, still keeping her voice low.
“Are you familiar with that name, Mrs. Coyle?” Gideon asked.
“Yes, sir. He visits quite frequently. He is a friend of Mr. Pennington and a member of Parliament, but he did not mention Mr. Callister when he spoke to me.”
Gideon tipped his head to catch the butler’s attention.
“As far as I knew, there was no dinner planned this evening with Mr. Callister,” Mr. Burton put in. “Dinner parties with guests here involved a more elaborate menu. Mr. Pennington would have planned such a thing ahead of time with Cook or Miss Faraday, so his plans must have been elsewhere.”
The valet shot an anxious glance at Gideon.
Gideon gestured for the young man to speak.
“Often, when he dines with Mr. Callister, he does so at the club where they are both members.”
“Yes,” Burton put in, nodding his agreement. “They also belonged to the same club, sir, and would often dine there.”
“Which club?”
“I believe it is called The Palladia Club in Marylebone.”
Gideon noticed that the lady’s maid, Miss Keane, couldn’t seem to sit still. She fussed with the button at the throat of her uniform, then tucked her hair behind her ear, all while shooting glances in the direction of Mrs. Coyle.
He couldn’t tell if it was simply unease at being questioned, or whether there was more going on between the staff than they’d willingly divulge while they were gathered with the housekeeper and butler, who were effectively their superiors.
Gideon got to his feet. “I’d like to begin individual interviews now, so that I may formally gather a statement from each of you.”
Mrs. Coyle arched a brow. Mr. Burton nodded as if in understanding.
“I’d like to begin with Miss McGuire.”
Both the housekeeper’s brows arched at that, and she took a breath as if she meant to protest, but then Mr. Burton stood from his chair. Mrs. Coyle followed suit, and before the housekeeper could utter another word, Burton guided the remaining servants from the room.
The young maid was all but trembling by the time Mr. Burton closed the dining room door behind him.
“I understand this evening has brought quite shocking news to all of you. And I perceive your disquiet, Miss McGuire,” Gideon said, trying for a gentle tone. “But I asked to speak with you first, as I suspect you have something to say that required privacy.”
She looked as if she was choking, swallowing multiple times against the lump in her throat before she said, “I was cleaning Miss Faraday’s grate this morning, and Mr. Pennington came in.
They spoke about their plans for the evening.
He told Miss Faraday that he would return to speak with her after dining with Mr. Callister, and he asked her to remain at home. ”
“I see.” And yet, Gideon couldn’t help but note that Miss Faraday was away from home on the night her uncle was murdered. “Did she change her plans for this evening abruptly?”
“I can’t say, sir. I only know she departed in the late afternoon and has not returned.” She ducked her head before adding, “She’ll be in such distress when she hears what’s happened.”
“You have, no doubt, had occasion to observe the interactions between Miss Faraday and her uncle on many occasions, Miss McGuire. How would you characterize them?”
“They were quite…” Miss McGuire stared at her lap, at the polished wood floor, at the wall behind Gideon, and then finally looked at him again. “They were cordial on most occasions, sir.”
“And on other occasions?”
After one glance at the closed dining room door, as if needing to confirm it remained so, Miss McGuire leaned closer and whispered, “There were rows at times. Miss Faraday has a beau that Mr. Pennington does not approve of.”
“Did they argue this morning?”
“Not exactly, sir. But their exchange was curt, and several days ago, I—” Miss McGuire stopped herself, as if catching herself before saying something she thought she shouldn’t.
“Go on.”
“I should hold my tongue, Inspector Pierce. Miss Faraday would not wish me to say more.”
“I would not ask you to betray your employer’s trust, but if the detail is relevant to Mr. Pennington’s actions today, then I should like to hear the rest.”
“It seemed to me that Mr. Pennington wished to speak to her on that matter this evening.”
“The matter of her admirer?”
“Yes, sir. Because they had not dined together since their row on Friday.”
Gideon made a few notes, and Miss McGuire seemed to be attempting to calm herself with deep breaths and a hand pressed against her middle.
“Do you know the young man’s name?”
“Worthington. I believe his given name is William.” Miss McGuire bit her lip. “Miss Faraday would not like that I told you that either.”
“I will ask it of her myself, and I will not mention you,” Gideon told her, hoping to allay her worries. Servants in houses like Pennington’s were often the most informative sources of information during an investigation, but he understood how vulnerable they were too.
“Did you ever overhear Mr. Pennington rowing with anyone else or observe anything that gave you reason to believe someone might bear a grudge against him?”
Sarah McGuire’s eyes widened. “I know of no one who might have done him in, sir, no. I can’t name a soul who would wish to harm Mr. Pennington. He seemed kindly enough.”