Chapter 3 #2
Yet Gideon could see there was more. He could all but hear the hesitation as she proclaimed her late employer kindly. So he waited, watching the young woman as she shifted uncomfortably.
“He and Mr. Callister would sometimes row, but it all seemed frivolous, sir.”
“How so?”
“They would sometimes have fencing bouts in the ballroom. Mr. Pennington has a fencing strip there. And they would argue quite vehemently, but I always thought it was what gentleman do over competitive matters.”
Gideon gave her a half-smile. “Sometimes they do, yes. So these disagreements were easily overcome? Not heated?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, it’s as you say. Shouting one moment and right as rain the next.”
“When was the last time you observed such a thing between Mr. Pennington and Mr. Callister?”
Her brow furrowed. “Not long ago, perhaps…last week, but I cannot recall the day. They weren’t fencing. Merely conversation in the master’s study, and a couple of us heard them shout.”
“Who else heard them shout?”
She bit her lip. He suspected she feared implicating the other staff member. “Teague. Mr. Pennington’s valet.”
“Thank you, Miss McGuire.”
Her eyes widened and she gripped the edge of the chair as if eager to launch herself out of it. “May I go, sir?”
“Yes, that will be all for now. Would you send Mr. Teague in?”
A few moments later, the valet entered the dining room.
“Close the door, if you would,” Gideon told him.
Once Teague had done so, he sat in the same chair that Miss McGuire had. The dark-haired valet had a solemn bearing. His own clothing was impeccably neat and pressed, and he held himself with stiff shoulders, his square jaw tight.
He reminded Gideon a bit of himself, dressing flawlessly, exuding an unflappable composure, all in a bid to get others to look at him respectfully.
“How many years have you been employed by Mr. Pennington?”
“Five years, sir.” Even his voice, which held a trace of the East End, was forcibly smoothed into something like the upper crust accent Gideon suspected Mr. Pennington had spoken with.
“And you are familiar with Gordon Callister, who Mrs. Coyle said visits frequently?”
“I have never spoken to him, of course, but I have seen him during his visits here.”
“Did you ever overhear an argument between Mr. Pennington and Mr. Callister?”
A muscle ticked at the edge of Teague’s jaw and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Discretion is part of my duty in service, sir. My employer’s conversations are none of my concern.”
Gideon folded his hands on the table and met the young man’s gaze directly. He saw a bit of a challenge in the valet’s eyes, as if he wished to prove his loyalty to the man he’d served for half a decade. But that man was dead, and Gideon needed to know all he could. Discretion be damned.
“I understand your wish to protect your employer’s privacy, but I must find his killer, Mr. Teague.”
The valet’s skin paled a bit at that.
“Did you overhear an argument between your employer and Mr. Callister last week?”
“Yes, sir.” Teague’s words emerged as if he was only barely letting them escape between his clenched teeth.
“What did you overhear?”
To Gideon’s shock, Teague closed his eyes, dipped his head, and rubbed the palms of his hands against his trousers.
When he looked up, his eyes were red, as if he held back tears.
“Don’t wish to accuse anyone, sir. Not my place.” His accent had slipped back into something closer to the East End stews where Gideon himself spent his early years.
“I am not asking you to accuse anyone, Teague. But I do need the truth. It will help me as I investigate this matter.”
All at once, his shoulders lowered and the valet nodded.
“Yes, sir. I heard Mr. Callister shouting at Mr. Pennington. They were in his study, and even with the door closed, voices were raised loud enough for a few of us to hear.”
Gideon poised his pencil above his notepad page. “And what was said?”
“He said that he would not allow Mr. Pennington to win. He said, ‘I won’t let you win in this matter. I’ll see you in the ground first.’”
Gideon noted Callister’s words as Teague sat watching him.
“People say things in anger,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“Did you hear a reply from your employer to Mr. Callister’s threat?”
Teague shook his head. He took a long deep breath as if steeling himself. “The study door swung open, and I stepped away,” he said quietly. “Felt as if I should. Neither of us wished to be caught lingering in the hall.”
“You and Miss McGuire?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see who came out of the study door?”
“It was Mr. Callister. He stormed out and straight to the front door. Mr. Burton helped him with his coat, and then he departed.”
“When you saw Mr. Pennington again in the course of your duties, did he seem shaken by the argument?”
Teague shook his head. “No, sir. Indeed, he was set to spend that evening with Mr. Callister.”
Gideon tipped his head. “At Mr. Callister’s home or his club?”
“I’m not sure. Only that he mentioned that he was meeting him that evening.”
“A week ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you seen Gordon Callister visiting since then?”
“No, sir. But that wouldn’t be unusual.” Teague pressed a palm to his trouser leg again. “Most often, they seemed to meet at one of their clubs.”
“Did Mr. Pennington belong to more than one club?”
Gideon had bent his head to make a few notes and was shocked to look up and find Teague’s face had gone from pale to quite flushed.
“More than one club. Yes, sir.”
Gideon flipped back in his notes. “The Palladia in Marylebone was mentioned earlier. And what is the other club?”
From the young man’s reaction, Gideon could make a guess that Pennington had belonged to a second club that was far less respectable than the Palladia.
“I do not know the name. I only know that he encountered ladies at the club.” He cleared his throat and, in a quieter voice, added, “Though he was betrothed at one point, that was called off.”
Gideon arched a brow at that disclosure. “Did his broken engagement have anything to do with these ladies he met at the club?”
Teague shook his head and clenched his jaw. “I’ve no notion, sir. He would never confide such a thing to me.”