Chapter 5 #2
Pennington’s blue eyes narrowed. “I was at home, Inspector. Not here. I have lodgings elsewhere.” He glanced at his niece. “In Soho Square. It is closer to the theatre.”
Gideon shot him a quizzical look.
“My uncle is a playwright,” Miss Faraday interjected, almost proudly. She had a light, breathy voice as youthful as her features.
“Yes, thus the lodgings near the theatre district,” Lance Pennington added.
Gideon dipped his head to note Pennington’s apparent absence from the vicinity of Mount Street the previous evening. “And what hours were you at your lodgings, Mr. Pennington?”
“I was at the theatre from midday until the last performance, which ended around ten. So, I suppose I returned to my lodgings around eleven in the evening. I found a message waiting for me to come to Mount Street, but I decided to do so at first light. I arrived here around half six.” Pennington’s knee began to bounce, his boot heel thudding rhythmically against the carpet.
“The note made no mention of…” He swallowed and licked his lips, casting a sorrowful look at his niece.
“The note did not explain why I was being summoned. If I’d known, I certainly would have come immediately. ”
“Of course you would have,” Miss Faraday whispered to him.
“And you, Miss Faraday? May I ask where you were last evening?”
“Visiting a friend,” she said, her voice now a bit more tremulous. “How could I have known what would befall Uncle Percy?” She lifted a folded handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“You visited your friend at their home?”
“Yes, in Sussex Gardens.”
“May I have their name, please?”
Her mouth dropped open as if the question shocked her. “Miss Helen Greene. She won’t be dragged into this, will she?”
“I’m simply gathering details, Miss Faraday.”
“We dined together in her home and then I returned to Mount Street around ten.”
Gideon decided, for now, to allow her explanation to stand without further questions and took a moment to note what she’d told him.
“Mrs. Coyle conveyed the news as gently as she could.” Miss Faraday’s voice sounded a bit rawer now. “But it was all such a shock. To come home and be told my uncle would never return. I—”
Lance Pennington reached out to place hand on his niece’s arm. His effort at comforting her had the result of quieting her.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, lowering her head and dabbing again at her eyes.
“Nothing to forgive, Miss Faraday.” Gideon knew a gentler approach was warranted with a lady so young.
“Did you see your uncle in the morning?”
“Yes, briefly.”
“You took breakfast together, I understand,” Gideon said, recalling the valet’s supposition.
“Oh, I… Yes, I spoke to him briefly, but then I left him in the breakfast room.”
“And what state was he in when you spoke to him, Miss Faraday?”
She blinked and furrowed her brow. “He seemed much as he always does. Focused on the day ahead. Pleasant enough.”
Despite the lady’s soft voice and obvious distress, it struck him that her description of her uncle was not terribly warm.
“He did not seem troubled in any regard?”
Miss Faraday shook her head slowly. “No, Inspector, not that I perceived. He seemed in good health and fine spirits.”
Gideon thought her voice had taken on a wooden quality, tempering what she said, but there was such earnestness in her glassy eyes.
“Can you tell us what happened, Inspector?” she asked quietly.
Her curiosity was not unexpected. Anyone would wish to make some sense of losing a loved one so suddenly.
“There will be an inquest within a matter of days,” he told them, “which you may choose to attend, but I can provide you a few details of the details I know now.”
He glanced at Pennington, and the man lowered his chin, granting Gideon permission to speak of his brother’s death.
“Mr. Percival Pennington was discovered on the pavement, a few doors down on Mount Street, at approximately six in the evening. I’ve spoken to the police surgeon this morning and he believes the attack—”
Miss Faraday let out a sound of distress, and Mr. Pennington wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She pressed her lips together, seemingly to stem any further reaction.
“He was stabbed several times.”
“Why would anyone do such a thing?” the young lady whimpered.
“Determining that answer will be my task, and I vow to do my utmost to find the person responsible.”
“Have there been other such attacks in Mayfair of late?” Pennington had released his hold on his niece and focused his attention on Gideon.
“No, there have been no other similar attacks in the district. May I ask if your brother was in the habit of carrying bank notes on him?”
“Yes, I believe so, but I can’t be certain.”
“None were found, but he was carrying a good deal of coin.”
“And they didn’t take it? Then it was not some violent pickpocket,” Mr. Pennington concluded.
Gideon had lost someone dear to him—his mentor and the man who’d taken him in as a child, Erasmus Poole—to such a violent attack a few years ago.
His pockets had been pilfered, and to Gideon’s great regret, the culprit had never been found.
But the facts told him that the death of Percival Pennington had not been a matter of an indiscriminate attack.
The presence of his rings and stick pin, the lack of any signs that Pennington had fought his attacker, and the kerchief placed over his face meant the murder was personal, not random.
“I am at the very outset of my investigation and still gathering facts,” he told the murdered man’s brother. “So there is not much more I can confide.”
“Tell us how we may aid you in your investigation, Inspector,” Lance Pennington said.
“I understand your brother was a barrister. Could his work have exposed him to someone who may have borne him ill will?” Gideon flicked his gaze between the two. “And if so, do you know of anyone in particular who might have wished to do Mr. Pennington harm?”
The young lady let out a barely audible gasp. “You think this was done by someone he knew?”
“It is a possibility I must consider, Miss Faraday.”
Lance Pennington settled deeper into the settee, crossed his arms, and stared at the fire.
“My brother did not speak freely to me about his work. By its very nature, his cases required the utmost discretion.” He lifted his gaze to Gideon again.
“But no, I know of no one who bore a grudge that could result in…his death.”
After noting Pennington’s answer, Gideon shifted toward his niece, who immediately shook her head.
“No, I know of no one who might have wished harm to my uncle. He was a charming and amiable man, and well-liked by everyone, as far as I am aware. When he wasn’t at court, he was often at his club or visiting friends or attending soirees.”
“Do either of you know how he spent his day yesterday?”
Pennington immediately shook his head. “I regret to say I had not spoken to my brother in several days.”
“I cannot bear the thought that someone he knew would do him harm,” Lucy Faraday murmured quietly.
“Since you resided with him,” Gideon asked her, “do you know if there were any outstanding cases that were troubling him?”
“No more than usual and none that he mentioned.” Miss Faraday appeared almost uninterested in his uncle’s professional dealings.
“He dealt with criminal defendants, I would suppose.” Gideon did not personally know many barristers, though he had encountered numerable solicitors in his years with Scotland Yard, and he had spent his fair share of time in courtrooms.
“Sometimes he dealt with estate matters, or civil disputes, not always criminal cases,” the young lady explained, “but he never mentioned anyone who held a grudge of any sort. At least, not to me.”
“May I ask when you came to reside at Mount Street, Miss Faraday?”
“Two years ago,” the lady’s uncle cut in, turning a worried look at her. “Our sister passed away after a long illness, and Percival wished to provide Lucy with a home.”
Miss Faraday smiled weakly. “My father had died years before, so Uncle Percy took me in, and I’ve been residing here since.”
Gideon looked down at his notes, flipping back to the pages from last evening. “Are you betrothed, Miss Faraday?”
“Oh, I—”
“Lucy…” Lance Pennington turned to his niece with an expression that transformed quickly from shock to a tight-jawed look of irritation.
The young woman immediately fell silent and slid her gaze down to her clasped hands.
“Is that not the case?” Gideon asked, attempting to clarify.
“Not as yet,” Miss Faraday said softly, glancing at her uncle. “But it was a matter under discussion between Uncle Percy and my…suitor, Mr. William Worthington.”
“Cordial discussions?” Gideon assumed they were not, based on what he’d learned from the maid, Sarah McGuire.
When Miss Faraday remained silent, Lance Pennington cleared his throat.
“This is a private matter that can have no relevance to the tragedy that’s befallen our family.”
Gideon took that as confirmation that it had been a point of conflict between Percival Pennington and his niece, but he decided to push no further on that matter. At least for now.
Instead, he decided it was time to inquire about the incident he’d learned about from the Mount Street staff.
“I understand that Mr. Pennington was friends with Mr. Gordon Callister, MP. Were you aware of any conflict between the two?”
“Not at all.” Miss Faraday had seemingly overcome the silence regarding her suitor. “From what I observed, Mr. Callister was my uncle’s closest friend.”
Lance Pennington nodded. “They attended university together and now belong to the same club.”
“Which club?”
“The Palladia, I believe.” With a rueful look, he added, “I am not a member.”
Gideon already had the club’s name and location in his notes. “An argument between the two was overheard—”
“By whom?” Lance Pennington edged forward on the settee.
Gideon would not give the servants’ names to Pennington. He never wished to endanger a servant’s job because they were forthright when questioned.
“Does it surprise you an argument was overheard, Mr. Pennington?”