Page 18 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

The look he got was predictably frosty. “No.” After a heartbeat’s pause, Miss Matcham added, “This was a very peaceful and contented household.” The past tense made it sound like a eulogy.

Stokes nodded and looked at Montague. “Tell me about these odd payments.”

Montague did, in concise and strictly chronological fashion, commencing from the moment he’d been approached by Violet Matcham on behalf of Lady Halstead. Stokes questioned how that had come about—how Lady Halstead had chosen Montague, someone she hadn’t previously dealt with. Consequently, they—Stokes, Adair, and Montague, too—learned of the enterprising notion the old lady had had of asking the question of The Times’s columnist.

Montague stared at the lady seated beside him. “So it was you who sent that question to The Times?”

“On behalf of Lady Halstead.” Miss Matcham colored. “I do apologize for any embarrassment or inconvenience the article might have caused, but it was the only way we could think of to quickly and reliably learn who would be best to approach over those odd payments.” She looked at Stokes. “Lady Halstead had grown seriously agitated and was in dire need of reassurance, and because of young Mr. Runcorn’s age, and therefore his inexperience, she didn’t feel able to place her faith in his findings alone.”

Montague had explained about Runcorn, of Runcorn and Son, her ladyship’s man-of-business.

Barnaby nodded. “I can understand that.” He met Stokes’s eye. “Old ladies can get distinctly querulous.”

Having met the old ladies to whom Barnaby was alluding, Stokes suppressed a snort and returned his gaze across the table. “So it’s possible that her ladyship was murdered because of her sudden and, by all accounts quite dogged, interest in these odd payments.” He looked from Miss Matcham to Montague. “So who knew about her ladyship’s concerns? Who had she told about the payments?”

Violet Matcham frowned. “Me. Tilly. And I suspect Cook would have heard me and Tilly talking.”

“In my office,” Montague said, “only I know the reason for Lady Halstead consulting me. I haven’t confided in anyone else. Runcorn, of course, knows, and so does his clerk, Pringle, but there’s only the two of them there.” Montague frowned, clearly checking his memory, then stated, “I can’t think of anyone else who would know. I haven’t yet inquired directly of the bank, and Runcorn had done no more than ask for the statements, which is nothing out of the ordinary and shouldn’t have occasioned any alarm.”

Stokes met Montague’s gaze. “Are you sure Runcorn himself isn’t responsible?”

Montague returned his regard. “Professionally, that’s not a question I would prefer to answer, but if you insist that I reply yea or nay, then I would have to give it as my opinion that Runcorn is as honest as the day is long.”

Violet Matcham nodded. “That would be my reading of him, too. He was quite sure, to begin with, that the payments must have come from some investment.”

Stokes grimaced. “If her ladyship’s interest in these odd payments is the motive behind her murder, that doesn’t leave us with many possible suspects.”

Violet Matcham’s expression blanked, then her eyes widened. “No, wait—all the Halsteads knew.”

Barnaby straightened. “Her ladyship’s family?”

“They were here for dinner—that’s a regular monthly event.” Violet paused, then said, “But I have to qualify—Lady Halstead didn’t mention, not in any way, the odd payments, but she did say that she was having her affairs and those of the estate put in order so that when she eventually died, there would be no questions concerning the estate.”

A second passed, then Barnaby asked, “I take it that Lady Halstead’s will, such as it might be, will essentially bring her life-tenancy of Sir Hugo’s estate to a close and allow execution of the provisions already stipulated in Sir Hugo’s will?”

Violet glanced at Montague. “That is my understanding.”

Montague arched his brows. “I would be exceedingly surprised if that wasn’t the case. From all that I’ve seen and been given to understand, Lady Halstead had little real wealth of her own. As one might expect, the majority of the funds and all property belong to the estate, the disposal of which will be governed by her husband’s will.”

“So,” Barnaby concluded, “her will can’t hold any surprises, at least not with respect to the estate. Even if she’d changed her will, she can’t affect anything that matters.”

“I’d gathered,” Violet said, “that the estate is to be divided equally between the four children.”

Stokes grimaced. “So there’s unlikely to be any motive arising out of the will—at least, not directly. However, if the person responsible for these odd payments heard that the estate’s affairs were going to be reviewed, it’s possible—depending on just what those payments are—that they might have felt, for some reason, that it was better for Lady Halstead to die now, before any investigation could get properly underway.”

“I should point out,” Montague said, “that having studied these payments as far as I’ve thus far been able, my conclusion at this point is that they’re being made in order to conceal funds—and as we all know, the principal reason for concealing funds is that they derive from some illegal activity.”

Stokes was nodding. “So the villain, hearing that the payments are likely to be uncovered—” Breaking off, he looked at Violet. “Neither Lady Halstead nor you mentioned the payments to the family?”

When Violet shook her head, Stokes continued, “So there was no reason for the villain to realize that the existence of the payments had already been uncovered. With that in mind, learning that her ladyship was about to order a presumably extensive review of her affairs and those of the estate, the villain—wishing to conceal the evidence of his illegal activities—therefore had a strong motive to murder her ladyship.”

They all thought that through; no one disagreed.

“And,” Barnaby said, “if the villain is a member of the family—and we should remember that a murder of this sort usually is committed by a family member—that also explains something else that’s been bothering me.” He glanced around the table, meeting the others’ eyes. “How did the murderer get into the house? Is there any evidence of a break-in, of a door or window being forced?”

Violet blinked. “Not that I know of.” She glanced at Stokes, who was already getting to his feet.

“I’ll have my constable take a look around the house, have him check all the windows and doors. And while he’s doing that”—Stokes caught Violet’s gaze—“you can tell us all about the Halsteads.”