Page 46 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

Barnaby widened his eyes. “Have they, indeed?” He blinked. “I wonder how.” After a moment of pondering, he met Stokes’s eyes. “Perhaps we’d better go and find out.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Stokes got to his feet and reached for his greatcoat. “I’ve nothing further to attend to, so . . .” He waved Barnaby out, then followed him into the corridor and shut the door.

They could have walked down The Mall and through Green Park, but that would have taken more than half an hour. Reaching the pavement, they hailed a hackney and, ten minutes later, reached Barnaby’s front door.

Barnaby used his latchkey and led the way into his front hall. Mostyn, summoned by some mysterious alchemy, arrived to take their coats. “The ladies and the children are in the garden parlor, sir.”

“Thank you, Mostyn.” Barnaby led Stokes down the short corridor to the comfortable parlor that ran along one side of the rear half of the house.

Other than the library on the opposite side of the town house, the garden parlor was the room Penelope was most likely to be found in, especially when she had Oliver or others with her. One long side of the room and the wall at the far end were principally composed of windows and French doors; during the day, the room was awash with light. On chilly evenings, as now, the windows and glassed doors were covered by long curtains, and a large fire burned in the fireplace that occupied the center of the long inner wall. Well-padded damask-covered sofas and chairs were arranged around the room, and numerous lamps added their warm glow to the golden light thrown by the fire. Penelope’s garden parlor was a perennially cozy and welcoming space.

The sight that met Barnaby’s and Stokes’s eyes as they walked in was one designed to warm the cockles of any man’s heart. Both Penelope and Griselda were sitting on the floor in the space between the twin sofas, their skirts billowing about them. Both were laughing, their gazes, their entire attentions, fixed on the two infants who were rolling on a thick fur rug spread over the Aubusson carpet a safe distance from the grate and its screen.

Hearing their footsteps, both ladies looked up; seeing their husbands, they smiled.

Barnaby and Stokes halted, both drinking in the sight, then, as one, they smiled back and went forward to join their families.

To kiss their wives’ proffered cheeks, then sink onto the floor and join in the game of interacting with and entertaining their children.

For the next twenty minutes, no mention was made of murder, money, or anything to do with the investigation.

But eventually the children grew sleepy. Getting to her feet, Penelope paused to look down at their small assembly with a certain satisfaction, then went to the bellpull and tugged.

The nursemaids—Oliver’s Hettie and Megan’s Gloria—had been waiting for the summons. Both arrived and carted their charges off to settle them in the nursery. Mostyn, who had also come in, gathered up the rug and the children’s toys and followed, pausing only to say, “Dinner is waiting, ma’am. We can serve immediately if you wish.”

“Thank you, Mostyn,” Penelope said. “We’ll go in.”

Wrapped in the lingering warmth the children brought to them, the couples ambled toward the dining room, still sharing anecdotes of the children’s days, of their latest fascinating exploits.

Only after they’d settled about the dining table and Mostyn had served the first course did the talk turn to matters criminal.

At their ladies’ urging, Stokes, aided by Barnaby, reported on theirs and Montague’s discoveries over that afternoon. Neither made any attempt to hold back; given Penelope had been present when they’d stumbled upon Runcorn’s murder, any notion of keeping their ladies distanced from proceedings was, both accepted, futile.

As Barnaby and Stokes had come to expect, Penelope and Griselda had questions, some especially insightful and acute.

It was Penelope who focused on the grounds on which both the teller and the street-sweeper had labeled the woman who had removed the money from the bank a lady. After several minutes of discussion, they agreed that the judgment had been based on dress, deportment, and speech, all of which, as Griselda pointed out, could easily be assumed.

Subsequently, Penelope summarized, “So on the basis of the sightings near Runcorn’s office, and the associated searching of the Halstead papers, we believe Runcorn’s murderer to be one of the males of the Halstead bloodline. We’re assuming he killed Runcorn and arranged for some female, who was to pass as a lady, to present a forged letter to the bank the following morning and thus remove all the funds from Lady Halstead’s account.” Dark eyes bright, she looked around the table. As heads nodded, she asked, “Is it possible that someone else killed Runcorn, and the Halstead male simply searched the papers left on Runcorn’s desk?”

Stokes considered for only a moment before shaking his head. “Unlikely given the timing of the sightings of our Halstead male outside the office. He entered soon after Pringle had left. If his sole purpose for visiting Runcorn was to search the papers—or have Runcorn provide information from them—then he would have seen Runcorn alive and left while Runcorn was still alive, and the papers on Runcorn’s desk wouldn’t have been in such a mess.”

“Hmm.” Penelope nodded. “Yes, I will have to allow you that—which means that it was, indeed, our Halstead male who killed poor Runcorn.”

Griselda frowned. “From your description of Runcorn’s body, I take it that you don’t believe he could have been killed by a woman, lady or not.” When Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope nodded, Griselda asked, “What about Lady Halstead? Could she have been killed by a woman?”

Stokes glanced at Barnaby. “Yes, she could have been. Her ladyship was ageing, frail, and physically weak. Any woman of average height and strength could have held the pillow over her ladyship’s face long enough to do the deed.”

“So,” Griselda went on, “it’s possible we’re looking at two different murderers, whether acting in concert, as a conspiracy, or even possibly independently. We might be looking at a female and a Halstead male, or even two Halstead males, or a single Halstead male.”

Several seconds ticked by, then Barnaby grimaced. “You’re right that we can’t tell if we’re looking at one murderer or two, but I seriously doubt they acted independently. The correlation between Lady Halstead being murdered so soon after announcing she was having her affairs put in order, and then Runcorn, the person actively engaged in putting her ladyship’s affairs in order, being murdered is simply too great.” Barnaby met the others’ eyes. “The motive for both murders is the same—to conceal those deposits. Subsequently, to prevent that money being absorbed into the estate, he, or they, removed it before we had a chance to put a watch on the bank and catch them.”

Penelope nodded. “That’s logically sound.” After a moment, she went on, “From what Montague discovered, those deposits derive from some illegal trade, so we can assume that the drive to conceal the deposits is fueled by the fear of scandal. So by my reckoning, the one person in the family who isn’t involved in the murders is Wallace Camberly. He couldn’t have been the man seen near Runcorn’s office, could he? And so . . .” Breaking off, she wrinkled her nose. “I’ve just seen the hole in that. The person fearing the scandal might be Wallace, but he or his wife or his son could have killed Lady Halstead, and his son could have killed Runcorn.”

“Exactly.” Glumly, Stokes grimaced. “If you entertain the possibility that there’s more than one of them involved, then any member of the family, females as well as males, could be one of the murderers—a male or a female having killed Lady Halstead and any male having killed Runcorn.”

“But”—Griselda held up a hand—“it’s very much harder to see anyone other than a family member, even a female, being one of the murderers.”

“Not unless there was evidence of some relationship between said female and one of the family’s males,” Penelope said. “And given what you’ve told us of the family’s social attitudes, I seriously doubt any of the men would have stooped to dallying with Lady Halstead’s staff, not even with Miss Matcham.”