Page 53 of The Masterful Mr. Montague

“For instance,” Montague said, “the sort of information that might come out through Lady Halstead’s affairs being put in order.”

Penelope nodded. “Exactly—if put together with that, then what Tilly knew would assume much greater significance—”

“To whit, that it would point a finger at the murderer.” Somewhat grimly, Stokes nodded. “Yes, that’s what I meant. All things considered, I believe Tilly was murdered because she knew something the significance of which she had not yet realized.”

“He’s protecting himself,” Adair said. When they all looked at him, he went on, “All three murders can be explained by that—I don’t think we need to invoke any other motive. He used Lady Halstead’s account to hide the proceeds from his recent and ongoing involvement in some illegal enterprise, and in order to keep that illegal association concealed, he killed first Lady Halstead, then Runcorn, and now Tilly.”

Stokes regarded Adair for several moments, then nodded. Then he frowned, and his gaze shifted to Violet.

Before Stokes could ask the question clearly forming in his head, Montague placed a hand over Violet’s, where it rested on the table between them. “I think you must tell Stokes what you told me when I arrived.”

Violet looked at him; although she had to be aware that everyone else was now studying her, she held his gaze. In response to the uncertainty in her eyes, he nodded encouragingly. An instant passed, then, making no move to draw her hand from under his, she drew breath and looked across the table at Stokes. “Mr. Montague called yesterday evening and told me of the progress of your investigation. Specifically, he told me that Mr. Runcorn had been murdered.” She paused when Stokes glanced at Montague and arched one black brow.

Unapologetically meeting Stokes’s gaze, Montague gently pressed Violet’s hand, and she drew another shaky breath, reclaiming Stokes’s attention, and continued, “This morning, when Mr. Montague arrived, I mentioned how unsettled I had been after learning of Runcorn’s death—that I’d felt rattled enough to push my dresser across my door before I fell asleep last night.”

Montague felt Violet’s gaze briefly touch his face, then she faced Stokes again. “This morning, when I moved the dresser back, I discovered the door to my room was ajar.” She paused to allow the ripple of shock that traveled around the table to subside, then went on, “It was most definitely closed when I went to bed, but this morning . . .”

Her hand turned beneath his, her fingers convulsively clasping his as she drew in another tight breath and raised her chin. “I suspect that if Mr. Montague hadn’t told me of Mr. Runcorn’s death, and I hadn’t felt frightened enough to block my door, then I would now be as dead as Tilly.”

Unsurprisingly, that declaration prompted a round of shocked and concerned exclamations.

Penelope caught Violet’s gaze. “I don’t suppose you know what you know, so to speak?”

Violet shook her head. “Rest assured, if I knew anything that might identify Lady Halstead’s murderer, and now Runcorn’s and Tilly’s, too, I would instantly tell . . . well, anyone and everyone.”

Penelope grimaced. Various murmurs of support and conjecture floated around the table.

Stokes had been frowning blackly at the table; raising his head, he rapped a hand on its surface. When everyone quieted and looked at him, he grimly stated, “We now have three murders and a missing sum of cash, much of it likely ill-gotten gains. We have reason to suspect that the villain is a member of the Halstead family—not only was a man of a description that would fit several of the Halstead men seen in the vicinity of Runcorn’s office on the night of his murder, and also seen meeting the lady who removed the money in question from the bank, but we now know the murderer gained entrance to the house to kill Lady Halstead’s maid by using a key to the side door. Most likely he used the same entrance when he murdered Lady Halstead herself.” Stokes looked around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes. “I think,” he said, “that it’s time we interviewed the family again.”

Chapter 10

Stokes had sent formal requests for the Halsteads and the Camberlys to assemble at the Lowndes Street house at two o’clock that afternoon.

As Penelope had said, “At that hour, they can’t fob you off by saying they have to attend a luncheon, or any other pressing social event.”

Stokes wondered if it was the lack of a viable excuse that saw all the Halstead brood trooping into the drawing room at the appointed time—or curiosity. Watching the arrivals from the rear of the front hall, he murmured to Barnaby, standing beside him, “That rivalry of theirs could work to our advantage.”

Barnaby’s lips lifted in a cynical smile. “You mean they’ve come to learn what you’ve uncovered about the others?” Watching Constance Halstead whisper to her daughter, Caroline, as they passed through the door, he nodded. “You may well be right.”

After a moment, Stokes said, “I wish I could believe that Montague’s searching might give us the answer, but I can’t imagine our villain being silly enough to put his cash anywhere it might be found. Especially not after this business with her ladyship’s accounts.”

“No. He won’t be that stupid.” Montague had told them that it would take several days for him to hear back about the current state of the Halsteads’ bank accounts. “I agree with Montague that it’s one of those things we need to check, on the grounds that we would be stupid not to, just in case, but from the start this villain was cagey enough to know he needed to conceal that money—even more now than before, he’s not going to allow it to be found and connected with him.”

Stokes snorted. “If I were him, I’d put it in a tin under the bed.”

“On top of the wardrobe,” Barnaby murmured back. “Maids eventually find things hidden under beds.”

Stokes’s teeth flashed in a grin.

But he was severely sober when, with Barnaby and Montague, he walked into the drawing room. Violet, Penelope, and Griselda had gone into the room before any of the family had arrived; if anyone had questioned Penelope and Griselda’s presence, Penelope had intended to adopt her most haughty manner and inform them that she and Griselda were there supporting Violet. As Stokes noted all three ensconced on a chaise beneath the windows opposite the fireplace, a position that afforded a clear view of the family members gathered in the chairs and on the twin sofas flanking the hearth, he assumed that any who had dared dispute their right to be there had been duly put in their place.

The three ladies were specifically charged with observing, both the individual reactions and the family interactions; Stokes didn’t anticipate them contributing to the proceedings and fervently hoped they wouldn’t. Explaining why their wives were posing questions in an interview would, he felt, tax even Barnaby’s ingenuity.

After surveying the family and confirming all were present, Stokes crossed to take a position before the fireplace, from where he had an excellent view of all in the room. Barnaby and Montague followed; Barnaby halted on Stokes’s right, with Montague beyond him. They, too, could see everyone’s faces, could watch and note every reaction.

Two constables unobtrusively came into the room and, after quietly shutting the door, took up stations to either side.

They’d decided to use the drawing room rather than the dining room for this confrontation purely because the setting gave Stokes, and Barnaby and Montague, the advantage of height. They were standing, while, of course, the Halstead men had claimed prime positions on the sofas and in the armchairs.