Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

B arnaby, Stokes, and Penelope elected to walk the few blocks from the house in Albemarle Street to Duke Street, one of the most favored locations for the residences of wealthy and, generally, titled bachelors.

On reaching that street, flanked by Barnaby and Stokes, Penelope paused on the pavement opposite Number 15 and surveyed their destination. The redbrick building was in an older style, with a high-pitched roof, ornate cream-stone window and door surrounds, and leaded diamond-paned windows. A short flight of stone steps led up to a brown-painted front door.

Penelope looked up at the first-floor apartment, which sported a bow window that overlooked the street.

Behind the glass, a figure moved, unidentifiable but definitely there.

"Someone's at home," Stokes said. "Let's see who it is, shall we?"

Penelope had no argument with that course of action, and their party swiftly crossed the street. As they ascended the steps to the front door, she noticed a small black town carriage drawn up to the curb outside the house next door. The driver, a large individual wearing a dun-colored driving cloak, sat on the box, holding the reins loosely and, she would swear, observing them intently.

Pausing on the porch behind Stokes, she inwardly frowned.

Without knocking, Stokes opened the front door, which gave access to multiple apartments and, at this hour, was left unlocked.

Penelope felt Barnaby's hand at her back, urging her on, and she dismissed the strangely watchful coachman in favor of more interesting sights.

A set of narrow but elegant stairs faced them. Ignoring the corridor that led to the rear of the ground floor and a door that must open to the ground-floor rooms, they started up the two flights to the first floor. About them, the building was quiet, and courtesy of the thickness of the stair runner, they made little sound. Expensive patterned paper covered the stairwell walls, and the banister was polished oak, cool and smooth under their hands. The stairwell was dim, but a skylight far above shed enough light for them to see their way.

They stepped onto the first-floor landing. The stairs turned and continued to the upper floors, while directly ahead of them stood a solid oak door, presumably the entry to Sedbury's rooms.

Stokes raised his hand to knock, then paused and, instead, tried the doorknob. It turned, and he eased the door slowly and silently open. He paused on the threshold, cast a swift glance at Penelope and Barnaby, then faced forward and quietly walked in.

Penelope followed, equally silently, at Stokes's heels.

The small front hall opened onto one end of a decent-sized parlor well-lit by light slanting in through the front bow window. To their right, at the far end of the room, two doors, both closed, bracketed a fireplace, while another door, also closed, was in the side wall immediately on their left. Several large studded-leather armchairs and a matching couch were arranged before the hearth and, together with several low tables, took up much of the floor space, along with a large rolltop desk positioned against the inner wall, halfway down the room directly opposite the bow window.

One swift glance informed Penelope that the room was very much lived in, with several editions of sporting magazines, all appearing well-thumbed through, tossed on various tables. Riding gloves and a quirt rested on a side table, and several invitations were stuck in the ornate frame of the mirror above the mantelpiece.

All well and good, but what riveted her attention was the lady standing facing the desk. The top of the desk was rolled back, revealing a mélange of papers pushed into the pigeonholes and haphazardly stacked before them, virtually covering the desk itself.

The woman was garbed in an expensive coat of recent style, and her wavy brown-blond hair was caught up in a fashionable topknot. She was of average height and curvaceous build and held a paper in one hand. Her eyes were glued to the sheet, and her delicate features were contorted in a frown of patent puzzlement.

Whatever she was reading was so engrossing that she hadn't heard them enter.

Stokes cleared his throat, and the lady startled, and with one hand rising to her throat, whirled to face them.

When she simply stared, wide-eyed, Stokes calmly said, "I'm Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. And you are?"

The lady's gaze had shifted from Stokes to take in Barnaby and Penelope, who had moved to stand alongside Stokes. A flicker of recognition passed through the lady's large blue eyes, but after a second of silence, she returned her gaze to Stokes, tipped up her chin, and haughtily replied, "Lady Claudia Hale." Deftly, her fingers folded the sheet. "These are my brother's rooms. Why are you here?"

Under cover of her words, she smoothly slipped the folded paper into her pocket.

Stokes walked forward. "I'm here because I'm in charge of the investigation into Viscount Sedbury's murder, so if you don't mind, I'll have that note." He held out his hand. "And my associates, who you might recognize, are the Honorable Mr. Barnaby Adair and his wife."

Penelope came forward. "I believe when you and I were first introduced, I would have been Penelope Ashford."

She halted beside Stokes, and Claudia Hale politely inclined her head. "I know who you are, but why are you here?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Adair act as official consultants to Scotland Yard in cases involving the ton," Stokes informed her, "as this case clearly does." He hadn't lowered his hand. "That letter, if you please."

Claudia didn't want to hand over the note—that much was clear in the set of her jaw and the suspicion in her gaze—but Stokes had put enough steel behind his words that, after a long-drawn moment, with obvious reluctance, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and placed the paper in Stokes's palm.

"Thank you." Stokes unfolded the sheet and briefly scanned it, then tucked it into his pocket.

Claudia had been looking from Penelope to Barnaby. "So Sedbury was definitely murdered?"

"It seems he was," Penelope replied. "But how did you learn of his death?"

Claudia was fast losing her starchiness and looked increasingly puzzled and more than a little worried. "The police commissioner called at my aunt's house—Selborough House, which is where I'm staying—to confirm that Papa is at Rattenby Grange, and he—the commissioner—told us that Sedbury's body had been pulled from the Thames." She looked at Barnaby, then at Stokes. "He didn't say Sedbury was murdered."

"The cause of death was unclear at that time," Stokes said. "But I regret to inform you that subsequent evidence is quite conclusive. Sedbury was murdered, and his body was dumped into the river." Stokes glanced at the desk beside him, at the disarranged stack through which Claudia had clearly been searching. "But you suspected that, didn't you?"

Claudia's frown deepened, and her lips compressed, but she made no reply.

Penelope said, "You're Sedbury's half sister, I believe."

Claudia returned her attention to Penelope. "Yes. The current marchioness—Papa's second wife—is my mother."

"And," Penelope blithely went on, intent on holding Claudia's attention while Stokes and Barnaby looked through the papers in the desk and examined the items scattered through the room, "I understand you have several younger brothers."

Grudgingly, Claudia volunteered, "Sedbury was the only child of Papa's first marriage. I'm Papa's second oldest child, and then come my brothers, Jonathon and Bryan, and our sister, Margot, and the youngest is Conrad."

"How old was Sedbury?" Penelope asked.

"Gordon—Sedbury—was thirty-six." Guessing Penelope's next question, Claudia went on, "I'm twenty-eight, and Jonathon is twenty-six. Bryan is twenty-two, Margot eighteen, and Conrad has just turned fifteen."

Penelope smiled encouragingly. "Thank you. Now, am I correct in thinking that Jonathon and Bryan are currently residing in town?"

Claudia grimaced. "Yes." Reluctantly, she added, "They both have lodgings—Jonathon in Jermyn Street and Bryan shares lodgings in Bury Street with three of his friends." Lips tight, she glanced at Stokes and Barnaby, who were both busily searching. "And before you ask, I haven't as yet seen Jonathon or Bryan today. I doubt they know that Sedbury's dead."

Barnaby glanced at Claudia. "You didn't send word?"

Claudia shook her head. "Selborough—my aunt's husband, Lord Selborough—said that we should wait to hear more details before troubling people with incomplete information." She gestured at the desk. "I came here to see?—"

When she pressed her lips tight and didn't continue, Penelope, with wide-eyed innocence, supplied, "If there was anything incriminating lying about?"

Claudia eyed Penelope with suppressed irritation, then huffed and folded her arms. "If you must know, I had no idea what I might find. I wasn't looking for anything specific—anything I knew to search for—but we've lived in fear for the past decade that Sedbury would one day land the entire family in some almighty scandal. And him getting murdered would be merely the start of it. That's why I came." She looked at Stokes, who was steadily working through Sedbury's correspondence, and pointedly stated, "To remove anything the police do not need to see."

Stokes cast Claudia a sidelong glance, then went back to his search.

Barnaby, who had been systematically going through the drawers of tables, coolly replied, "Admirable though such a sentiment might be when viewed through the prism of familial devotion, I assure you the police are not interested in anything that doesn't pertain to your half brother's murder."

Clutching her elbows, Claudia muttered, "That's likely to prove scandal enough."

Stokes set down a handful of letters and, with a frown, turned to Claudia. "I assume Sedbury had staff?"

Claudia nodded. "A gentleman's gentleman—Duggan. He let me in. I've called before with my aunt or brothers, so he knows who I am." She hesitated, then went on, "Duggan told me Sedbury hadn't returned here since Saturday evening, but Duggan didn't seem perturbed by that. He said he didn't know when Sedbury would be back—he clearly didn't know Sedbury was dead—but he needed to fetch supplies from the market. I said I'd wait, and Duggan left. That was about five minutes before you arrived."

Penelope, Stokes, and Barnaby shared a glance, then Barnaby looked at Claudia. "So Duggan didn't know Sedbury had died."

"No," Claudia stated. "I'm sure he didn't, and I saw no reason to tell him." After a second, she added, "I know nothing about Sedbury's relationship with Duggan, so I didn't know how he might react."

Penelope interpreted that as meaning that Claudia hadn't known if Duggan might get in the way of her search. Penelope was itching to read the note that was now in Stokes's pocket. "It's unlikely, therefore," she concluded, "that Duggan was in any way involved in Sedbury's murder."

Deciding that she'd learned everything Claudia was likely to tell her—at least for now—and that it was time to join in the search, Penelope stepped past the other woman and walked to the door beside the fireplace and closest to the outer wall. The knob turned freely, and she set the door wide and walked through.

"Oh!" She halted just over the threshold, her eyes widening as she took in the contents of the small room—really more an antechamber to the parlor. A window in the outer wall admitted enough light to make out the whips arrayed around the room. There must have been thirty or so whips displayed in glass cases and on pegs attached to all four walls. Other than the whips, the room held only one armchair that was set beneath the window, facing into the room. "Ah-ha!" Penelope walked farther into the chamber. "I take it this is Sedbury's whip collection."

Claudia had followed her and stood in the doorway. "Collecting whips was his hobby. He was obsessed with owning certain whips. I have no idea why or if they're of any value."

"There are no empty spots." Penelope glanced at Claudia. "So it seems none are missing."

In the parlor, Stokes said, "There are several letters here that might mean something."

That was a request for Barnaby's help. Penelope saw Barnaby come up behind Claudia. Over her head, he glanced around the room, then turned and went to assist Stokes.

Somewhat grumpily and clearly still worried, Claudia retreated to stand before the bow window and watch Stokes and Barnaby as they examined Sedbury's correspondence. After a last glance at the whip display, Penelope followed and halted before the whip room door.

Studying several letters, Barnaby observed, "On the surface, some of these appear to be the usual things—letters from acquaintances—but there's a tone to them that suggests some underlying communication that's not explicitly stated."

Stokes grunted. "Meanwhile, these—which appear to be copies of Sedbury's letters to such acquaintances—have a distinctly belligerent style, but again, seem to skate around whatever the point of the exchange actually was."

Claudia stated, "Belligerence was Sedbury's default. He was…a difficult man to like." When Stokes glanced her way, she caught his eye. "The commissioner mentioned some gentleman who had a falling-out with Sedbury on the day before he died. Shouldn't you be looking for him?"

A brief smile lifted Stokes's lips. "We've already spoken with that gentleman, and it's unlikely he had anything to do with Sedbury's death." He tipped his head to the letters and notes he and Barnaby held. "These, however, offer us a wealth of possible suspects."

Setting down the letters, Stokes turned to Claudia and, reaching into his pocket, drew out the note she'd been staring at when they'd arrived. "And then there's this. A letter in Sedbury's hand, started on Saturday morning, but left unfinished." Stokes flicked the sheet open and read, "‘Dear Jonno.'" He looked at Claudia. "I assume that's your brother, Jonathon Hale?"

Claudia's features tightened. "I don't know, but I assume so."

Stokes nodded and continued to read, "‘I thought you'd like to know that a few months ago, I ran into that little maid you used to be so fond of. You know the one—pretty as a picture with rosy cheeks and long blond pigtails. I could see what caught your eye. I have to confess that I had my wicked way with her.'" Stokes looked up. "The letter ends there. Unfinished, presumably intended to be finished later and, subsequently, sent." He focused on Claudia. "Do you have any idea to what this refers?"

She frowned and shook her head. "I have no notion at all."

Penelope put in, "That's hardly surprising. Brothers don't tell sisters what they get up to, much less upon whom their fancy alights." Penelope studied Claudia. "However, the tone suggests a certain rivalry between Sedbury and Jonathon."

Claudia returned Penelope's regard, then closed her eyes and sighed. Opening her eyes, she admitted, "Sedbury lived to undermine Jonathon whenever and by whatever means he could." She watched Stokes pocket the letter again, along with several other communications, then went on, "Sedbury resented all of us—Mama, me, and my siblings. He has since Mama married Papa, and his resentment grew as each of us were born. But his worst was always reserved for Jonathon."

"Jonathon," Barnaby said, "who, on Sedbury's death, becomes your father's heir."

Claudia gave vent to a strained laugh. "The irony is that Sedbury never imagined he would be the one to die, thus ceding that position to Jonathon. Quite the opposite. He—Sedbury—told us, to our faces, multiple times, that the instant Papa died, we would all be cast out. That he would make sure of it—more, that he would relish and glory in the act. Of course, he never uttered such words in Papa's hearing, but still." She visibly bristled. "Telling eight-year-old Conrad that he best study hard because, one day, he would have to make his way in the world with not a farthing to his name is little short of despicable and an example of Sedbury's barbs."

Penelope asked, "What was your father's reaction to Sedbury's threats? Does he know of them?"

"He knows," Claudia said, "and he does not approve and supports and reassures and comforts the rest of us as best he can, but Sedbury is—" She broke off, then amended, " Was his heir, and there was little Papa could do to effectively refute Sedbury's declarations."

Claudia studied Penelope, then went on, "You'll ask around and no doubt hear the stories, so I may as well tell you. If Papa and Sedbury are in the same house for more than an hour, there'll be an almighty row because Sedbury will deliberately say something to provoke Papa. And when Papa tries to counter him, Sedbury dwells on what he might do to bring scandal down on the whole family, then smugly walks out." Disgust dripped from her words.

"So," Barnaby concluded, "Sedbury had your father over a proverbial barrel in terms of the future of the family."

Claudia faintly shrugged. "That's the situation, more or less."

Penelope frowned. "Although until today, I wasn't aware of Sedbury's existence, that only underscores that he has never made any attempt to find a bride, and consequently, he's never loomed on my horizon."

Claudia scoffed. "Even if he had thought to marry, no family of suitable standing would countenance a match between him and their daughter."

Penelope widened her eyes. "Is that so? Because I believe there have recently been rumors of him showing an interest in pursuing an alliance with the Ellises. With Rosalind Ellis."

Claudia's face darkened. She stared at Penelope and transparently wrestled with her conscience, then her features firmed with resolution. "I've heard too much of your reputation to believe you won't learn the truth, so for what it's worth, Sedbury pursuing Rosalind was another example of his family-directed cruelty. The Ellises are our nearest neighbors in Gloucestershire, and Rosalind and Bryan are childhood sweethearts. They've always and forever had eyes only for each other. The Ellises have consistently encouraged the match, as have our parents—it would be an excellent outcome all around. But Sedbury hated—viscerally hated—the prospect of seeing any of us happy, and he's been pressuring the Ellises to allow him to marry Rosalind. Of course, Rosalind knows Sedbury well enough not to want to have anything to do with him. However, with Sedbury in line to inherit Rattenby and the power he will then wield as the largest and most influential landholder in the district, I have heard that the Ellises—well, Mr. Ellis—has been wavering. I don't know what threats Sedbury made regarding his actions once he succeeded to the title and estates, but you can easily imagine the sort of things he might have said."

Penelope didn't like the sound of any of that at all, and she was unsurprised to find her estimation of Sedbury—hardly high to begin with—sinking even lower.

Stokes and Barnaby digested the information, then Stokes crossed to the anteroom and looked inside. He turned to Claudia. "Do you know if Sedbury's favorite whip—a Duckleberry Longe, apparently—is in there?"

She frowned. "The whip he always carried with him?"

"So we're told," Penelope replied.

Claudia made a disgusted sound. "Such an affectation! But no, Inspector. Sedbury usually kept that whip with him. I never saw him put it in that room." She waved toward the still-closed door at the other end of the room. "You should check in his bedroom. It might be there."

Barnaby turned and went to the bedroom. He opened the door and passed through. Stokes followed.

They returned within a few minutes, shaking their heads.

"Nothing useful," Barnaby reported.

"Let me take a look," Penelope said. "I might see something you two have missed."

Stokes and Barnaby waved her on. Leaving Claudia in their care, Penelope went into the bedroom. It contained a bed, a wardrobe, and a dresser. She made short work of searching everywhere but discovered nothing of interest. "Just what you'd expect to find in a bachelor gentleman's bedroom."

She returned to the parlor, where Stokes was asking Claudia more about her family, especially those currently in town, with Barnaby listening and taking mental notes. Penelope left them to it and went to the last unopened door—the one on the other side of the fireplace. Through it lay an intimate dining room, from which another door led to a small kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was a large pantry and a small room which, judging by the narrow bed and unvarnished chest of drawers, was Duggan's.

Penelope set about searching the rooms. In truth, there was little in the cupboards or drawers in the kitchen, dining room, and pantry, just the basic pots, pans, and utensils. Duggan owned two sets of clothes in addition to those he must be wearing and one other pair of boots, a comb, and not much else.

On returning to the parlor and meeting Stokes's and Barnaby's questioning looks, she shook her head. "Nothing of note, other than that the cupboards are bare, and Duggan did, indeed, need to go shopping."

"Right, then." Stokes waved them toward the exit. "We're finished here for now."

Somewhat reluctantly, Claudia gave in to Penelope's urging and accompanied her into the front hall and out of the apartment. Penelope started down the stairs, and Claudia trailed after her.

Barnaby and Stokes followed. Stokes closed the apartment door, and he and Barnaby caught up with the ladies on the front porch.

Stokes dipped his head to Claudia. "Lady Claudia. You might mention to your aunt that I will be calling on her in due course. Your brothers as well."

Claudia grimaced, but replied, "I'll warn them." She nodded to Stokes. "Inspector." Then she turned to Penelope and Barnaby and inclined her head. "Mr. and Mrs. Adair."

They nodded back and watched as Claudia went down the steps and walked briskly to the waiting carriage.

The large, heavyset coachman swung down from the box and opened the carriage door for Claudia. After she'd entered, he shut the door, climbed back up, and picked up the reins. Seconds later, the coach drew out from the curb and rattled down the street toward Mayfair.

Penelope linked her arm in Barnaby's, and they joined Stokes in descending to the pavement and strolling in the same direction. "Did you happen to notice," Penelope said, "that Claudia's very large and strong-looking coachman has a nasty cut over his left eye?"

Barnaby glanced down at her and smiled. "I did, as it happens."

"Hmm," Penelope mused. "I wonder if he's a family retainer. Perhaps a very loyal one."

Stokes grunted. "If he is, I'll leave him to you. On the face of the information now in our hands, it seems that several family members, including Sedbury's sire, had good reason to wish the man dead."

"Possibly," Barnaby allowed. "However, while I can imagine Claudia, her sister, or her mother, and given his age, even the marquess, using a hireling—or a trusted retainer—to accomplish such an end, I can't see Jonathon or Bryan, both of whom have the strongest motives at this point, doing so. Or, for that matter, agreeing to meet Sedbury down by the docks or, alternatively, choosing the docks for any meeting with him." He paused, then added, "In fact, I can't see any retainer or hireling choosing that area, either. They would have needed to entice Sedbury down there with some quite potent lure."

"Ah, but we don't yet know where he was killed," Stokes said. "It might have been in Mayfair, and while Jonathon might not have got that letter, he's the one in line for the title."

Barnaby dipped his head in acknowledgment. "True. We need to locate the site of the murder sooner rather than later. Wherever it is will tell us quite a bit about the murderer—about who the murderer might be."

Stokes nodded. They'd reached Piccadilly, and he halted on the pavement. "I'm off to confer with O'Donnell and Morgan to see if they've turned up anything useful."

Barnaby looked at Penelope. "I'll see you home, then go on and find my lads and set them on Sedbury's and Charlie's Saturday-night trails."

Penelope consulted her lapel watch and softly humphed. "Sadly, it's too late to catch up with my usual sources today." She looked at Stokes. "I'll have to leave it until tomorrow, but I'm sure I'll be able to learn a lot more about the Hales and Sedbury from them."

Stokes grinned. "Better you than either of us." He glanced at Barnaby. "But before you and I part ways, I've just remembered that there's another venue of interest that we need to investigate."

Stokes's venue of interest proved to be White's Gentlemen's Club.

After escorting Penelope home, Barnaby walked with Stokes to St. James Street and the front door of the venerable institution. As Barnaby—and his father and brothers—were well-known members, he led the way in asking the porter, Harry, who was in his cubicle just inside the porch, whether he'd been on duty on the previous Saturday, late in the evening.

"No, sir," Harry answered readily. "The evening porter last Saturday was Jenkinson."

Barnaby glanced at Stokes, then looked back at Harry. "In that case, the inspector and I will need to speak with Jenkinson."

"About this strange business with Viscount Sedbury?" Harry guessed, already beckoning to a hovering page. "At this hour, Jenkinson will be in his room. I'll just send for him. I'm sure he'll be down quick as a wink."

Stokes and Barnaby waited in the recess of the deep porch, and neither was surprised when, only a handful of minutes later, a stout man still tugging the club's livery into place hurried out and presented himself. "Jenkinson, evening porter, sirs. How can I help?"

It was obvious that the news of Stokes's earlier visit had done the rounds of the club's staff, and Jenkinson was only too thrilled to have his moment in the limelight.

Barnaby knew what Stokes needed to know, and in short order, Jenkinson confirmed that he had been the porter on duty between eight in the evening and two o'clock in the morning the previous Saturday into Sunday. "It's a prime time for tips, you know, when I hail carriages and help gentlemen who are a bit wobbly-like into them."

"So," Barnaby said, "on the Saturday night just past, you were in your cubicle when Viscount Sedbury entered the club and also when he left."

"That's correct," Jenkinson replied. "He's one as is hard to miss."

"Indeed. Did he have his whip with him?" Barnaby asked.

Without hesitation, Jenkinson nodded. "Always carried that thing, but the committee decreed he couldn't take it inside, so he always left it with the porter, and he left it with me on Saturday night."

"Did he fetch it when he left?" Stokes asked.

"He did, indeed, sir." Jenkinson preened. "Handed it to him myself."

Stokes smiled faintly. "Excellent. And he walked off with it in his hand?"

"Well, as far as I could see." Jenkinson frowned. "Which, I admit, is not all that far." He brightened. "But he definitely had it in his hand when he stepped onto the pavement in front of the club."

"Thank you," Barnaby said. "That's very clear. Did you happen to notice if he summoned a hackney or got into a carriage?"

"Not as I saw, sir," Jenkinson replied. He shifted and pointed toward the street. "He walked out, stepped onto the pavement, and headed toward Pall Mall."

"Definitely Pall Mall?" Stokes asked.

Jenkinson nodded. "Can see it now, in my mind's eye. He definitely went that way."

With all sincerity, they thanked Jenkinson and quit the porch.

They stepped into the weak, late-afternoon sunshine and halted.

"All right," Stokes said. "So Sedbury left here carrying his favorite whip, and it's possible that same whip was used to strangle him."

"Assuming he still had it with him when he met his murderer," Barnaby said, "that raises the question of who in their right mind would have taken on a brute like Sedbury." He glanced at Stokes. "Sedbury wasn't just large and extremely strong, he was also armed with his weapon of choice and known to be dangerous."

Stokes grunted. "I've a feeling the whip is going to prove pivotal to solving this case." He met Barnaby's eyes. "Best we get on finding the damned thing."

"And locating the murder site." Barnaby glanced at the sky. "We've still got a few hours to set searches in motion."

After a short discussion of plans, they hailed a hackney and rattled off eastward.

Stokes let Barnaby off at Holborn and continued on his way to the docks.

Left on the bustling pavement, Barnaby sank his hands into his pockets and looked around. At this time of day, he could usually count on finding one of his older, more experienced lads somewhere around there.