Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M idmorning of the following day saw Penelope tugging on the bellpull that hung beside the front door of St. Ives House in Grosvenor Square.

The time was precisely correct for attending a fashionable at-home, and for Penelope, the venue offered the certain prospect of hosting all her "usual sources" gathered together under one roof. While there were doubtless many other tonnish at-homes occurring at that hour elsewhere in Mayfair, the Cynster ladies and their close connections who resided in London had long deemed Tuesday mornings as the time to congregate more or less en famille to exchange the latest gossip and rumors without the bother of wider society and concerns over who might overhear shared secrets.

For learning about the Hale family and Viscount Sedbury, Penelope knew she would not find a more useful group from whom to inquire.

Besides, she always enjoyed chatting with her favorite group of older ladies, and they, in turn, delighted in trolling their memories for snippets that would enlighten her.

After a minute, in response to her summons, the door swung open to reveal a rigidly proper butler.

On seeing her, Hamilton's features softened, and his lips curved upward. "Mrs. Adair. It's been several weeks. The ladies will be delighted to see you."

"Thank you, Hamilton." Penelope stepped over the threshold. "The back parlor as usual?"

"Indeed, ma'am."

She allowed Hamilton to relieve her of her bonnet and coat, then waved airily. "I know my way."

Hamilton smiled in avuncular fashion and bowed, and she walked to the rear of the front hall and on down the long corridor that led to the ducal family's back parlor, a room that had always been the family's private gathering place.

The back parlor overlooked the mansion's rear gardens, and when Penelope walked into the room, the light from the windows softly illuminated the ladies settled on the long sofas and the many armchairs arranged in the center of the space. She was pleased to see that her favorite grandes dames were in attendance, along with a full complement of the middle-aged Cynster matrons.

She was also reassured to note that no one who was not considered "a part of the family" was present. Although she herself wasn't a Cynster by either birth or marriage, as she had two Cynster sisters-in-law and a Cynster brother-in-law, she had for many years been considered "one of the tribe."

The ladies noticed a newcomer and, as a group, broke off their conversations to look questioningly in her direction. Their eyes lit as they recognized who had come calling.

"Penelope!" Honoria, Duchess of St. Ives, their hostess and the natural leader of the middle-aged contingent, smiled in welcome and waved her forward. "How lovely to see you. Come in, my dear."

"Is this a social call?" Patience Cynster archly inquired. "Or do you have questions for our collective mind?"

Penelope grinned as she joined them. She knew they all delighted in her inquiries, which they took as a challenge to their knowledge of the ton. "The latter," she confirmed, much to the group's obvious pleasure.

She spent several minutes greeting and being greeted by those present, which included three of the ton's more ancient grandes dames—Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, Lady Horatia Cynster, and the redoubtable Lady Osbaldestone.

With the formalities of her children's health and most recent accomplishments and the well-being of her family duly reported, Penelope subsided onto a large ottoman that placed her more or less at the focal point of the gathering.

"So!" Lady Celia Cynster regarded her with open anticipation. "What's your question for us?"

Lady Osbaldestone snorted and tapped her cane on the floor. "In my opinion, we're in dire need of some meaty puzzle with which to invigorate our brains."

"Do say you have one," Honoria advised. "Ton-wise, it's been rather dreary of late."

Penelope grinned. "I do have such a query, and the case it's connected to is liable to cause quite a social brouhaha."

"Excellent!" Helena declared. "Those are the puzzles we like best."

"So, dear," Celia instructed, "start at the beginning. Who's dead?"

"I suspect you might not yet have heard, but Viscount Sedbury's body was pulled from the Thames on Sunday. He'd been strangled."

"About time!" and "What a relief!" and similar reactions echoed through the room. Penelope heard not one single expression of sorrow or even regret. She waited silently for the furor to abate, and her assumption that she wouldn't need to say anything else to learn more was soon borne out.

"Sedbury, heh?" Honoria exchanged a meaningful glance with Patience. "How telling that I feel so much relief and not a shred of grief on learning that a member of the nobility—a marquess's heir, no less—was murdered."

"Indeed." Patience looked around the gathering. "I don't know about anyone else, but I find myself quite in charity with whoever managed to bump Sedbury off. He was an out-and-out bad 'un, and the world is a better place without him in it." Patience met Penelope's eyes. "I doubt you'll find anyone in the ton who will mourn his passing."

Penelope grimaced. "I never met the man, which I find decidedly odd."

"Consider yourself lucky," Horatia advised. "But given your age, you never having crossed his path socially is understandable."

Honoria explained, "All the hostesses ceased sending him invitations within two years of him coming on the town. He was an arrogant bore and, indeed, a dangerous case. No one wanted to be responsible for introducing him to innocents, male or female, that he might subsequently corrupt."

Lady Osbaldestone nodded sagely. "From the first, there was something exceedingly ‘off' about him."

"His death is truly the best thing that could happen to his family." Helena glanced at Honoria. "Do remind me to send Georgina a note."

"The marchioness?" Penelope guessed.

Helena nodded. "She's younger than us, of course"—with a wave, she included Lady Osbaldestone, Horatia, Celia, and Louise, the older generation present that day—"but older than our children's generation. That said, we—the grandes dames and our peers—have always known what a cross Sedbury was for Georgina and her children, and Rattenby, too, to bear."

Celia nodded gravely. "Horrible to say it, but Sedbury's death will be a huge weight off their shoulders. Rattenby's especially, even though Sedbury was his heir."

"Indeed," Lady Osbaldestone put in. "The prospect Rattenby was facing, even if from the other side of the grave, was enough to curdle anyone's liver."

Penelope asked, "So it's true that Sedbury intended to turn his stepmother and her family into the street?"

Horatia nodded. "That's certainly what we've heard." She looked around the circle. "Although I suspect none of us have heard that directly from Sedbury's lips."

"Well," Honoria admitted, "as none of us invite him to cross our thresholds, I'm sure that's true."

Penelope reflected that given Sedbury had been the heir to a senior title and significant wealth, that situation spoke volumes. "Hmm." She frowned. "Do we have any confirmation from someone not a Hale that Sedbury had, indeed, vowed to disown his father's second family?"

"Oh, most definitely," Alathea said. "Alasdair once heard Sedbury swear that was his intent. As I gather the occasion occurred at some fashionable gaming hell, it's possible Sedbury was in his cups, but still."

"Gerrard also reported hearing Sedbury say the same while at some Bohemian event," Patience said. "I gather quite loudly."

"So," Penelope said, "we can say it was common knowledge among the ton that Sedbury was intent on beggaring his remaining family once he succeeded to the title." She looked around the faces. "From that, can I infer that the rest of the Hale family had reason to wish Sedbury dead?"

The ladies exchanged glances, wordlessly trading opinions as only those who knew each other well could.

Eventually, Lady Osbaldestone put the silent consensus into words. "Each member of the family might have had sound reason to wish Sedbury dead, but wishing and hoping and even praying are not the same as doing."

All the others were nodding.

"Quite frankly," Honoria added, "if the murderer does lie within the family, I would be wondering why they've waited this long to remove the thorn from their collective side."

Murmurs of agreement came from all quarters.

"For instance," Helena said, "ask yourself why it is that Lady Claudia Hale, an attractive lady of impeccable birth and standing, is as yet unwed."

Penelope frowned. "Because of Sedbury?"

"Who would want a man like Sedbury as an in-law?" Louise delicately shuddered. "Just the thought."

"Exactly," Alathea said. "Quite literally no family in the ton would want to brave the prospect."

"Actually," Penelope said, "there might be an answer to the question of why someone in the family might have felt compelled to finally act. There was a letter Sedbury was writing and left unfinished on his desk." She recited the contents of the letter, concluding with, "So it's possible, even likely, that Sedbury was actively goading Jonathon with both words and deeds. And also, there's the situation with Bryan Hale and the Ellises' daughter, Rosalind. Sedbury appears to have been set on interfering there as well."

As she'd hoped, the assembled ladies had insights to offer on both counts.

Lady Osbaldestone opined, "I don't know how much weight you should attach to Sedbury's letter to Jonathon, but I know for a fact that Georgina has been seriously exercised over how Jonathon might find a bride, not only because of the same situation that has smothered Claudia's prospects, but also because any young lady at whom Jonathon might cast his eye—or who dared to cast her eye at him—would instantly become a target for Sedbury and his particular vileness. The brute literally had no bounds—or at least no decent ones."

"In case you're wondering why Rattenby doesn't exercise more control over Sedbury and rein in his outrageous behavior," Horatia said, "it's because Rattenby lost the usual financial hold over Sedbury when, at quite a young age, Sedbury inherited a tidy sum from a misguided great-uncle."

"The inheritance wasn't that much," Celia added, "not weighed against the Rattenby estate, but the sum was sufficient to free Sedbury of his father's control."

"More's the pity," Honoria put in. "Although Rattenby's rarely in town and, of course, of the older generation, I've always found him to be a sound, steady man."

The others all agreed.

"As for the Ellis chit," Helena said, "my understanding is that no matter what pressure Sedbury has brought to bear on Mr. Ellis, both Mrs. Ellis and Rosalind are holding firm. The family would not have accepted Sedbury's suit for Rosalind's hand." Helena smiled gently at Penelope. "I'm acquainted with Mrs. Ellis, and I do not believe she would have bowed to Sedbury's demands."

"I second that assessment," Honoria put in. "Rosamund Ellis is a sound sort and not one to be pushed around, much less browbeaten."

"So," Patience summarized, "it's difficult to say how much real motive was generated by Sedbury's play for the girl."

Penelope forbore from pointing out that the degree of motive would very much depend on how Bryan Hale viewed the matter, and young gentlemen threatened with having their lady love stolen away could not be said to be the most calm and logical of creatures. Penelope doubted that any of the ladies present could, of their own knowledge, shed light on Bryan Hale's state of mind, but given that some had sons of similar age, she thought it prudent to ask if any had greater insight into Bryan's condition via said sons.

But Honoria shook her head. "Bryan is a full year older than Sebastian, so older than the others by several years, and Bryan's much quieter, too. They don't move in the same circles."

"In terms of having a motive to murder Sedbury, however," Lady Osbaldestone stated, "I fear you have no shortage of candidates. Starting with Lord Ferrier." She looked at Helena and Horatia. "Remember that scandal?"

"Lord, yes," Horatia said. "Ferrier never really recovered from that." For the younger crew, Horatia explained, "Ferrier was hard-pressed but hiding it well and thought to improve his position by rigging a race at Doncaster. But the scheme fell apart and came to nothing, and Ferrier was severely reprimanded and banned from the race meets, but otherwise, the matter was hushed up."

"Until Sedbury somehow found out," Lady Osbaldestone said, "and when he realized Ferrier couldn't pay to keep him silent, Sedbury set about destroying Ferrier's standing in the gentleman's clubs."

"Mind you, I gather that Sedbury only has entrée to the better clubs because of his father's title," Alathea said.

"Oh, and then there's Minchinham!" Bright-eyed, Celia looked around the circle. "Do you remember that kerfuffle?"

Penelope sat back, amazed and increasingly dismayed as her trusty sources presented her with an astonishingly long list of ton personages, all of whom, on the basis of the company's collective memory, Sedbury had threatened and subsequently damaged, via either possessions or their good name, to an extent sufficient to ensure those affected had sound motive to strike back, even to the extent of murder.

Her head reeled trying to keep track of all the names.

Eventually, she expostulated, "Are you seriously telling me that, had the opportunity presented itself, a good fifth of the ton might have killed Sedbury? Or at least might have arranged for him to be murdered?"

Her trusty sources looked around the circle, meeting each other's eyes, then they all looked at her and nodded.

"You need to remember," Lady Osbaldestone told her, "that Sedbury came on the town more than fifteen years ago. Unlike the majority of souls, a gentleman with a personality like his appears to delight in going around gathering enemies."

"Moreover," Helena advised, "just because some of the incidents we've described occurred years ago, and it might be hoped that the wounds inflicted would have healed or at least scabbed over, there's no telling if some more recent happening ripped off the scab and reopened the wound."

"And given circumstances would have changed over the years, this time, the one affected might have reacted much more strongly." Patience met Penelope's gaze. "I fear that in Sedbury's case, identifying his murderer might be more akin to finding a particular needle in a stack of similar needles."

Penelope grimaced feelingly.

"While I hesitate to mention it," Horatia put in, "a huge number of people will happily dance on Sedbury's grave, and those are just the ones we know about."

Alathea nodded. "We can't even be sure we know of all those within the ton who considered Sedbury an enemy, but even less can we guess who beyond our circles had even more reason to kill him." She glanced at the others. "I do know that he wasn't any kinder to those of lesser station."

"Indeed not." Honoria looked severe. "I once saw him bullying a hackney driver, threatening to beat the man to within an inch of his life, all because the driver had swerved—to miss a child, no less—too close to where Sedbury was walking and splattered the man's boots with mud." She sounded utterly disgusted. "I was passing and would have instructed Finch to intervene, but other jarveys and drivers came to the maligned driver's aid, and Sedbury was forced to back down." She humphed. "Not that he did that with any grace at all."

Penelope looked around the company, then heaved a heavy sigh. From their information, she'd hoped to identify a single good suspect, but instead, she'd landed in a mire of possibilities.

Helena caught her eye, smiled understandingly, and asked, "Now, what can you tell us about Amelia and Luc and Amanda and Martin and their broods?"

Penelope settled more comfortably on the ottoman and obliged her listeners with the latest news from Calverton Chase, Luc and Amelia's home, and from Hathersage, Martin and Amanda's estate. This was the unvoiced contract—her way of repaying the ladies for their help in the coin they valued most, namely, news of her wider family. She spent some time dwelling on the various children and their recent exploits, knowing that was gold to her listeners.

"And your mama is still well?" Helena asked.

"Yes, quite well," Penelope replied. "Although she can't come to town anymore—the air here isn't good for her at all—she still moves among the others' houses. At the moment, she's with Portia and Simon in Somerset."

Eventually, the gathering broke up with the various members heading to this luncheon or that. Penelope took her leave of the group and climbed into her waiting carriage. She sat back and mentally catalogued all she'd learned while the carriage rolled around Grosvenor Square and on toward Albemarle Street.

She'd just set her hat on the hall table when the front door opened again, and Barnaby strolled in.

He saw her and smiled in the particular way that still made her pulse race. "Hello. Finished with your meeting with your ‘usual sources'?"

"Indeed." She raised her face for his kiss, then waited while he shrugged off his coat and handed his cane to Mostyn to tell the majordomo, "We'll have luncheon in half an hour, Mostyn."

"Very good, ma'am."

Then she looped her arm in Barnaby's, and together, they ambled toward the garden parlor.

Barnaby smiled, she suspected at her managing ways. "So," he asked, "what did you learn?"

They entered the parlor, presently free of small people, and he steered her to her favorite chair. She settled and, as he sat in the chair opposite, replied, "I learned a lot—indeed, far too much—about Sedbury. It seems there's a small army of ton persons who had motive to murder the man. His family possibly led the pack, but there are so many others." She flung up her hands. "Just memorizing all the names gave me a headache. There are at least twenty-three good prospects. How good is anyone's guess."

He grimaced sympathetically. "I asked—very quietly—around the clubs and came away with much the same impression. I knew Sedbury was not well liked, but I had no idea he was so universally loathed."

"And, apparently, with good reason! He seems to have gone out of his way to make himself the object of people's hate."

After a moment, Barnaby said, "Or of their fear." He met her questioning gaze. "Insecure men—those who, due to some personality defect, are unable to make friends in the normal way—sometimes resort to instilling fear into others to make themselves feel powerful."

Penelope studied him for a moment, then sat upright. "That's it! That's exactly what Sedbury was doing." She met Barnaby's eyes, her own alive. "Not one person has mentioned a friend—not a single friend—and they most certainly would have if one had existed."

Barnaby dipped his head. "I've heard of no one said to be or claiming to be Sedbury's friend." He thought, then concluded, "Your information means that, motive wise, we're looking at a potentially open-ended list of suspects."

She nodded. "There's no telling who he made an enemy of or when or over what." She paused, then added, "In the matter of suspects, the trick will be to winnow the list."

"I'm not sure how much winnowing we'll be able to do, not with Sedbury," Barnaby observed. "Perhaps we should concentrate on getting some idea of who had the most urgent and compelling motive last Saturday night."

After a moment of considering that, Penelope offered, "Approaching solving this murder in our customary way—through investigating and weighing suspects—simply isn't going to work. As my sources observed, just because some had a reason to do away with Sedbury doesn't mean they did. And obviously, a large number didn't act on their motive. So motive alone is of little help, and realistically, the only viable way forward lies in the actual action surrounding the murder—we need to identify who had the necessary opportunity for that."

Barnaby nodded. "And the ability. Don't forget that. The ability to strangle Sedbury isn't something many possess."

"Indeed. But to assess all of that, we need to know exactly how and where Sedbury was strangled." Penelope met Barnaby's gaze. "We need to identify the murder site and search for witnesses to the killing."

"Yes, that's right. Apropos of finding the site, I checked with the lads, but as yet, they haven't found any sighting of Sedbury after he left White's." Barnaby lightly grimaced. "I went past the docks and spoke with Stokes. He and his men haven't found anything helpful yet, either."

Barnaby paused, then went on, "On a more positive note, the lads have found witnesses who can place Charlie on his way home on Jermyn Street, which is something of a feat given the short distance between his house and White's."

Penelope said, "That's something, at least. Not that I ever thought Charlie was involved, but proving it might have been more difficult."

"So, with Charlie more definitely out of the picture, we need to learn everything we can about the murder itself." Lightly, Barnaby drummed his fingers on the chair's arm. "The murder site, the weapon—was it Sedbury's whip?—and most importantly, we need to find some witnesses who can shed light on who we need to investigate further."

Penelope put a finger to the center of her glasses frame, the action one of habit rather than necessity; she'd recently got a new pair of spectacles, and they didn't slide down her nose as the previous pair had. "In reality, investigating the murder itself—the actual killing—is our only sure way forward."

Barnaby met her gaze, then smoothly rose and extended his hand to her. "I wish I could argue." She gave him her hand, and he gripped it and helped her to her feet. "However," he continued, setting her hand in the crook of his arm and turning toward the doorway, "I fear you're one hundred percent correct."

Two hours later, Charlie was comfortably ensconced in his favorite armchair in his parlor, a thick slice of fruitcake in one hand and a cup of tea brewed just as he liked it on the table beside him, when a single commanding rap fell on his front door.

He froze, wondering. He listened with mounting wariness as Garvey's footsteps approached the front door. Garvey opened the door and spoke with someone, then Charlie heard the door close and breathed more easily.

He refocused on the slice of cake, but before he could take a bite, Garvey entered with a note on his silver salver.

Garvey presented the salver. "For you, sir. Delivered by a boy. He didn't know anything about it—he was just the courier."

"I see." Charlie regarded the simple folded note with mixed feelings. After yesterday's adventures with Stokes and Barnaby and Penelope, he had wondered what the future would bring.

The note looked like it might hold the answer, but did he want to know what it said?

After a prolonged moment of indecisiveness, he fortified himself with a large bite of cake, then set it aside on its plate and reached for the note.

He unfolded it and read, then stared at the sheet. "Bless me! Fancy that."

Garvey was hovering. "Sir?"

Charlie didn't keep many secrets from his longtime gentleman's gentleman. "It's a note from Lord Jonathon Hale, most politely and deferentially asking me for any assistance I might care to give regarding Sedbury's whip collection." Charlie regarded the note with a degree of fascination. "I hardly expected that. I only vaguely know Jonathon through a mutual friend."

"Well, sir, you are one of the foremost authorities on whips, after all," Garvey loyally stated. "Not surprising that Lord Jonathon might think to ask you about the viscount's collection."

"Yes, but"—Charlie flicked the note with a finger—"this suggests that Jonathon doesn't realize that I was in any way a suspect in Sedbury's murder."

Garvey considered that, then offered, "Perhaps he does know and also knows you've been cleared of suspicion, so to his mind, you're safe to ask."

"Hmm." Charlie wasn't convinced, but… "Well." He picked up his coffee cup and took a healthy swallow, then set the cup aside and rose. "I have to admit that I'm beyond eager to get a look at Sedbury's collection."

"Then clearly," Garvey said, collecting the coffee cup and half-eaten cake, "this is your opportunity."

"And I'd be a fool to pass it up, especially if the Hales decide to sell Sedbury's whips." Charlie headed for the hall, and Garvey followed.

Within minutes, Charlie was coated, hatted, and out of his door and striding the short distance to Sedbury's address, which Jonathon had given as Number 15, Duke Street.

Reaching the building, as instructed, Charlie climbed to the first floor. Faced with a single oak door, he knocked a sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the panel.

A few seconds passed, then the door opened, revealing Lord Jonathon Hale. On seeing Charlie, relief lit the younger man's features. "Thank you for coming." Jonathon waved Charlie inside. "Do come in. I take it you've heard that Sedbury's dead?"

"I had heard, yes." Although no report had as yet appeared in the news sheets, in the way of such happenings, whispers of the event had spread like wildfire through the ton, so Charlie knowing of it meant nothing. He halted just beyond the short entrance hall and turned to his host. As Jonathon halted beside him, Charlie's gaze was drawn to a livid scrape that slashed across Jonathon's left cheek. "I say, that looks nasty."

Jonathon blinked, then grimaced and raised his fingers to gingerly touch the wound. "I went riding yesterday morning and wasn't looking ahead well enough. I rode straight into a branch. It nearly took my head off."

With another quirk of his lips, Jonathon held out his hand. "But thank you for coming. Bryan and I have been tasked with seeing to Sedbury's things, and neither of us have any idea about his whips other than the lot were said to be something of a collection."

Jonathon turned as another gentleman—another Hale by his features and size; all the Hale men were tall, large, and solid—came out of a room to their left. "Ah, Bryan—this is Charlie Hastings. He's the whip collector I told you I'd asked for assistance."

Bryan Hale hesitated, then held out his hand and gave Charlie a careful nod. "Hastings."

Charlie returned the nod and shook Bryan's hand, but it was obvious Bryan had heard about Charlie's altercations with Sedbury.

Bryan confirmed that by asking, "Forgive me, but aren't you the gentleman Sedbury bailed up in White's card room on Saturday night?"

"I am," Charlie admitted. "And I believe I was the first gentleman the police inspector investigating the case questioned, but he—Inspector Stokes—has accepted that I had nothing to do with Sedbury's murder."

That might have been stating matters in a somewhat more definite light than, currently, was warranted, but Charlie knew he was innocent, and he was confident that Barnaby and Penelope would ensure he was fully exonerated by finding Sedbury's murderer.

Jonathon and Bryan studied Charlie. The pair were a good head taller than he was and half again as wide, and Sedbury had been even larger and heavier and arguably stronger. After only a moment of consideration, the brothers nodded in ready acceptance of Charlie's innocence.

Jonathon shared a grimacing look with Bryan. "We both know what a ferocious brawler Sedbury was, and if you'll excuse the observation, it's difficult to see how you might have bested him."

Charlie waved the apology aside. "Believe me, I've never been so glad to be average-sized before."

Jonathon and Bryan smiled, and Jonathon waved toward an open door at the far end of the room. "So, to the whips. They're through there?—"

He broke off as, behind Charlie, the front door opened.

Charlie swung around as a fashionably dressed lady—he was in two minds as to whether to label her a young lady as she clearly wasn't that young—swept inside. Long, wavy, brown-blonde hair, caught up and anchored beneath her elegant hat, large, thickly lashed brilliant-blue eyes, an oval face blessed with a straight nose, perfectly arched brown eyebrows, and a pair of lush lips all combined to render the lady quite striking, at least to Charlie's eyes.

The lady's gaze landed first on the Hales, then moved to Charlie, and she halted. "Oh!" Her eyes widened.

He met her bright-blue gaze and was instantly seized by countervailing impulses—to step back and fade into the background, as he normally would in the presence of a beautiful and eligible female, or stand his ground in the hope of appeasing his unexpectedly flaring curiosity regarding her.

Despite her scrutiny, he remained where he was and waited…

Jonathon broke the momentary hiatus. He waved at Charlie. "Claude, this is Mr. Charles Hastings, who is a renowned whip collector." To Charlie, he said, "My sister, Lady Claudia Hale." Returning his gaze to Claudia, Jonathon explained, "I invited Charlie to call, hoping to pick his brains over Sedbury's whips."

Bryan leapt in to reassure her, "Charlie was the gentleman who had a run-in with Sedbury at White's on Saturday evening, but that inspector you met has already spoken with him, and Hastings is no longer a suspect."

"I see." Claudia's clear blue gaze returned to Charlie's face.

It was a shock to realize that he found her quite dazzling, even though she was plainly in two minds about whether to accept his exoneration or treat him with suspicion. He couldn't really see why he was drawn to her. She appeared to be a managing sort of female, and he'd never been fond of those.

Claudia was, indeed, sizing up Charlie Hastings and mentally cursing her brothers' readiness to acknowledge him free of suspicion. Didn't they realize that this was a case of the more the better, and other gentlemen being suspected of Sedbury's murder would help deflect attention from them?

She had no doubt that, all too soon, the investigators' attention would turn her brothers' way. Aside from all else, Penelope Adair knew far too much of the ways of the ton to overlook two such prime suspects.

Still, perhaps this was an opportunity to learn more about Hastings and his association with Sedbury. Fashionably attired in a unostentatious way, with his neat fair hair and kind brown eyes, Hastings looked to be the quiet sort of gentleman who saw and knew far more than anyone expected. Even if he himself was entirely innocent of the crime, he might know more than he realized, enough to point the finger at someone else.

Claudia held out her hand. "Mr. Hastings."

He clasped her fingers and half bowed. "Lady Claudia."

Retrieving her hand, she studied him intently. He really didn't seem the sort to put himself in Sedbury's way. "If I may ask, what was the substance of Sedbury's quarrel with you, sir?"

"Oh, well…" Hastings appeared uncomfortable, but he couldn't politely deny her. "He and I crossed paths, quite by accident, in Long Acre earlier in the day, and I was compelled to intercede when Sedbury…er." Hastings cast an imploring look her brothers' way.

Bryan obligingly supplied, "As I heard it, our dear half brother had decided to accost some poor flower seller and took umbrage—as was his wont—when her street sweeper brother tried to defend her, and Sedbury threatened to flay the lad." Bryan went on, admiration coloring his tone, "And he would have, but Hastings here stepped in and filched the bastard's whip from his hand and put an end to it."

Claudia turned a wide-eyed gaze on Charlie Hastings. Sedbury had been huge, belligerently minded, and physically intimidating. That Hastings, significantly shorter and slighter, had had the courage to intervene, let alone been able to prevail, spoke volumes. "How on earth did you manage it?" The words had slipped from her before she realized how they might sound.

Hastings blushed faintly, but answered, "I know whips, so I knew just when he would ease his grip to adjust the angle, and I grabbed the handle then."

"He would have been furious ." Claudia could imagine the scene all too readily.

"Well, yes, but I backed away, and he followed—stalking me, you might say—and that gave the brother and sister a chance to vanish, and once they had, I halted and handed Sedbury back his whip." Hastings shrugged. "He growled, but there was really nothing he could do, and by then, the crowd that had gathered had turned rather ugly for him, so…" Hastings shrugged again. "That was it. He stalked off, and I continued on my way."

"And it was about that encounter that he bailed you up in White's?" Jonathon shook his head. "No matter what else you can say about Sedbury, the man never lacked for sheer hide."

"He was a bully through and through," Claudia declared. "But someone has relieved us of his presence, for which, I might add, I'm truly grateful." She smiled at Charlie and advanced, drawing the men with her into the parlor proper. She'd revised her first impression of Charlie; his mild-mannered exterior obviously cloaked a man of principle and significant courage. Also quick wits; he'd seen how to disarm Sedbury and had done so expeditiously and in a way that had defused the situation.

Even though having Charlie continue to be a suspect would have increased the ranks and possibly helped muddy suspicion directed toward her brothers, in light of his actions, Claudia was content to have Charlie absolved of the murder. In truth, she would have loved to have witnessed that scene in Long Acre.

Furthermore, that Charlie was no longer a suspect freed her to make use of him in other ways. She bent a reassuring smile on her brothers. "It was an excellent notion to invite Mr. Hastings to view Sedbury's collection." To Charlie, she continued, "We really have no idea of the significance of what might be there."

"Well"—Charlie straightened—"I should be able to clarify that much at least."

With a wave, she invited him to continue to the relevant doorway. "Are there many collectors in town?"

"Several in London." Charlie fell in beside her as she led him to the anteroom door. "Five others as well as myself. It's quite a serious endeavor."

"Have you viewed Sedbury's collection previously?" Bryan asked. Claudia's brothers were trailing her and Charlie.

"No," Charlie replied. "In fact, I haven't heard of anyone whom Sedbury allowed to view his collection. Certainly, none of the acknowledged collectors."

"I always thought of it as Sedbury's strange hobby," Claudia admitted, "but I see I misjudged the male interest in whips."

From behind her, Jonathon snorted.

They reached the open doorway, and Claudia waved Charlie inside. "Please, satisfy your curiosity and ours as well."

He took her at her word and entered the room, swiftly scanning the displays on the walls before approaching more closely to examine individual whips.

Claudia waited with Jonathon and Bryan just inside the door. When Charlie paused, staring frowningly at one particular whip, she said, "We know that Sedbury had a favorite whip, but we don't think that's it."

"It's not." Briefly, Charlie glanced around the room again. "That whip is a Duckleberry Longe, and it isn't here."

He reached up and lifted down the whip that had captured his attention. He turned it over in his hands, examining the handle and the braiding closely, then he straightened and, with a perplexed look on his face, said, "But I certainly didn't expect to find this particular whip in Sedbury's possession."

"Why?" Jonathon asked.

"Because the last time I saw it was at the meeting of the Four-in-Hand Club a week ago, and then, it was in Lord Napier's hand." Charlie glanced at the siblings. "Napier's another of the collectors, and this is definitely his whip. There's no other like it."

Claudia stared at the innocent-looking whip. To her, it was still just a whip. "Is it valuable?"

"Yes. Quite valuable," Charlie replied. "It's a rare specimen and, therefore, hard to put a price on." He stared at the whip and shook his head. "I'm flabbergasted that Napier let it out of his hands."

Charlie looked up and caught the glance Jonathon and Bryan exchanged.

Then Jonathon looked at Charlie. "Perhaps Napier didn't surrender the whip willingly."

Charlie frowned, but it was Claudia who leapt on the point.

"You think," she said, searching her brothers' faces, "that Sedbury forced Napier to give him the whip?"

Bryan shrugged. "Who can say, but given all we know of Sedbury's ways, it's likely, isn't it? We know how he operated. He saw something someone else valued and moved heaven and earth to take it from them."

Charlie noted the underlying bitterness in Bryan's tone. The younger Hale was obviously speaking from experience, and judging by the looks on Claudia's and Jonathon's faces, both his siblings possessed similar insights.

Claudia also heard the emotion in Bryan's voice and knew exactly what had put it there. She wished her brothers would not go out of their way to paint themselves as the prime suspects in Sedbury's murder—Jonathon because of that odd letter Sedbury had never finished coupled with the damage to his face, and Bryan because of Sedbury's efforts to steal Rosalind from him.

Luckily, she was there, and as a devoted sister, she was ready and willing to seize the prospect Napier's whip being discovered in Sedbury's collection offered. It seemed likely that Lord Napier, too, might have had reason to wish Sedbury ill. To her mind, the more suspects, the better.

Someone needed to establish Napier's link to Sedbury, but that shouldn't involve either of her brothers. She cast the pair a stern glance. "You two need to finish sorting through Sedbury's things and set aside for the inspector and the Adairs anything that might point to a motive to kill Sedbury." She glanced around at the display of whips. "Leave the whips for now." She smiled at Charlie. "I'm sure Mr. Hastings will be able to advise us as to their disposal later."

Charlie brightened, and she fought to keep her smile from deepening.

"Now, however," she rolled on, her gaze fixed on him, "I hope I can prevail upon you, Mr. Hastings, to accompany me to Napier House." She nodded at the whip still in his hands. "I suggest we call on Lord Napier on the pretext of returning his whip and see what we can learn regarding how it came to be in Sedbury's collection."

Charlie kept his expression as bland as he could manage. The notion of bailing up Napier at his home and attempting to elicit some explanation of how Sedbury had come to possess Napier's prize whip in no way appealed, but he could see the determination in Claudia's eyes, and the truth was, if she was to broach that subject with Napier, it would be sensible for Charlie to be with her rather than one of her brothers, neither of whom knew anything about whips.

"Yes," he said in response to the look of polite inquiry Claudia was directing at him. "All right."

He walked forward, and as he joined her, Claudia confidently took his arm. "Do you know where Lord Napier lives?" she asked.

Charlie noted that Jonathon and Bryan were clearly used to taking direction from their older sister as both meekly returned to the parlor and resumed their sorting of Sedbury's belongings. "I do. He has a house in Brook Street."

Charlie paused to exchange farewells with Jonathon and Bryan, then Claudia steered him toward the front door. "We can take my carriage. It's waiting outside."

While she didn't exactly tow him along, Charlie felt that he'd been swept up by some irresistible force.

The carriage proved to be a small, unmarked black town carriage, with a groom-cum-coachman who was every bit as large and intimidating as Sedbury had been. Even more discombobulating was the long and plainly recent gash that ran above the coachman's left eyebrow.

Claudia addressed the looming giant. "Fosdyke, this is Mr. Hastings. He's helping us with this business about Sedbury. He and I need to go to Brook Street."

Rather numbly, Charlie added, "Napier House."

The giant tipped his head and rumbled, "I know it." He held the door as Charlie handed Claudia inside, then quickly followed.

Once Fosdyke had shut the door and climbed back onto the box, Charlie glanced at the lady beside him. "Is Fosdyke just your coachman?" The man seemed far too alert and aware and, indeed, menacing for that.

"Oh, no." Claudia peered out of the window as Fosdyke turned the coach. "He was originally Mama's groom, but over the years, he's come to fill a role more in the nature of a coachman-cum-bodyguard, not just for Mama but for all her children."

Charlie sat back and listened to the wheels rattle over the cobbles and wondered just how far a devoted coachman-cum-bodyguard might go in protecting those he deemed in his care.