Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

C laudia sat beside Charlie in the hackney, which was drawn in to the curb along Bury Street, opposite and two houses down from Bryan's lodgings.

She glanced at Charlie. "I'm sorry it's taking this long. I thought they would all have left by now."

Her brother shared a house with three other young gentlemen, all sons of the nobility.

Charlie smiled complacently. "Young gentlemen of their age frequently lie abed until noon. Understandable given they often don't hit the sheets until the small hours."

Claudia huffed. "Yes, well, they could be more accommodating."

Charlie chuckled, then, in an obvious effort to distract her, asked where she'd grown up, and she responded by telling him of the Rattenby estate. It passed the time, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her answer.

Seizing the chance to satisfy her own curiosity, she asked about his childhood and learned that his family hailed from Surrey, and although he didn't precisely say so, she got the impression that the family line and principal estate were ancient.

"However, we were never ennobled." He didn't seem at all put out by that. "We Hastings have always opted for a quiet life."

Considering him, she found no difficulty believing that. The realization brought a smile to her lips. There was something intrinsically comforting about being with someone who preferred calm and peace to the hectic round that was the normal state of life in the ton.

Glancing at the buildings, she saw two well-dressed young gentlemen come out of the front door of Bryan's lodgings. She sat up straighter. "At last!"

The pair conferred, then set their hats on their heads, descended to the pavement, and set off with insouciant strides, heading south on the opposite side of the street. Claudia watched them walk away, then turned to Charlie. "Let's go."

Obligingly, he opened the carriage door, stepped down to the pavement, paused to confirm the pair hadn't turned back, then helped her down.

Without waiting for him to offer his arm, she looped her arm in his, and they crossed the street and went up the steps. Charlie plied the brass knocker on the front door.

The door was opened by a neatly attired man of average height and build, with wiry brown hair lightly touched with gray. The man looked at Charlie questioningly, but then recognized Claudia and bowed. "Lady Claudia."

"Good morning, Hughes." Claudia was relieved to be recognized; she and her mother had only visited once before. She waved at Charlie. "This is Mr. Hastings, a friend of the family. If we might have a word?"

"Yes, of course." Hughes pulled the door wider and bowed them in. He shut the door, then looked a trifle uncertain. "Ah…the drawing room?"

"Yes." Claudia turned to the left. "It's this room, isn't it?"

Hughes murmured an assent and quickly moved to open the door.

Claudia noticed that he peered around the door and swiftly scanned the room before standing back and waving her and Charlie inside.

On crossing the threshold, she understood Hughes's hesitation. The cushions were rumpled, and there were sporting magazines scattered over every surface. Ignoring all, she drew in her skirts and sat on the sofa. As Charlie came to sit beside her, she looked at Hughes. "Is Mrs. Hughes available? If we could speak with both of you at once, it will save time."

"Of course." Hughes bowed. "I'll fetch her."

He departed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Claudia leaned closer to Charlie and whispered, "Mr. and Mrs. Hughes act as staff for all four lodgers. I believe there are no other staff here."

"That's probably wise," Charlie murmured. "Young men, wild oats, and all that."

Claudia hadn't previously thought of that, but it made sound sense.

Mr. Hughes returned, ushering in his wife, who was shorter than he but at least twice as wide.

Mrs. Hughes's soft features were worn and rather faded, with lines that declared her a kindly soul, yet her brown gaze was shrewd. She curtsied to Claudia and Charlie, then clasped her hands before her. "How can we help you, my lady?"

Rather than refer to a murder, of a family member no less, Claudia serenely stated, "My parents will soon be visiting town, and they've asked me to learn what I can about how Bryan is faring." She smiled with just a touch of fond exasperation. "Living in the country as they do, they are prone to worry. Not over anything specific—more in general, if you take my meaning."

Mrs. Hughes nodded readily. "The parents of our other lads have occasionally inquired as well. Parents do fret sometimes."

Straightening, Hughes stated, "In the case of the four we have here now, all such concerns have proved unfounded, I'm pleased to say."

Relieved, too, Claudia thought, but she nodded encouragingly. "Just so. From that, I take it that you know of no problems—quarrels, arguments, anything like that—involving Bryan?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head, and Hughes replied, "Nothing of any significance. Indeed, the four here get along very well. Lord Bryan has been no trouble at all. Well," he amended, "no more trouble than other lads of similar age and station."

Claudia stared back, momentarily flummoxed as to how to progress to the question she needed answered.

Beside her, Charlie stirred, and when she glanced his way, he suggested, "In order to allay your parents' concerns, why not simply ask about Bryan's doings on a particular evening? Say last Saturday evening. You can then relay that to your parents as evidence there's no reason for them to worry."

"An excellent idea!" Claudia turned to the Hugheses and smiled. "So, what were Bryan's movements last Saturday?"

The Hugheses exchanged a meaningful look, but what meaning the look carried, Claudia couldn't tell. Then Hughes cleared his throat and returned his attention to Claudia and Charlie. "As is often the case, all four went out at about eight o'clock on Saturday night."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Together, the four of them."

"They tend to stick together," Hughes put in, "which, to my way of thinking, is reassuring."

Claudia nodded, and Mrs. Hughes went on, "They mentioned they were going to some ball in Mount Street, and after that, they planned to go on to some other entertainment, but they didn't say what that was."

"No, they didn't," Hughes corroborated, "but they came home together at around three in the morning."

Mrs. Hughes huffed fondly. "Heard them come staggering up the stairs just after three o'clock."

"All four?" Charlie asked.

Hughes nodded. "Aye. We can hear them each go into their rooms, and I take special note, as once they're all in, I go down and lock the front door, which I did."

"So," Claudia summarized, "the four spent their evening together, and they were here, in their beds, from three o'clock onward."

Charlie caught Claudia's gaze. "If your parents want to know more, we can always ask the other three if they were with Bryan the entire night." He smiled at the Hugheses. "It sounds as if the four look out for one another."

Hughes was starting to eye them with suspicion, but he nodded. "Aye, they do that, the four of them." He looked at Claudia. "However, if you're wanting to know definitely where any one of the four was between whenever they left the ball and three last Sunday morning, I don't think asking them will help."

Frowning in puzzlement, Claudia asked, "Why? If they were all together…?"

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Drunk as only lords can be, they were. You should've heard them stumbling around getting up the stairs. Legless, they were. So no matter what they say happened or didn't happen, you wouldn't want to be putting any faith in anything any of them say."

Claudia's expression blanked. "Ah. I see."

Charlie rose and thanked the Hugheses for their time and their help, then grasped her hand and drew her to her feet. She was still digesting what they'd learned—and what they hadn't—when they reached the pavement.

She heard the door close behind them and, still frowning, halted. "That's really not all that helpful."

"Sadly," Charlie said, "I have to agree." He studied her face. "We'll just have to hope that, inebriated or not, Bryan can remember where he went and that it's the sort of place we can prove he was at."

Claudia sighed and started for the hackney. "Hopefully, we'll get more useful information from Jonathon's man. Jonathon's rooms are in Jermyn Street."

Jermyn Street was just half a block away, but the time was now long past noon, and when Charlie inquired, she admitted that she was, indeed, famished.

At her suggestion, Charlie paid off the jarvey and, arm in arm, she and Charlie strolled the short distance to Piccadilly and a nice little eatery she knew of there.

By mutual if unvoiced agreement, while they enjoyed a light luncheon, they once again spoke of other things.

To Claudia, more interesting things—certainly much less worrying things.

But soon enough, they were back on the street, and with somewhat renewed and refreshed determination, they made for Jonathon's door.

As they walked along Jermyn Street, Charlie glanced at her, then nodded to a door opposite. "I live there—number twelve—if you ever need to send for me."

Immensely curious, she studied the building. It was of similar vintage to others in the street, neat and well-kept with a bow window on the first floor. "You lodge there." It wasn't a question, more her fixing the building in her mind.

"No," Charlie said, surprising her. When she glanced his way, he explained, "Well, I did lodge there at first, but a few years back, I bought the whole house, and the couple who had owned it stayed on to do for me. I have the first-floor apartment and rent to two other gentlemen, who have the ground- and second-floor rooms."

Claudia could only approve and had to own to being rather impressed. Not all gentlemen were so forward thinking as to seize opportunity when it beckoned.

They reached Jonathon's lodgings, which were farther down the street. Charlie knocked, and when the door was opened by Jonathon's man, Hobbs, Claudia smiled and asked, "Is my brother in, Hobbs?"

"No, my lady." Hobbs looked rather surprised she'd asked. "Not at this hour." A fact of which he knew she was well aware; gentlemen of Jonathon's age did not languish through the afternoon in their rooms.

Claudia's smile deepened. "In that case, Hobbs, do let us in."

Knowing her quite well, Hobbs stood back and held the door wide.

As she breezed past, Claudia informed him, "This is Mr. Hastings. He's assisting the family with this bother over Sedbury's death."

"Yes, my lady." Hobbs ushered them into the drawing room, which, contrary to their earlier experience at Bryan's lodgings, was reasonably neat.

Claudia sat, and Charlie claimed the armchair beside hers. She fixed Hobbs with a direct gaze. "Now, Hobbs, we are endeavoring to simplify matters for the police by learning of and verifying my brothers' movements on the night Sedbury was killed." She saw no sense in beating about the bush with Hobbs; he'd been with the family for decades.

Hobbs straightened to attention. "Yes, my lady."

"So," she inquired, "do you have any information as to where Jonathon went on Saturday, from evening to night to the time he returned here?"

"Also," Charlie put in, "who he was with during those hours."

Hobbs frowned slightly. "Well, Lord Jonathon was out the whole evening. As I understood it, he had a dinner with one group of friends, and after that, he was intending to attend some gathering, also with friends, although I can't say if the dinner friends were also at the later event."

Claudia wasn't actually expecting an answer when she asked, "Do you have any idea who hosted either event?" but Hobbs surprised her.

"Actually, my lady, I suspect I can tell you that. If you and Mr. Hastings will wait a moment, I'll retrieve the invitations. I cleared both from Lord Jonathon's pocket, but I haven't thrown them away as yet."

Claudia beamed. "Bless you, Hobbs. Of course we'll wait."

Hobbs vanished, and they could hear him rustling around in the rear of the apartment, then he returned holding two ivory invitation cards. "These are the two events he attended on Saturday." Hobbs handed Claudia the cards.

She took them, and Charlie leaned across to read over her shoulder. Claudia stated, "The dinner host was Peregrine Fitzwilliam, and the party later was thrown by Lord Satchwell."

Charlie sat back. "I'm acquainted with both sufficiently well to ask what they recall of Jonathon that night. If they or others at the event can swear he was present and sufficiently in sight throughout the night, that will alibi him completely." He glanced at the mantelpiece. The clock there showed it was just after three. "If we leave now"—he pushed to his feet—"with any luck, I should be able to catch both Fitzwilliam and Satchwell at Boodle's."

Claudia eagerly gave him her hand and allowed him to help her up. "Thank you. That will be such a relief." She smiled at Hobbs and started for the door. "And thank you, too, Hobbs. Your help with the invitations will likely see your master cleared of all suspicion over Sedbury's death."

"Indeed, my lady. I'll be most happy if that's so." Hobbs followed Claudia and Charlie from the room, then stepped ahead to open the front door for them.

Claudia swept out, and Charlie was about to follow when he paused, then turned to Hobbs and asked, "Hobbs, when was it that you noticed the scrape on Lord Jonathon's face?"

Hobbs blinked in surprise, but answered readily. "Lord Jonathon often goes riding of a Sunday morning—he says it's quiet then, with few others about. He enjoys a good gallop. Last Sunday morning, he came back with that wound. He said he'd run into a branch. Truth be told, I wasn't all that surprised. He'd got to his bed only a few hours before and was barely compos mentis."

"You're sure he didn't have the wound before he went riding?"

"Quite sure, sir. I would have noticed it while I was helping him dress."

Charlie smiled in satisfaction and, with a nod to Hobbs, joined Claudia on the pavement. He met her relieved gaze. "So we have confirmation of Jonathon's story of how he got that scrape, which is another point in his favor."

"Excellent." She took his arm. "Thank you for remembering to ask."

"Not at all. Now"—Charlie met her gaze—"as you won't be able to accompany me into Boodle's, I think we'd better hail another hackney so you can wait inside it while I go into the club and see what I can learn from Fitzwilliam and Satchwell."

Claudia would much rather have gone with him and listened to the interrogation, but… She nodded. "Very well. I'll wait outside with what patience I can muster."

One glance at Claudia's face had been enough to warn Charlie that she wouldn't consent to return home and wait for him to see Fitzwilliam and Satchwell and then report. The concern in her eyes was evident. She was so determined to clear at least one of her brothers that he was grateful she'd consented to wait in the hackney.

Picking his battles was a knack he'd learned long ago.

The hackney rattled onto St. James Street and drew up outside Boodle's. Having recollected that eyebrows would be raised at the sight of a lady on that street, even one waiting inside a hackney, Charlie climbed down and directed the jarvey to turn down nearby Ryder Street. To Claudia, Charlie said, "Better you wait there."

Although her lips tightened, to his relief, she merely nodded. He shut the door, and the carriage rumbled on and turned left at the next corner.

Charlie didn't want to think of what her brothers—let alone her father—might say if any gossip touched Claudia's name over something she did while with him. In his care, so to speak. Deeming himself to have dodged a bullet, he climbed the single step to Boodle's door, and the doorman, recognizing him, bowed him in.

Luck was with him, and he found Fitzwilliam in one of the front rooms, chatting with a group of friends. Fitzwilliam was a few years younger than Charlie, but was friends with two of the Cavanaughs, and he and Charlie had met at several of that family's events. Consequently, it wasn't difficult for Charlie to hail Fitzwilliam and, while exchanging the usual trivialities, mention hearing of the dinner Fitzwilliam had hosted the previous Saturday.

Nothing more was needed to induce Fitzwilliam, who was a naturally garrulous sort, to launch into a happy recollection of the event—who had attended, the venue, the menu, and the good time had by all. Without specifically asking, Charlie confirmed that Jonathon Hale had been one of Fitzwilliam's guests and that the gathering had dispersed just before midnight, with everyone going their separate ways.

Accepting, therefore, that Fitzwilliam's event would not furnish Jonathon with an alibi for a murder that was committed sometime after midnight, Charlie congratulated Fitzwilliam on his acumen in organizing such a successful dinner and asked after the venue as if that had been the aim of his inquiry. After appearing to take due note of the place—a room above one of Fleet Street's public houses—Charlie parted from Fitzwilliam and his cronies and went in search of Satchwell.

He found that gentleman—also a few years Charlie's junior—in the smoking room, reading a news sheet. Charlie knew Satchwell as a decent sort, and as Satchwell's family estate was also in Surrey, not far from the Hastingses' property, despite the disparity in age, he and Satchwell had been acquainted for years.

Satchwell hadn't yet married, and although Charlie knew Satchwell had a shrewd brain, he also had a penchant for hosting parties for his bachelor friends that might best be described as quietly wild.

Even elegantly wild.

Charlie claimed the armchair to Satchwell's right and waited until the other man—well aware of his approach—lowered the news sheet.

Satchwell fixed him with a faintly curious eye and nodded. "Hastings."

Charlie nodded back. "Satchwell."

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I understand you held a card party last Saturday night—or more correctly, through the early hours of Sunday morning."

Almost warily, Satchwell nodded.

Charlie went on, "I need you to tell me who was there, where it was, and when it broke up."

Satchwell regarded Charlie for several silent seconds, then said, "If I ask the obvious question—why—you're not going to tell me, are you?"

Charlie smiled. "No. It's not my place to divulge the reason. Suffice it to say that I'm asking on behalf of others who have an interest in your answers."

Satchwell knew enough of Charlie's association with Barnaby and Penelope and, through them, Stokes to interpret that reply as meaning that the police might well have questions about his event. The calculation that Satchwell would prefer to speak to Charlie rather than to some policeman wasn't a difficult one, and Satchwell reached the expected conclusion in a blink.

"Oh, that makes it so much better!" Satchwell shook his head resignedly and folded the news sheet. "I don't know why I should humor you, but as we've nothing to hide, the party was held in a room above the Racy Lady in Haymarket."

The Racy Lady was one of the premier brothels in London. "I see," Charlie said.

Satchwell nodded. "I'm sure you do. A part of the arrangement was that guests could—at their own expense—avail themselves of the offerings provided below and, of course, many did."

Charlie frowned. "How many guests were there?"

"Somewhere north of fifty. At least, that was the number of invitations I sent out, and everyone accepted, but many brought friends as well." Satchwell arched his brows at Charlie. "It was a very convivial night."

Charlie could imagine the scene all too well. He sighed and said, "This stays between you and me, but the person whose whereabouts we're trying to confirm is Jonathon Hale. Do you recall seeing him at the party?"

Satchwell clearly thought back, then nodded decisively. "Yes. He came up to me and congratulated me on the event."

"Any idea when that was?"

Satchwell frowned. "Later. I know that much. We kicked off at midnight, so it must have been about two-thirty or three?" He grimaced. "Some time about then."

Charlie thought, then asked, "What would be my chances of finding any of your guests who might remember seeing Hale during the party?"

Satchwell gave a choked laugh. "I'd be truly surprised if anyone could say where anyone else was at any given time. The brandy was flowing freely, and the room was so crowded that people were constantly going in and out, not just to enjoy the delights downstairs but into the corridors so they could chat without shouting." Satchwell met Charlie's eyes. "You know how such events go. Everyone was free to come and go and return as they pleased."

Charlie sighed, but nodded. "Thank you. At least I know what the situation was with your party."

He rose, and Satchwell caught his eye. "I assume this is something to do with that devil, Sedbury, turning up dead. If you want my opinion, if Jonathon or any of the Hales had wanted to bump the man off, they would have done so years ago. He's been a bane on their existence for the last decade at least."

Soberly, Charlie replied, "I agree, but sadly, the law wants facts."

"Well, good luck with finding them." Satchwell sat back and shook out the news sheet. "Jonathon's all right. It won't be him."

Charlie inclined his head and, wrestling with a fresh problem—namely how to break this latest set of facts, such as they were, to Claudia—made his way out of the club.

He emerged from Boodle's and walked along St. James Street, then turned onto Ryder Street. The hackney was waiting by the curb, with Claudia even more impatient for news. Charlie instructed the jarvey to wait and climbed into the carriage.

Claudia all but pounced on him. "What did you learn?"

Stifling a sigh, Charlie duly reported that Fitzwilliam's dinner had ended before midnight, and all had gone their separate ways. "So there's no one there who can say where Jonathon went next. And the party he attended later started at midnight, but the rooms were so crowded, with people constantly going in and out, that it's difficult to see how anyone could give Jonathon any meaningful alibi."

Claudia's expression had grown increasingly grim. "So," she concluded, "as matters stand, neither Bryan nor Jonathon have alibis for the period during which Sedbury was killed."

Charlie met her eyes. "To be perfectly frank, given their activities on that night, I can't see how we could secure alibis strong enough to convince the police, let alone solid enough to stand up in court."

Claudia's expressive lips turned down, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

Charlie shifted on the seat and faced forward. "At least we've crossed Fosdyke and all associated with him off the suspects list."

Frowning, she said, "This investigating business is more difficult than I'd thought."

Glancing at her face, Charlie said, "We should head back to Albemarle Street and report our findings. Perhaps the others have had better luck."

After two seconds of glumness, Claudia raised her head and nodded. "Yes. Let's go and see."

Charlie pushed up the hatch and directed the jarvey to take them to the Adairs'.