Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

C harlie ushered Claudia into the drawing room in Albemarle Street and was surprised and not a little dismayed to find Penelope seated on the sofa with a dejected expression on her face.

She rose and greeted them with "I hope you've had some luck."

Her delivery implied that she hadn't.

"We made some progress," Charlie informed her.

"But not," Claudia added, "as much as we would have liked."

Penelope sighed. "The others should be here shortly." She waved them to armchairs, and they'd just taken their seats when they heard the front door open, and the next instant, Barnaby and Stokes walked in.

Both men looked at them in hopeful inquiry, but were met with no encouraging sign.

After exchanging greetings, Stokes claimed the armchair farthest from the hearth, and Barnaby elegantly subsided onto the sofa next to Penelope.

"Right," Stokes said. "To business." He looked at Claudia and Charlie. "What did you two manage to learn?"

"First," Charlie said, "I believe we can retire Fosdyke as a suspect, along with anyone who might have used him as an agent. He was with at least two others from Saturday evening to at least one o'clock on Sunday morning, and he shares quarters above the stable with Selborough's coachman and groom."

"That gash on his forehead?" Penelope asked.

"Fosdyke got that on Sunday midmorning from the hoof of my uncle's horse." Claudia looked at the others. "I don't think Fosdyke could have left Farm Street before two o'clock in the morning. He would have had to wait until the others fell deeply asleep to sneak out undetected, and he would have had to have returned, also undetected, before first light."

"By five-thirty, when the coachman and groom awoke for the day." Charlie looked at Barnaby and Penelope. "I really can't see how Fosdyke could have got to the docks, met with Sedbury and strangled the man, then got back to his bed. The timing would have been excruciatingly tight."

"And that's assuming he didn't wake either of the other two while sneaking in and out," Claudia said.

Stokes had been taking notes. He looked at Claudia. "At present, all we know is that Sedbury was killed sometime between midnight and three o'clock on Sunday morning. Until we get a better idea of when, exactly, he was killed and even more importantly where, Fosdyke remains an outside chance." Stokes faintly grimaced. "That said, it sounds as if we'll have many more likely suspects."

Claudia grimaced as well.

Charlie cleared his throat and, when the others looked his way, went on, "We also spoke with Duggan, Sedbury's man. We realized none of us had spoken with him, so as we were in the area, we dropped by Sedbury's rooms. Duggan was quite forthcoming, and what he had to say was rather illuminating."

"Apparently," Claudia took up the tale, "Sedbury mentioned that after having dinner at his club?—"

"Not sure if he dined at White's or somewhere else," Charlie put in.

Claudia dipped her head his way. "According to Duggan, Sedbury said he was going to some meeting later, after dinner, and Duggan says that wasn't something he normally did."

"Or had ever done before," Charlie said, "at least to Duggan's knowledge."

"A meeting?" Penelope, along with Barnaby and Stokes, had come alert. "Did Sedbury say with whom?"

Charlie shook his head. "He didn't mention where, either. However, Duggan got the distinct impression that Sedbury was looking forward to the meeting, meaning that he was anticipating bullying and intimidating whoever he was meeting with."

"What Duggan actually said," Claudia clarified, "was that in mentioning the meeting, Sedbury looked ‘just like he did whenever he was going to squash someone under his heel.'"

They all sat back and digested that. "So," Stokes concluded, "Sedbury knowingly, willingly, and with intent went to a meeting with someone he expected to—indeed, anticipated—cowing."

After a moment, Stokes huffed and said, "Let's put that to one side for the moment." He refocused on Claudia. "Did you manage to catalogue your brothers' movements over the relevant hours?"

Claudia sighed feelingly. "We know where they were for some of the time, but…"

Charlie filled in, "There seems little chance of finding witnesses able to alibi either of them." Briefly, he outlined Bryan's outing with his three co-lodgers, then described the events that Jonathon had attended. "Satchwell is a sensible sort, and he made it clear that he seriously doubted any of his guests—or any group of his guests—could vouch for Jonathon's whereabouts during the hours from midnight to three or so in the morning."

Stokes grimaced. "Regardless, I'll need to interview both Hales. Who knows? They might recall something of their evening that opens the way to establishing alibis of sorts."

"Speaking of alibis of sorts," Penelope said, "I regret to report that each and every one of the fifteen potential suspects on my list—including Napier—was either at home or known to be at some major ton event in the company of many others throughout the hours of midnight to three o'clock on Sunday morning. In this season, most were at home, with that attested to by at least two staff members. More, as far as their staff are aware, over the past weeks, not one has been involved in any unexpected or mysterious meeting with anyone at all, much less the sort of person who might be a killer for hire."

Rather glumly, she looked at Stokes, then glanced at the others. "It's still possible that one of the fifteen had some long-standing agreement with a hired killer to murder Sedbury, but in light of what we now know, were that so, I simply can't see why Sedbury would have so readily gone to meet with said hired killer."

Frowning slightly, Stokes slowly nodded. "Given what Charlie and Claudia learned from Duggan, assuming that what he said about Sedbury going to a meeting and Sedbury's attitude toward that meeting is accurate, and I can't see why Duggan would lie on such points, then the problem with our killer being Fosdyke or any other person who inhabits Mayfair or even a killer such a person had hired is that—assuming Sedbury was killed by the river or nearby—I have difficulty believing that Sedbury would have agreed to meet in such a location." Stokes looked at Barnaby. "Yet we know that at about midnight, Sedbury climbed into a hackney in Pall Mall and directed the driver eastward. Toward the docks."

Penelope turned to Barnaby. "We need to learn where that jarvey took Sedbury. Was it to the docks or somewhere closer?"

Barnaby nodded. "The lads believe they know who the jarvey is and are currently tracking him down."

Stokes sat up and slid his notebook into his coat pocket. "On the Yard's part, we're pushing ahead with the search along the riverbank. By its very nature, such a comprehensive canvassing is necessarily slow. Exceedingly slow. That said, I feel confident we haven't overlooked the spot in which Sedbury was put into the river. In that area, even dead, his body wouldn't have passed unnoticed. We just have to find the people who saw him—dead or alive—and learn what they can tell us."

Barnaby grimaced. "Sadly, until you find evidence to say yea or nay, we have to allow for Sedbury being killed elsewhere and his body carted to the river. Because of that, I've directed my lads to search for the whip over a wide area. As well as the pawnshops around the docks, they're looking at those closer to Mayfair, for instance, the shops along Long Acre."

"A good thought, that," Charlie said. "If anyone recognizes the quality of that whip, they'll likely think to pawn it around there."

Penelope pulled a face. "Unless it's in the river."

"As to that," Stokes said, "I've asked the mud larks along that stretch to keep their eyes peeled for it. I only spoke to five of them, but they'll pass the word up and down the river and among the rivermen as well." He smiled faintly. "Useful beggars, they are, over anything to do with the river."

Barnaby nodded. "If the whip was tossed into the river when Sedbury's body was dumped in, there's a decent chance it'll wash ashore somewhere."

The doorbell pealed, and the sounds of male voices and boots in the front hall had everyone looking toward the door. Seconds later, it opened, and Mostyn walked in and announced, "Lord Jonathon Hale and Lord Bryan Hale."

Claudia's brothers. Penelope rose and went forward to greet the two very large gentlemen who followed Mostyn into the room. A quick glance at the window told her it was already dark outside. She smiled and held out her hand. "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Penelope Adair."

They duly mumbled greetings and bowed over her hand. "And this gentleman"—she gestured to Barnaby, who had risen and come to stand at her shoulder—"is my husband, Barnaby." As soon as the three men had shaken hands, Penelope waved at Claudia. "Your sister, of course, and I believe you're already acquainted with Mr. Hastings."

Jonathon and Bryan exchanged nods with Charlie; it was plain to all that they were bottling up a degree of irritation, but were forced by Penelope's actions to behave with decorum.

"And this," she concluded, smiling at Stokes, who had risen and turned to face the pair, "is Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard, who is leading the investigation into Sedbury's murder."

The brothers were taken aback at finding Stokes there, and they were not adept at hiding their sudden surprise or the wariness that followed.

Penelope urged the pair to armchairs. "Please, do sit down."

The pair shuffled, yet had no option other than to follow her direction.

But the restraint that had held them back didn't last long. Once they sat and everyone else had returned to their places, the brothers fixed quite ferocious scowls on their sister.

Jonathon opened fire with "You've been questioning our staff about where we were on Saturday evening."

If she was in any way intimidated by those scowls, Claudia gave no sign of it. "Of course I have." She spread her hands. "We need to establish alibis for both of you. You must see that."

"You can't possibly believe we killed the blighter," Jonathon retorted.

"It's not what I believe, but what can be proved," Claudia countered.

Bryan eyed his elders, then grouched, "You could have just asked."

Stokes drew out his notebook. "We're asking now. Officially." He fixed his gaze on Jonathon. "Where were you, Lord Jonathon, and who can confirm that?"

A full minute of silence ensued as Jonathon debated his wisest move, but after slanting glances at Barnaby, Penelope, Claudia, and even Charlie, patently hoping for some intervention, he cleared his throat and reluctantly replied, "I attended a dinner." As Stokes led him to relate his subsequent movements, even Jonathon realized how difficult it would be to prove that he hadn't slipped away and met and murdered his half brother. By the time his recitation ended, he was looking decidedly uneasy and shooting imploring glances at Claudia, as if hoping she would suggest something that would help him.

But Claudia simply looked glum, and Stokes turned to Bryan. Again, as the younger Hale described his activities on Saturday night, it became increasingly clear that there simply was no hope of reliable witnesses to attest to his whereabouts during the crucial hours.

After jotting down the brothers' replies, Stokes arched a questioning brow at Barnaby and Penelope.

Barnaby grimaced. Addressing the Hales, he summarized, "The hours the pair of you were with others can—in theory—be verified, but in Jonathon's case, it seems likely there will be periods during which you could have left the house, met with Sedbury, and murdered him, then returned, and securing viable testimony that you didn't will be difficult." He transferred his gaze to Bryan. "And as we already have testimony that you and your three friends were all three sheets to the wind, their word as to your presence with them will not hold up in court."

He studied the two downcast faces and felt moved to observe, "Sadly, proving you didn't do something is often more difficult than proving you did."

Frowning, Jonathon darted a glance at his brother. "So you're saying that we—Bryan and I—are in a sort of suspended state of possibly being suspects in Sedbury's murder."

Penelope inclined her head his way. "That's a reasonably accurate assessment."

Jonathon and Bryan looked around the circle, and when no one disagreed, their faces fell even further.

Reality, Barnaby thought, had finally bitten.

The doorbell pealed, not once, but twice, the sound somehow conveying impatience.

They all heard Mostyn cross the front hall, then a gruff voice, speaking in a rather demanding tone, reached them.

Instantly, all three Hales stiffened. They were already starting to rise from their seats when Mostyn opened the drawing-room door.

"I believe," Barnaby uncrossed his legs and murmured to Stokes, "that the marquess has arrived."

Barnaby rose with Penelope as Mostyn halted and announced, "The Marquess of Rattenby."

The marquess was as tall as his sons, but although still physically imposing with a rigidly upright posture, he no longer carried the heft and muscle they possessed. He was older than might be supposed, well into his sixties, and expensively if conservatively dressed with neatly coiffed steel-gray hair. While his features carried the same handsome stamp as his younger sons' did, his expression was all ageing aristocrat accustomed to wealth and privilege and to getting his own way.

Smoothly, with her most graciously confident smile in place, Penelope moved past Barnaby to welcome the senior Hale. "My lord, do come in and join us. Despite the circumstances, it's a pleasure to welcome you to our home."

The marquess clearly hadn't thought of what he would encounter at their house. His suddenly blank expression suggested that, certainly, he hadn't expected to be taken in hand by a socially adept hostess, and for a moment, he was knocked a trifle off-kilter. As Penelope rolled on, following the established social script for receiving a senior noble and ensuring he was properly introduced to those of the company he did not know—namely, Barnaby, Charlie, and Stokes—the marquess had no real alternative but to fall in with her direction.

The marquess duly shook hands with Barnaby and Charlie, but when it came to Stokes, Rattenby fixed a glowering look on Scotland Yard's finest.

But before Rattenby could challenge Stokes in any way, Penelope took his arm and solicitously guided him to the armchair by the fireplace. As that was a prime spot from which to observe everyone else, Rattenby gruffly thanked her and sat.

Everyone else resumed their seats, allowing the marquess to catch his breath. He fixed his steely gray gaze on Stokes and stated, "Inspector. Mr. and Mrs. Adair. I'm told the three of you work together on such cases as this, those that involve members of the haut ton." Penelope and Barnaby inclined their heads in acknowledgment, and Rattenby rolled on, "I'm keen to learn what you've discovered in the matter of Sedbury's death."

Death, Barnaby noted, not murder. He also noticed that Rattenby hadn't labeled Sedbury his son. Or even his heir.

Stoically, Stokes listed the facts they'd already ascertained and, without missing a beat, moved on to describing their current avenues of investigation. "Through her sources, Mrs. Adair identified fourteen members of the ton presently in London who might have had reason to wish Sedbury dead. Via diligent investigating, she's established that none of those fourteen or Lord Napier, who more recently had an encounter with the viscount, were directly involved in his murder."

Barnaby noted that Stokes did not address the issue of any of the fifteen having hired a killer to do the deed. Instead, Stokes continued, "My sergeant is currently overseeing a squad of constables who are searching the north bank of the Thames and questioning all those who live and work in the area in a push to locate the spot where the body went into the river. If the viscount was murdered in the vicinity, it's possible we'll also identify the site of the murder."

Rattenby was frowning with the air of a man trying to imagine a scenario that, to him, was entirely foreign.

"In addition," Stokes went on, "we're endeavoring to locate Sedbury's whip, which, as I mentioned, we believe to be the murder weapon. Accepting that, if discarded by the murderer, such an item is unlikely to still be where he left it, Mr. Adair has agents scouring the pawnshops of London, and I've alerted those who make their living trawling through the debris washed up on the riverbank to our interest in that item. Unless it's been destroyed, which is possible but overall unlikely, we stand a reasonable chance of finding it, and where it was initially discovered will likely give us some clue as to where the viscount was murdered." Stokes added, "The site of the murder will help define who might be the murderer. And further to that, Mr. Adair's agents are also seeking the jarvey who ferried Sedbury east from Pall Mall on the night in question. Learning where he let the viscount off will significantly advance the investigation."

Amused to hear his lads referred to as "agents," Barnaby made a mental note to share that fact with the lads themselves when next he saw them.

Meanwhile, Stokes had paused, and Barnaby sensed he was weighing his next words very carefully. Then, tucking his notebook away, Stokes said, "We're also working to, if at all possible, establish sound alibis for Lord Jonathon and Lord Bryan, both of whom have arguably the most powerful motives for doing away with Sedbury."

Rattenby's reaction was reminiscent of a rigidly contained explosion. Instantly, he rapped out, "Jonathon and Bryan had absolutely nothing to do with Sedbury's death."

Stokes inclined his head and said nothing more.

Rattenby glowered, first at Stokes, then at Barnaby. "I expect," he barked, "that the culprit will be identified in short order, the required evidence assembled forthwith, and the matter dealt with expeditiously."

Returning his glower to Stokes, his tone forceful, he went on, "I do not wish to hear any suggestion that any of my surviving children were in any way involved." Belligerently, he stated, "They weren't, and that's all there is to it."

Barnaby was starting to see from where Sedbury had inherited his arrogance. Mildly, Barnaby stated, "That Sedbury's body was put into the river along a stretch of embankment in a decidedly rough and seedy area rather than being left in some alley in Mayfair suggests his murderer had some reason for choosing such a site."

Rattenby huffed, and the heightened color in his lined cheeks receded somewhat. "Just so. There's no reason to suppose the murderer is anyone in the ton."

That wasn't what Barnaby had meant, but he was glad to have calmed the marquess.

Rattenby looked from Barnaby to Stokes and back again, plainly calculating, then he fixed Stokes with a level gaze and stated, "I'm happy to answer any questions you have regarding Sedbury, although I freely admit that since he came into his majority, I have seen little of him and am not well informed as to his habits."

Barnaby seized the offer. "Do you have any idea why Sedbury might have ventured along the riverbank between the Duke Stairs and the Tower? Do you know of any association that might have taken him to that area?"

Rattenby shook his head. "I'm not aware of any interest he had that might account for him going there. Certainly, the family has no business or holdings in the vicinity."

Barnaby saw Stokes glance his way and minutely shook his head. While he could think of countless questions about Sedbury they would be glad to have answered, he judged that despite Rattenby's declaration, there was little chance the marquess would make any useful revelations.

Stokes shifted and, from his pocket, drew out Sedbury's unfinished letter. "Perhaps, my lord, you or Lord Jonathon might know something about this." He passed the letter to Jonathon, who was closer. "We found it on Sedbury's desk the day after he was murdered. It appears he broke off writing it and left it as if he intended to return later to complete it."

Barnaby watched Jonathon scan the single sheet. A frown formed on Jonathon's face and progressively deepened. When Jonathon reached the end of the piece, Barnaby asked, "Do you know to whom Sedbury was referring?"

Jonathon's expression matched his reply. "I have no idea." He glanced at the ladies, then at Barnaby and Stokes, and colored. "I mean…" He swallowed and went on, "It could refer to any number of ladies. Women. Girls." Helplessly, he looked at the letter. "Without more to go on, I really can't say." He shook his head. "I couldn't even begin to guess."

Given Jonathon was twenty-six years old and decidedly handsome, Barnaby could understand that.

Stokes tipped his head toward Rattenby, who was barely restraining himself from grabbing the sheet. "Perhaps your father might have some insight."

Jonathon drew his gaze from Sedbury's writing, rose, and carried the letter to his father.

Rattenby seized the sheet and studied the brief message. His features hardened, and he continued to stare at the written words.

After a moment, Stokes inquired, "My lord, do you have any idea to whom Sedbury was referring?"

"No." There was enough puzzlement in Rattenby's tone to suggest that was the truth. "I've not the faintest notion." As if speaking to himself, he went on, "It could be someone in town or in the country. In fact, whoever he means could be anywhere at all." Rattenby frowned at the letter, hesitated, then said, "I assume this"—he raised the note—"is evidence?"

"It is, my lord." Stokes held out his hand. "I'll need to keep it, at least for the moment."

With obvious reluctance, Rattenby handed the letter to Jonathon, who returned it to Stokes, then resumed his seat.

Barnaby could almost feel Stokes's relief as he tucked the letter back into his pocket.

The marquess was, once again, scowling, although this time, his ire wasn't directed at anyone there. "I would suggest," Rattenby stated, "that letter is simply another example of Sedbury's maliciousness." He focused on Stokes. "I will tell you now, Inspector, that I view Sedbury's removal from this world as a benevolent act of fate. His death will not be mourned by anyone. I would much prefer that you ceased your investigation, and I propose to tell the commissioner as much tomorrow morning."

Claudia stirred. She shot a worried glance at her brothers, then turned to their father. "You might want to reconsider that notion, Papa."

The marquess's scowl deepened as it swung Claudia's way. "Why? For goodness' sake, girl, this investigation is going to focus far too much attention on the family." Voice strengthening, he declared, "I won't have it!"

Claudia didn't waver. "With respect, Papa, how much interest becomes focused on the family isn't something you can control. The news of Sedbury's death was reported in the news sheets this morning—thankfully in highly restrained fashion, for which I believe we have Scotland Yard to thank—so the murder is now common knowledge. Inevitably, the ton has started to speculate, and the gossip will only grow more extreme as the days pass. Until someone is taken up for the crime, the most obvious suspects"—she waved at her brothers—"namely, Jonathon and Bryan, will remain just that. Suspected of murder. Do you really want their futures tainted and tarnished by the suspicion that one or other of them killed Sedbury?"

From under beetling brows, Rattenby stared hard at his daughter, who held her nerve and regarded him levelly, then he looked at his sons. "But…" He seemed to deflate and looked a trifle lost.

"We didn't do it," Jonathon said, "but Claude's right. We are the prime suspects—especially me. With Sedbury gone, I'm your heir, and that alone is motive enough. But the gossipmongers will pick and poke and hunt for more as long as the question of who killed Sedbury remains unresolved, and who knows what they'll turn up?"

"We didn't kill him," Bryan averred. " We know that, but the ton will make a great mystery of it. You know they will, and they'll relish the scandal, and that will hang over our heads forever if Sedbury's murderer isn't caught."

Penelope sensed it was his younger son's summation that decisively cracked the wall of the marquess's stubbornness. Despite his retreat to the country and his consequent eschewing of ton society, she doubted he would be so out of touch with ton habits that he couldn't appreciate what his children were very sensibly telling him. Nevertheless, she drew breath and stated, "Sadly, my lord, your children are entirely correct. If left unsolved, Sedbury's murder will have no good outcome for them or, indeed, any of your family. In order to stop the gossip, the real murderer must be identified."

The marquess studied her for several long moments, then he looked at his children. Ultimately, he transferred his gaze to Stokes. "I accept that you need to find Sedbury's murderer. However, I would ask that you investigate this affair with minimum public fuss. I will also reiterate that I am not inclined to view Sedbury's murder as an evil. Knowing Sedbury, the act was almost certainly some form of well-deserved retribution or revenge. It gives me no joy to state that, but I cannot pretend I didn't know Sedbury well enough to be sure that will be so." Rattenby paused, then said, "Do what you need to do, Inspector. Mr. and Mrs. Adair." His gaze shifted to Penelope and Barnaby. "However, know that I reserve the right to sit in judgment as to what happens once you have your answers."

Stokes briefly met Barnaby's and Penelope's gazes, then formally inclined his head to the marquess. "We'll bear your stipulations in mind, my lord, and proceed on that basis."

"In that case"—Rattenby rose, bringing everyone else to their feet—"I will leave you to your deliberations. Kindly keep me informed of any progress."

Stokes nodded. "We will."

Rattenby half bowed to Penelope and Barnaby, nodded curtly to his children and Charlie, then, stiffly upright, made for the door. Barnaby accompanied him into the hall.

Everyone else remained standing until the sound of the front door closing reached them, after which everyone breathed more easily.

Barnaby returned as the others resumed their seats.

Penelope was curious that the junior Hales hadn't left with their sire. Instead, seated once more, the three exchanged glances, then Jonathon sighed. "He means well. He just wants to protect us, but…"

Determinedly, Claudia completed the sentence. "The only way to do that is to find Sedbury's killer."

"We might feel like giving whoever it is a bouquet," Bryan said, "but sadly, that's the sum of it."

Bracingly, Penelope said, "I believe we're all in agreement on that point. So"—she glanced at Charlie, Stokes, and Barnaby—"what are our next steps?"

Stokes and Barnaby reiterated their intention to continue their respective searches for the riverbank site and the whip.

Claudia eyed her brothers. "Can either of you remember more about where you were that night?"

Bryan came up with several places he recalled looking in at, while Jonathon believed he'd spent much of his time at Satchwell's event in the company of three like-minded gentlemen. "I suppose," Jonathon said, "I could ask what they remembered of me during those hours."

"Before you do that," Penelope said, "it would help if each of you constructed a timeline of where you were and who you were with. Then, depending on where the murder site proves to be and how far that is from where you were and how long it would have taken you to get to the place, strangle Sedbury, and return, you might be able to assemble enough verified sightings through the critical hours to prove you couldn't be his killer."

Charlie nodded encouragingly. "And we shouldn't forget that there are doormen, barmen, and footmen as well as street sweepers and the like who might have noticed you going to, during, or leaving the events."

When the Hale brothers looked somewhat at a loss, Charlie offered, "I'll help. Just write everything down, then we'll see what we can learn."

Claudia glanced at the clock. "Look at the time! I must get back to Selborough House." She looked at her brothers. "I'm sure Mama will have come down with Papa, so we all need to present ourselves there. Writing your lists will have to wait until tomorrow."

Everyone roused themselves and rose.

After seeing the Hales and Charlie out, Penelope turned to Stokes and confessed, "I feel utterly at a loss. In inquiring into the movements of my fifteen possible suspects, while I didn't imagine I would find confirmation that any of them had gone to meet Sedbury that night, I fully expected to stumble over something . Some indication of possible involvement. But"—she raised her hands palms up—"nothing! Not a shred of suggestion of even the vaguest connection."

Stokes looked like he was struggling to hide a smile. "Sometimes, investigations go like that."

She almost growled, "But that leaves me with nothing to do."

Stokes glanced at Barnaby, then looked back at her. "Sleep on it," he advised. "Something will occur to you. Some factor we've missed that you can pursue."

She huffed and waved him off, adding a directive to bear her best wishes to Griselda, who was heading toward the end of a rather trying confinement.

After Barnaby closed the door, Penelope looped her arm with his. "We'd better go up to the nursery and see how our two are faring."

Barnaby smiled in acquiescence, and they headed up the stairs.

As they climbed, Penelope mused, "One point my usual sources raised that we haven't pursued at all is that Sedbury was as horrible—possibly even more horrible—to those of lesser station. So there may well be many others not of the ton—people or families who Sedbury wronged—who might have wished him ill. People we, the investigators, have no inkling of."

Barnaby inclined his head. "Sadly, with our victim being Sedbury, that's very likely true. Equally true is that his unfinished letter to Jonathon might have no connection to Sedbury's murder."

"Hmm." Penelope's gaze turned speculative. "I wonder if there's any way I can learn more on that front."