Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

W hen the questions eventually ran out, Stokes excused himself, Barnaby, and Penelope, and at a whispered suggestion from Penelope, he and Barnaby left for the library while she crossed to where David and Veronica were quietly speaking with Mr. Wishpole.

With an inviting smile for all three, Penelope said, "We're adjourning to the library to compare notes and decide what's next on our agenda and would appreciate your input."

David and Veronica readily rose, but Wishpole gently smiled and shook his head. "I believe, dear lady, that at this juncture, you and your colleagues will do better without me." His shrewd gaze slid past Penelope to the rest of the company, all of whom were already absorbed in discussing what Stokes had deigned to tell them. "I'll wait quietly here. Once you leave, I daresay the rest will forget I'm in the room. Who knows what I might see and hear?"

Having a healthy regard for an experienced solicitor's acumen, Penelope inclined her head, then she, David, and Veronica made for the door.

They reached the library to find Barnaby and Stokes already settled in the chairs before the fireplace.

Stokes waited until Penelope, Veronica, and David claimed seats, then said, "So, did any of our potential suspects react in a telling way?"

Penelope sighed. "Not that I saw." Brows rising, she looked at Barnaby.

"They reacted to your revelations, certainly," Barnaby said, "but not in any way that stood out as strange or noteworthy or that would distinguish the murderer. In fact, the three showed much the same response. At first, they patently leapt to the conclusion that Sophie had taken her own life. It was plain they were ready to embrace that explanation. As your exposition continued and it grew clear we weren't accepting Sophie's death as a suicide, all three looked puzzled, then increasingly anxious, a touch wary, and possibly even apprehensive. Unfortunately, all three have reason to feel so. Regardless of whether they are the murderer, each is sufficiently intelligent to see that they will be a suspect. A suspect in both murders."

"And in Arthur's and Peter's cases, we have already identified definite motives." Penelope grimaced. "And Stephen will be anxious as to how the case will impact his courtship of Persimone Busselton."

"What about Iffey?" Stokes looked at David. "How did his lordship react when he heard the news of Sophie's death? He was with her ladyship when you broke the news, wasn't he?"

David nodded. "He was, and I would say that he was as genuinely shocked and stunned as her ladyship."

Veronica added, "In the drawing room, when you made it clear that Sophie's death was being viewed as a murder rather than a suicide, if anything, Iffey looked pleased. Meaning he was pleased that you'd made that point public knowledge, and therefore, her ladyship wasn't going to have to deal with a scandalous suicide on top of his lordship's murder."

Stokes grimaced. "In other words, Iffey behaved exactly as one might expect in the circumstances."

"One point that Wishpole raised." David glanced around their circle. "Could we have foreseen Sophie's murder and prevented it?"

They all pondered that uncomfortable question, then slowly, Barnaby shook his head. "I can't see how we might have predicted it."

Penelope nodded decisively. "And if we couldn't have predicted it, we couldn't have prevented it." No one argued, and she added, "Not that any of us or, indeed, anyone other than the murderer is happy about that. Sophie might have been immature and trying, but she had her whole life before her, and she certainly didn't deserve to have her future ripped away."

"I presume," Barnaby said, "that Wishpole's question was prompted by the thought that Sophie was killed to throw us—the investigators—off the scent. In essence, that she was a sacrificial scapegoat, and her death became necessary only because we were actively pursuing the murderer. However, we shouldn't forget, first, that it was the murderer who killed her, not us or Wishpole or the investigation, and even more to the point, the murderer arrived here with the wherewithal to kill Sophie and make it seem like suicide."

Nodding, Stokes shifted in his chair. "Sophie's murder was planned, every bit as much as Lord Meriwell's."

Frowning, Penelope tipped her head. "The question is, was Sophie's death always a part of the murderer's plan, or was it a fallback safety measure, to be enacted only if Lord Meriwell's death wasn't accepted as due to natural causes?"

They all thought, but no one had anything further to offer in that regard.

After several moments, Penelope shook herself, then looked around the circle of faces. "I can't help thinking that this abstraction of ours is precisely what the murderer hoped to achieve with Sophie's death. He wants to distract us from our investigation of Lord Meriwell's murder."

Barnaby stirred. "Presumably because if we continue poking into his lordship's murder, we might stumble on something that will point to our villain."

Stokes nodded. "The situation does suggest there's some vulnerability there, if only we can find it."

Veronica had been looking from face to face. Now, she drew in a breath and firmly stated, "In that case, let's get back to the questions we decided yesterday needed to be followed up, namely, identifying the business in Seven Dials and finding the missing wine glass—and I suppose we should now add the missing mug as well."

Her brisk tone had the others sitting straighter and turning their minds to those subjects.

"The missing glass and mug are the easiest to deal with." Stokes rose and crossed to tug the bellpull. "The staff are best placed to handle any search, especially with Sergeant O'Donnell and Constable Morgan assisting."

Jensen arrived so quickly, he had to have been waiting for their summons.

Stokes gave orders for a second and even more thorough search of the house and grounds. "Literally, look everywhere. Our murderer almost certainly knows the house and grounds intimately, and he'll have chosen some place no one else is likely to think of."

"And," Barnaby said, "search every room, including the bedchambers, with only those used by the Busseltons to be excluded."

"You will need to quarter the grounds," Penelope said. "The missing wine glass and missing mug have to be somewhere."

Jensen looked pained. "As to the latter, ma'am"—he tipped his head toward Stokes—"Inspector, I have just been informed that a mug we believe to be the one Sally used to make Miss Sophie's cocoa last evening was found in the sink this morning by the scullery maid. She was surprised to find it there, but otherwise, thought nothing of it. She washed and dried it and put it away."

Penelope sighed.

Barnaby thanked Jensen for the news. "At least that's one mystery solved."

Jensen vowed, "We'll reinstitute the search for the wine glass immediately, Inspector." With that, he bowed and left.

Penelope hummed, then said, "Everything we know points to the murderer being one of the family. So who are we putting at the top of our suspects list?"

"Arthur and Peter," Stokes promptly replied. "I can't see anything to distinguish between them at this point. They might even be working together."

"I think," Barnaby added, "that for now, we have to leave Iffey on the list, albeit acting without her ladyship's knowledge. No matter her fondness or otherwise for her late husband, I cannot see Clementina Meriwell agreeing to allow her granddaughter—her only living descendant—to be sacrificed."

"No, indeed," Penelope agreed.

David nodded. "So we have those three—Arthur, Peter, and Iffey."

"Well," Penelope said, "if we're to be logical and consistent, then at least from a motive and opportunity perspective, we have to leave Stephen on the list, too, even though he doesn't appear to be a strong contender."

Stokes nodded. "Right. So at this moment, we have four suspects, and despite all we've learned, we cannot distinguish which of those four Lord Meriwell was referring to regarding ‘the business in Seven Dials.'"

Veronica frowned. "I suppose that's true."

Penelope observed, "If any of them are hiding an unsavory secret, one of the magnitude that the phrase ‘business in Seven Dials' conjures, then for any of those four, that would provide sufficient reason for Lord Meriwell to feel enraged to the point of altering his will and for our murderer to act decisively to keep his secret concealed."

"Yet to date," Stokes said, "we've uncovered nothing that ties that business, whatever it is, to any of our suspects."

"We need to ask Wishpole." Barnaby rose, walked to the bellpull, and tugged it. "He might well know if any of our four have a connection with such an enterprise."

When Jensen answered the summons, Barnaby asked him to request that Wishpole join them.

By the time Wishpole arrived, they'd added another armchair to their circle, and once the aging solicitor was installed in its depths, Stokes explained that mention of a business in Seven Dials had arisen in connection with Lord Meriwell's murder. "Do you know anything of such a business with a link to any of the Meriwells or, by chance, Lord Iffey?"

Puzzled, Wishpole shook his head. "No. I know of all his late lordship's financial dealings, and"—he grimaced faintly—"I suppose, in the circumstances, I can reveal that I am also Lord Iffey's solicitor, so I know of all his business interests as well. It won't come as any surprise to you to hear that both gentlemen are exceedingly conservative in their investments, and I cannot imagine either ever having any association with any endeavor in Seven Dials." He paused, clearly consulting his no-doubt-capacious memory, then added, "Indeed, as far as I am aware, none of the Meriwells, older or younger, have ever had any connection to an enterprise in that area."

They all looked glum.

Wishpole studied their expressions, then somewhat tentatively asked, "Do you have any clues as to the perpetrator yet?"

Barnaby glanced at Stokes and, after receiving an infinitesimal nod, looked at Wishpole and said, "We have four potential suspects, two of whom seem more likely, but at present, we have no proof that links any of the four to a motive strong enough to provoke murder."

"Premeditated murder," Stokes clarified. "The villain came to the house bearing poison for both his lordship's and Miss Meriwell's murder."

Wishpole's brow furrowed as he followed the trail of fact, much as they had earlier. "So," he eventually said, glancing at Stokes, then at Barnaby and Penelope, "it wasn't my arrival that precipitated Miss Sophie's murder?"

Penelope realized that, due to the timing of Wishpole arriving and Sophie being murdered that same night, the sequence of events might be interpreted in such a way.

"No, indeed," Barnaby assured Wishpole. "The murderer must have intended to use Sophie as a scapegoat from the first."

"Why else"—Penelope spread her hands—"come prepared to kill her in such a way that it might be taken for suicide prompted by guilt?" She fixed her gaze on Wishpole's face. "At this moment, we cannot say that even had his lordship's murder been accepted as due to natural causes, the murderer wouldn't have killed Sophie regardless. He'd come prepared to do so, and for all we know, he always intended to kill her as well and pass off her death as a suicide in the wake of her grandfather's demise."

Hearing her own summation gave her pause.

Distantly, she heard Wishpole thank them for sharing their information and Stokes return the sentiment, then the solicitor left them.

As they settled back in the chairs, their collective focus turned to how best to learn more about "the business in Seven Dials."

Barnaby said, "We need to canvass all our options."

They proceeded to do so, but it quickly became apparent that the most straightforward of the few paths available to them was to ask one of the nephews.

"His lordship was intending to speak with Stephen about the business, remember?" Veronica said. "That suggests Stephen must know something about it."

"And," Penelope added, "Stephen is the suspect we least imagine is the murderer." She looked at the others. "We should ask him."

Stokes sighed. "It goes against the grain, but…"

"Needs must." Barnaby rose, tugged the bellpull, and when Jensen responded, sent him to ask Stephen Meriwell to join them.

Stephen walked in, his expression open and earnest. As he sat in the chair Wishpole had vacated, he assured them, "It may not appear so, but I'm quite cut up over these murders. My uncle was very good to me for all of my life, and Sophie was a dear girl. Almost a sister. I'll help in any way I can."

He leaned forward, hands clasped between his thighs, and looked from one to the other in transparent expectation.

Stokes said, his tone relaxed, "Thank you, Mr. Meriwell. We wanted to clarify a few matters that have come to our attention. If you will, please cast your mind back to when you arrived at Meriwell Hall on Monday afternoon. After greeting the Busseltons, his lordship urged them toward the drawing room, then he turned back and exchanged a few private words with you."

"Oh?" Stephen's frown was one of puzzlement. "I'm not sure that I recall…"

"Our information," Barnaby said, "is that his lordship said words to the effect that he wished to speak with you later, after dinner, in the library, about some business in Seven Dials."

Stephen's face cleared. "Oh. Right. That." He looked a trifle embarrassed. "What with all that's happened since, I'd quite forgotten." He looked from Barnaby to Stokes. "What was it you wanted to know?"

"What business was it that your uncle was referring to?" Stokes asked.

Stephen frowned. "Well, obviously, I don't know. He didn't get a chance to tell me."

Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes exchanged glances. All of them were being careful to keep Stephen's attention on them, effectively discouraging him from focusing on or even noticing Veronica and David.

Barnaby asked, "Do you have any idea what your uncle might have been referring to? Why he had any interest in a business in Seven Dials?"

Stephen pursed his lips. He looked torn, then he sighed and admitted, "Given Uncle Angus was so angry, I assumed it must be the latest scrape either Arthur or Peter had become embroiled in. Uncle Angus often asked my advice on how to deal with their…peccadilloes, and I assumed this was another such incident." Looking increasingly troubled, Stephen shook his head. "I suppose, now, that I—we—will never know what it was about or which one…" Stephen hung his head and studied his clasped hands. "It doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

Stokes glanced at Barnaby, a question in his eyes.

Barnaby considered, but could see no point in further explaining and fractionally shook his head.

Stokes uncrossed his legs and rose. "Thank you, Mr. Meriwell. You're free to rejoin the others."

Stephen rose and nodded to Stokes. "Inspector." With a general nod to the others, he walked from the room.

They debated at some length, but eventually felt sufficiently compelled to call in first Arthur, then Peter to ask what each knew of any business in Seven Dials.

When Peter left the library and the door closed behind him, Penelope looked at the others. "Well, if I had to judge by their replies and visible reactions, both were genuinely puzzled, and neither had the faintest idea about any business in Seven Dials."

Stokes grimaced. "Denials aside, we need to know, now more than ever, if any of the Meriwells is or was associated with a business in Seven Dials."

"And," Barnaby added, "we need to learn what that business is."

Dryly, David remarked, "Given it is a business in Seven Dials, I'm sure we're all suspecting that said business will be anything but respectable."

Stokes grunted in agreement.

"For all we know," Penelope said, "it might be Iffey who has the connection. Having such a close and long-term family confidante involved in such an enterprise would incense his lordship every bit as much as if it was one of his nephews."

Veronica nodded. "Given Iffey's long association with Lord Meriwell and her ladyship, he—Lord Meriwell—would see it as a stain on the family name."

Penelope tipped her head, considering. "Regardless, Barnaby's correct. We need to learn not only who has a link to that business but also what the business is." She looked at the others. "We need to confirm that the business, whatever it is, is sufficiently unsavory to provide a motive for murder."

Barnaby nodded. "That, indeed, is the critical point."

After several moments of silence while they all racked their brains for a way to learn what they needed to know, Barnaby sighed and looked at Stokes. "I'm going to send a message to Roscoe. If anyone might have heard of a Meriwell or Lord Iffey being associated with a business in Seven Dials, it will be Roscoe or one of his many informants. If I ask, he'll tell us what he knows or can readily find out."

Stokes pulled a face, but reluctantly nodded. "As a denizen of Scotland Yard, I can't pretend to like having to appeal to London's gambling king, but like you, I can't see any viable alternative. Even if I send some of the Yard's own men into Seven Dials to sniff around, there's little chance they'll turn up anything useful."

"No, indeed." Penelope sighed. "And at this point, even a rumor might help."

Lunchtime had arrived, and at Jensen's suggestion, the investigative team was served a cold collation at the large library table farther down the room.

As they sat around the table and ate, they talked of lighter matters, including Barnaby and Penelope's children and Stokes's daughter, Meg, all of whom David had delivered, and thus he had a genuine interest in their development.

Veronica was amused and intrigued, both by the tales of the children's antics and David's continued professional and personal involvement in the lives of children he'd brought into the world.

But once the platters were empty and, along with their plates, pushed to one end of the table, they turned their minds to the matter at hand.

Penelope opened their deliberations. "With respect to Lord Meriwell's murder, it seems we've reached a point where we have to wait for news. Consequently, I suggest we focus on Sophie's murder." She looked around the table. "To begin with, how did the high-strength laudanum get into her cocoa?"

Veronica reminded them, "Sally said she saw no one from the moment she left the still room until she set the mug of cocoa on Sophie's desk."

"Exactly," Penelope said. "So the laudanum—the extra dose that killed Sophie—had to have been added after that." She looked at the others. "How? And by whom?"

Stokes stirred. "Obviously, after Sally had gone, someone came to the room, and Sophie let them in."

Barnaby nodded. "Again, that implicates one of the family. One of the nephews, who it seems she viewed as brothers, or Iffey or her ladyship." He looked at Penelope and arched his brow. "As she was already in her nightgown, I can't imagine her letting anyone else in."

"Actually," David said, "Sophie was rather…insecure. She certainly wouldn't have allowed any of the Busseltons in, and I seriously doubt she would have allowed Iffey in, either. Or if she did, she would have been watching him closely the entire time he was in her room." He paused, then went on, "I can imagine her being comfortable enough with her cousins to freely invite them in. I gather she was on good and quite relaxed terms with all three. As you mentioned"—he looked at Barnaby—"she treated them more like brothers."

"Yes," Veronica said. "She would have allowed Stephen, Arthur, Peter, or her ladyship in and not thought anything of it. She's known all four since she was a young child and had no reason to distrust any of them."

"All right," Penelope said. "So we believe one of the three nephews, employing the same sleight of hand he used to poison his lordship's wine glass, slipped the high-strength laudanum into Sophie's cocoa." She envisioned the scene, then, frowning, glanced at Veronica. "Sally said Sophie was ‘writing as usual,' implying that it wasn't the note she was writing but some writing she did every night…" Behind her spectacle lenses, Penelope's eyes widened. "Did Sophie have a diary?"

Veronica nodded. "Yes, she did. She wrote in it every night. She was quite religious about that, and almost certainly, that was what she was doing when Sally left the cocoa."

Buoyed, Penelope looked at Barnaby and Stokes. "I suggest that Veronica and I should take ourselves upstairs and search for Sophie's diary." She glanced at David. "Perhaps, David, you should come, too, to lend us authority if needed."

Stokes nodded encouragingly. "I think that's a wise move. Sophie's diary might be a treasure trove—who knows what she might have overheard and recorded?" He looked at Barnaby. "As for us, I need to check with O'Donnell and Morgan and see if they've turned up anything useful, then I believe we should go and ask the staff if any of them happened to see anyone in the vicinity of Sophie's room after Sally had left." He glanced at Penelope. "After ten o'clock, wasn't it?"

Penelope nodded. "That's right."

"It might be a long shot," Barnaby said, rising from the table, "but one never knows what someone might have noticed and not thought important."

They all got to their feet and, feeling more positive for having something they could actively do, dispersed about their tasks.

However, when they assembled again over the tea tray in the library, all wore glum or frowning faces.

After taking her first sip of tea, Penelope reported, "Sophie's diary is nowhere to be found. Sally and the upstairs maid both confirmed that Sophie always kept her current journal in the right-hand drawer of her desk, but it's not there now."

Stokes grunted. "Underscoring, yet again, that the villain is a member of the family. Who else would have known she had a diary and kept it up to date?"

"More," Penelope said darkly, "the disappearance tells us that the diary holds something the murderer doesn't want us to know."

"In which case," Stokes glumly concluded, "it'll be ashes by now." He paused, then amended, "Or at least, soon. And damn it, we aren't in any position to prevent that."

"At least," Barnaby consoled, "we can alert the staff to be on the lookout for any sign of an unexpected fire and to report any such sighting immediately." He glanced around their circle. "Whoever he is, he's having to rush around and hide or destroy possible connections. The more he's forced to act, the greater the likelihood that he'll slip up somewhere."

Stokes exhaled gustily. "I know that's how it often works, but relying on the murderer making a mistake doesn't leave me feeling all that confident."

Penelope surveyed the frustrated expressions surrounding her. "I take it no staff spotted anyone near Sophie's room at the critical time."

"Not a single sighting," Stokes confirmed, "but it was a long shot. Not many staff are up on the first floor at that time. Gorton would have been, but with his lordship dead, he has no reason to go up. At that time, he was downstairs with the rest of the staff, enjoying a nightcap before heading for bed."

Forcing her mind from their pervasive disgruntlement, Penelope determinedly searched for some way, some path, some avenue that might get them further, but found little inspiration. Finally, she sighed. "All right. So where are we now?"

Barnaby stirred, then offered, "I told Roscoe the matter was urgent—literally a matter of life and death—and asked him to send a reply as soon as he could."

Stokes roused himself to ask, "To here or to the inn?"

"The inn," Barnaby replied. "Given Roscoe's operations and the hours he generally keeps, I'm hoping something will arrive in the wee small hours."

David was frowning. "Who is this Roscoe? I know you said he's London's gambling king, but what does that actually mean, and why would he be willing to help?"

Penelope replied, "To answer the first part of your question, Roscoe owns an enormous number of the higher-class gambling establishments in the capital."

"We're not talking of businesses in the slums," Barnaby said with a smile. "Roscoe's clients are, at the very least, well heeled. He's an extremely wealthy and, when he wants to be, extremely powerful man, but thankfully, he abides by the same codes we do."

"Which is why," Stokes said, "as a senior member of the Metropolitan Police, I cannot be known to deal with the man, yet I will gratefully accept whatever help he can give us."

David and Veronica regarded Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes with curiosity in their eyes.

"I sense a story," David said.

Penelope inclined her head. "Your instincts are sound, but the story of Roscoe is not one we're at liberty to divulge. Suffice it to say that, despite any and all appearances to the contrary, Roscoe very definitely works on the side of the angels."

That description made David and Veronica look even more intrigued.

"If Roscoe knows anything," Barnaby said, "he'll tell us."

"Until then," Stokes added, "other than passing a message to the gardeners, the maids, and the footmen to keep an eye out for Sophie's diary or any unexpected blaze, I can't see that we can accomplish anything more here today."

Reluctant though they were to admit what amounted to a minor defeat, all agreed.

Ten minutes later, with the last of the tea cakes consumed, accompanied by David and Veronica, Stokes went upstairs to call on Lady Meriwell and, no doubt, Lord Iffey and explain that while waiting for critical information to arrive, they would retire to the inn, but would return to the Hall as soon as they knew more.

Meanwhile, Barnaby and Penelope went to check on their suspects. From Jensen, they learned that the company had retreated to the side lawn, where afternoon tea had been served under the spreading branches of two old oaks.

After emerging onto the terrace, Barnaby and Penelope lingered there and observed from a distance. With the tea dispensed and consumed and cups, saucers, and plates stacked ready to be fetched, Mr. and Mrs. Busselton had remained comfortably seated in lawn chairs under the trees' shade and were watching the younger members of the company, who were engaged in a rather desultory game of croquet.

Stephen and Persimone were pitting their skills against those of Peregrine and Peter, while Arthur stood on the sidelines, with his arms crossed over his chest and a brooding expression on his face.

Penelope scanned the players, then refocused on the elder Busseltons. "Mrs. Busselton appears to have taken charge, albeit in a helpful fashion. Mr. Busselton is watching the players with some degree of hope, but Mrs. Busselton…" Penelope narrowed her eyes. "To me, she still appears watchful and even wary."

Barnaby didn't argue but asked his observant spouse, "She's not yet convinced of Stephen's character?"

Penelope pushed up her glasses. "I would say not."