Page 45 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
They rose, and the gentlemen came to their feet as Mrs. Moubray ushered Penelope to the door. Looking back at Sir Ulysses, Mrs. Moubray asked, “Would you like me to send in a tea tray, dear?”
Sir Ulysses gave vent to disgusted sound. “Don’t bother. I need something stronger after learning of Harrison’s latest idiocy, and I daresay Adair won’t say no to joining me, even if it’s early in the day.”
Barnaby inclined his head in acquiescence.
As, with Mrs. Moubray close behind, Penelope went through the doorway, she heard Sir Ulysses growl, “I always kept a tight rein on Harrison’s funds. Didn’t want him going off the rails. But it seems he’s managed that anyway.”
A few minutes later, Penelope was ensconced in a well-padded sofa, again covered in flowered chintz, in a sunny room that looked out over a pleasant side garden.
The footman, carrying a properly stocked tray, had followed her and Mrs. Moubray into the room, and after settling into an armchair opposite Penelope, Mrs. Moubray expertly poured, then handed a cup and saucer to Penelope.
She accepted it, sipped, gently smiled, then set the cup on the saucer and said, “I couldn’t help but note that you weren’t surprised on learning that Gibson had shown signs of having unexplained funds.”
After taking a no-doubt-revivifying sip of her tea, Mrs. Moubray met Penelope’s gaze and admitted, “I’d had much the same thoughts of Harrison. A new hat, new gloves, and a very nice silver-headed cane. And he had a different air about him—as if he no longer had a care in the world and wasn’t concerned about what his father thought of him.” She rested her cup on its saucer and looked into it for a moment before saying, “Sir Ulysses served on the Subcontinent. He was knighted for bravery under fire. He always hoped that Harrison would follow in his footsteps, and when Harrison refused, as you might imagine, that caused something of a rift.” She raised her cup and took another sip, over the cup’s rim meeting Penelope’s encouraging gaze. Lowering the cup, Mrs. Moubray went on,“Naturally, therefore, Ulysses didn’t approve of Harrison’s decision to set up camp, as Ulysses terms it, with his two closest friends and, for that reason, kept Harrison’s financial reins rather short.”
Feeling her way, Penelope ventured, “Am I correct in thinking that Sir Ulysses’s dislike of Harrison’s chosen lifestyle extends to Harrison’s friends?”
Mrs. Moubray faintly grimaced. “I would have to say that even during their schooldays, Ulysses was in two minds about Harrison’s friendships with Gibson and Joseph, although for different reasons. The Cardwells are an old established family, and even though Gibson’s father was regarded as a black sheep, a ne’er-do-well, he was nevertheless well born. However, Gibson’s attitudes were much the same as Harrison’s, and Ulysses couldn’t approve of any situation that bolstered Harrison’s defiance. As for Joseph, well, Keeble Senior is the son of a merchant who moved up the social ladder by marrying into the gentry. Sadly, even though Keeble paid to send Joseph to King Edward’s Grammar, courtesy of his family’s connections or rather lack thereof, Joseph will never meet Ulysses’s standards for being a close associate of Harrison’s.”
“I see.” Penelope was forming a much clearer view of Sir Ulysses Moubray. Her gaze on Mrs. Moubray’s face, she asked, “Do you share your husband’s reservations regarding Gibson and Joseph?”
Mrs. Moubray frowned. “Well, no. I’ve always found the pair entirely unexceptionable, and in my view, no matter one’s station in life, friends are critically important. And those three have remained close ever since they met in their very first year at King Edward’s.”
Penelope threw her net of questions wider and learned that Harrison was the Moubrays’ only son and their eldest daughter was married and settled, while the youngest, Nettie, was still athome. Apparently, neither daughter encountered any difficulties with Sir Ulysses and his often-rigid views.
“Coming from years in the army, Ulysses likes to believe he’s in charge and in control,” Mrs. Moubray confided. “As long as one allows him to think so, he remains content, and really, as long as one pauses to think and organize a trifle, my daughters and I have always found him easy enough to manage.”
Penelope had no difficulty believing that. But in considering the image of himself Sir Ulysses plainly held, she had to wonder... “If Sir Ulysses had wished to speak with one of the younger gentlemen, would he have gone to meet them at their home?”
“Oh no.” Mrs. Moubray shook her mousy curls. “He would have summoned them to speak with him here, in his study, or at his club.” She paused, then said, “I’m fairly sure he hasn’t met with any of them recently. He does tend to ramble about everything that happens in his day, and he hasn’t mentioned the lads for the past two weeks. Not since Harrison, Gibson, and Joseph last dropped in to see me and Nettie.”
Penelope smiled to herself. She was prepared to take everything Mrs. Moubray said of her husband and son as well-nigh gospel. Mousy, she might be, but she understood the characters of those close to her.
Mrs. Moubray asked about Penelope’s children, and she was happy to switch tacks and describe the imps.
Then the footman arrived and announced that Barnaby was ready to leave.
Penelope drained her teacup, placed cup and saucer on the tray, then rose and smiled at Mrs. Moubray. “Thank you for the tea and the conversation.”
Mrs. Moubray waved a hand. “It was entirely my pleasure, Mrs. Adair.”
Together, the ladies—both of them, Penelope suspected, entirely satisfied with the outcome of their private chat—left the conservatory and went to join their husbands.
Half an hour after leaving Scotland Yard, Jordan found himself sitting beside Ruth on the sofa in the Cardwells’ drawing room with Mrs. Cardwell in an armchair closer to the fireplace and Bobby and Gibson in the armchairs opposite.
Both Cardwell males looked haggard, as if they’d barely slept since learning of Thomas’s death. As for Mrs. Cardwell, to Jordan, she epitomized the image of a lady sunk in grief over the death of a child—as if she’d lost all hope and all that anchored her to the world.
Experience suggested that her grief would eventually ebb to manageable levels, and with three other children to steer through life, she would come around.
Jordan wasn’t so sure Gibson would ever put his brother’s death behind him. There was a degree of guilt and self-blame in Gibson’s demeanor that, Jordan felt, went well beyond the deserved. He hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for the older of Ruth’s brothers, but as he and Ruth, aided by Gibson, explained to Mrs. Cardwell and Bobby the situation Gibson had unwittingly become involved in and how that had, the investigators believed, led to Thomas being killed, Jordan came to the firm conclusion that the sooner the murderer was identified and taken up the better. He didn’t want to have to start constantly watching Gibson to ensure he didn’t take it into his head to wander down to the river.
Were Gibson to commit suicide over his role—however unintentional—in Thomas’s death, the remaining Cardwells would be shattered.
Jordan didn’t question why he felt that at least some of the responsibility for ensuring such an event didn’t occur now rested on his shoulders.
While they described the gun-running scheme and how they believed Thomas had stumbled across it, Mrs. Cardwell stared blankly at her surviving sons. But when Jordan finished relating the tale of Chesterton’s capture and his subsequent interview at Scotland Yard and the charges he was facing, Mrs. Cardwell’s gaze focused on Gibson, then, her expression filling with dawning horror, she swung to look at Jordan.
Seated between them and accurately reading her mother’s thoughts, Ruth rushed to explain, “The police have absolved Gibson—and Harrison and Josh—of any crime. They are not going to be charged with anything?—”
