Page 72 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Penelope smiled reassuringly. “No need to trouble yourselves. We won’t keep you long.” She glanced at the footman and beckoned him to join the group at the table. “As I mentioned to…”
She arched her brow at the footman, and he dutifully supplied, “Phillip, ma’am.”
She nodded and continued, “As I just told Phillip, the police have a few further questions for you, the first of which is does Mr. Keeble have a long, dun-colored coat, the sort that’s currently all the rage among gentlemen of the ton?”
Penelope put forward the question generally, but brought her gaze to rest on Phillip, who, as the only male member of staff, she assumed also acted as Keeble’s gentleman’s gentleman.
Phillip cleared his throat and replied, “He did have such a coat, ma’am, but after his walk last Tuesday morning, he came home in one of his fusses and stripped off the coat and bundled it up and declared it was damaged beyond repair.” Phillip glanced at the maid. “Sally was passing, and the master gave the coat to her and told her to get rid of it.”
Along with Ruth and Jordan, Penelope shifted her gaze to Sally, who blushed under the attention.
As if this was some story game, Penelope smiled encouragingly at Sally. “So you took the coat. What did you do with it?”
Sally cast a glance at the cook, then at Phillip, before looking at Penelope and admitting, “I did take the coat, ma’am, but when I got it in here and shook it out, I couldn’t see what Mr. Keeble was on about. Lovely coat it was—expensive material and silk lining, too. It seemed perfectly fine to me, so I gave it to my beau. He was thrilled to have it.”
Penelope couldn’t keep the delight from her face. “And who is your beau?”
Sally’s expression dimmed. “He’s not in any trouble, is he? Because of the coat?”
“No,” Penelope assured her. “Not at all. If anything, it’s quite a relief to know the coat is in safe hands.” She paused, head tilting as she thought, then added, “We might need to borrow the coat for a short time, but I’ll make sure he has it back.”
“But,” Jordan said, “we will need to know who he is.”
“No trouble of any sort will come to him,” Penelope declared. “You have my word on that.”
Sally read the truth of that statement in Penelope’s face and, reassured, revealed, “Jimmy is Lord Monteith’s footman. His lordship has the house at number twelve, just around the square.”
“Thank you.” Penelope inclined her head to Sally. “That’s very helpful, and I assure you no difficulty will arise for you, your beau, or any of you”—she included the rest of the staff with her gaze—“due to answering our questions.” She looked around the circle of staff again. “Now, does Mr. Keeble have a black top hat?”
Phillip nodded. “He wore it to church this morning, ma’am.”
“Excellent.” Penelope could verify with Connor that Keeble was wearing the hat, and of course, the others would see Keeble when he emerged from the church. She allowed her smile to brighten and swept an approving gaze over the staff. “That’s all we came to ask.” She inclined her head to the group. “Thank you for your help. I should also add that there’s no need whatsoever to inform Mr. Keeble of this visit.”
“Yes, ma’am” was a chorus as the maid, cook, and tweeny curtsied, and Phillip, rather surprised, moved to lead them out.
Penelope followed Phillip along the short corridor and into the front hall, her mind busy imagining how to explain her need to speak with his footman to Lord Monteith, with whom she and Barnaby were acquainted.
Ruth and Jordan followed her. Their presence during the short interview had been primarily by way of bearing witness so that the staff wouldn’t need to be called on to testify in court.
On reaching the front door, Phillip set his hand on the latch and paused. Then he turned and looked at Penelope, who had halted behind him, then raised his gaze to Ruth and Jordan, who stood at her back. “This is about that morning, isn’t it?” Phillip asked. “Last Tuesday, when the master went out so unexpectedly—which was strange enough—and then came home in a flat-out fluster.”
Penelope regarded Phillip with sudden interest. “Anything you can tell us regarding that morning will be much appreciated.”
Phillip hesitated, then offered, “The master’s fluster wasn’t just about his coat being ruined. He’d also lost his gloves. He definitely had them on his hands when he left, and it’s strange because he rarely takes them off, not when outside the house. They were a lovely pair, too—soft, buttery leather. He was truly upset and said he must have forgotten them somewhere.”
“What color were these gloves?” Jordan asked.
“Tan,” Phillip replied. “Very soft, top of the range. Monogrammed, too.”
From Jordan’s expression—and Ruth’s—both were thinking furiously.
Penelope hid her surging expectation and smiled as mildly as she could at Phillip. “Thank you. That information might prove useful.”
Vital, even.
Phillip bowed and swung open the door, and Penelope led the way out of the house. She made straight for the gate and the pavement and kept walking, drawing Jordan and Ruth in her wake.
Penelope stopped only when they’d reached the carriage. She swung and faced Ruth and Jordan as they halted facing her. “Right,” Penelope said. “What are you two thinking?”
