Page 31 of The Curse of Ill-Gotten Gains
“So,” Stokes said, “before he arrives, what do I need to know about Leith?”
“He’s an interesting character,” Penelope remarked. “His name is Frederick Armstrong. He somewhat unexpectedly inherited the title from his uncle a little over two years ago. His uncle’s son should have inherited, but he—the son—vanished decades ago and hasn’t been heard from since, so he was duly declared dead, and the title passed to Frederick.”
“Nothing untoward known about him,” Barnaby put in. “In general, he’s a straightforward character, well-liked and well-regarded.”
“I should probably mention,” Penelope said, “that prior to inheriting the title, Leith was solid bachelor material—connected to the earldom, a gentleman, certainly, but not one to court attention. Now, of course, the title has transformed him into a rich matrimonial prize. He’s much sought after, and I gather he’s accepted the responsibility of keeping the line going and has started, rather warily and carefully, to look about him for a wife. I suspect that’s why he’s here.”
A tap on the door heralded the Earl of Leith.
Barnaby rose and, with a smile, gestured for Leith to join them. As, urbane and composed, the earl traveled the long length of the room, Barnaby seized the chance to match his memory with the current fact.
Somewhere in his late thirties, Leith was of above-average height, a few inches shorter than Barnaby and Stokes. Leith possessed a solid build and an imposing presence and wore the mantle of earl well. He had brown hair, thick but neatly trimmed, and mid-brown eyes set in an angular, rather squarish face with a strong, patrician nose. His was not a handsome face but was sufficiently striking and pleasant to attract and hold attention. As he approached the investigators, Leith’s expression remained relaxed and confident, and as Barnaby had predicted, a gleam of curiosity shone in his eyes.
With nods to Penelope and Barnaby and a curious glance and a dip of his head to Stokes, Leith complied with Barnaby’s unspoken invitation to sit in their interviewee’s chair.
Barnaby sat and opened the questioning with their agreed query as to when Leith had arrived and why he was there.
Leith readily replied, “I drove down from town in my curricle and arrived in the latter half of the afternoon.” He glanced at Penelope and smiled. “As to why I’m here, you could put that down to wishing to stay in Lady Pamela’s good graces. She was most insistent that I attend.” He paused, then, head tilting, self-deprecatingly added, “As I have yet to marry, I suspect she hopes that I might find her daughter appealing.”
Catching Penelope’s eye, Leith lightly shrugged. “As I will need to marry at some point, I’m amenable to casting my eye over the field.”
“You spent Sunday evening with the company, I assume?” Barnaby inquired.
“Indeed.”
“Moving on to Monday,” Barnaby said, “at what time did you come downstairs?”
“I breakfast early, usually just after seven o’clock—I reached the dining room about that time.” Without further prompting, Leith continued, “After I rose from the table, I came in here to check the news sheets. That was a little before eight, I believe, and they’d just come in, but nothing caught my eye, and as I knew I had several letters I needed to write, I returned to my room to do so.”
Barnaby inclined his head in acceptance. “Do you recall where you were between nine and ten o’clock?”
Leith’s brows rose. “Over the time Monty was murdered? I was still in my room, writing. I heard the commotion—people rushing downstairs—and after a little time, I came down to see what the fuss was about.”
“You didn’t hear Miss Hemmings scream for help?” Penelope asked.
Leith shook his head. “The window was shut.”
“Do you know if anyone else left the house during that period—nine to ten?” Barnaby asked.
“No. But I wasn’t paying attention to anyone or anything beyond my writing.”
Barnaby glanced at Penelope, then at Stokes, then proceeded with their next question. “What was your view of Underhill?”
Leith’s face clouded, and his expression turned somber. His gaze grew distant as he said, “I knew Monty quite well—better than I know Pamela. Although he was older, the Underhills and my family, the Armstrongs, have a long history. Our lands lie in the same part of the country, and the families have been friendly for many generations. When I first came on the town, Monty went out of his way to ease my path into society.” A faint smile flitted over Leith’s face as if he was remembering happier times. “He was a bit like a favorite uncle crossed with an oldercousin to me. I held him in high regard.” After several seconds of being sunk in his memories, Leith stirred, raised his head, and stated, “I always found Monty to be a genial fellow, an excellent host, and an all-around pleasant man. We often crossed paths at White’s, and he always had time for a few words.” Cynically, Leith added, “Even before I came into the title.”
“Do you know of any reason someone would want to kill him?” Barnaby asked.
Confidently, Leith stated, “No. None at all.” He paused, then added, “In truth, I find it quite shocking that someone has.” He met Barnaby’s eyes. “Do you have any idea who did it?”
Smoothly, Stokes replied, “At present, we’re collecting information regarding what everyone here saw and heard. Once we’ve assembled those facts, we’ll have a clearer view of what happened.”
“I see.” Leith’s gaze, which had shifted to Stokes, flashed to Penelope.
Barnaby rose. “Thank you for your assistance, Leith.”
With a charming smile, Leith got to his feet. “In the circumstances, I can hardly say it was a pleasure, but weathering your inquisition really wasn’t too difficult.” He bowed to Penelope, nodded to Stokes, and joined Barnaby, who guided him from the room.
After Leith left, still at the door, Barnaby glanced inquiringly at Penelope.
