Page 40 of The Curse of Ill-Gotten Gains
Penelope smiled understandingly and ran through their questions and got the same answers they’d received from Rosalind and Regina. The Hemmingses had arrived in their carriage on Sunday afternoon, and on Monday morning, they’d come downstairs with Lady Susan and her daughters and some of the other ladies at just after eight o’clock and taken breakfast with the group. Then, Mrs. Hemmings had gone to the morning room with the older ladies while Rosalind had gone upstairs to read, and Regina had joined the younger ladies making for the conservatory.
Mrs. Hemmings paled, and one hand rose to her lace fichu. “I was in the morning room when I heard Rosalind scream for help. I was so shocked that, for a moment, I didn’t know what to do. All the other ladies were frozen as well. Then, we heard the men rush outside, and we followed.”
“Before that occurred,” Penelope said, “did you notice any of the company leave the house or see anyone outside?”
“No. But the younger ones had spoken of going for a ramble about the grounds at some unspecified time. I’m not sure if any of them had got that far when the…incident occurred.”
“Did any of the ladies leave the morning room before you heard Rosalind scream?”
“Yes. Susan went out. I’m not sure to where or why, but she spoke to Pamela before she did, and some of the others would have heard as well.” Mrs. Hemmings added, “Susan hadn’t come back by the time we went out, but I’m fairly sure she joined us in the forecourt, while we were waiting to hear what had happened. She was definitely there when some of the gentlemen brought us the news.”
“Thank you.” Penelope saw that Stokes had jotted that down. She returned her attention to Mrs. Hemmings. “If you will, could you share your view of Mr. Underhill?”
“Well!” Mrs. Hemmings appeared to expand with indignation, much like a mother hen in defensive mode. Her eyes flashed as she declared, “Obviously, my view of our late host has changed.” She met Penelope’s eyes. “Regina told me all, of course. At my insistence, she made a full confession regarding her nonsensical behavior and how that beast had been blackmailing her! I was never so shocked in my life!” She went on, “I can only wish that Regina had told me all earlier.” She shook her head. “Silly girl, but she was always the flighty one. Not nearly as grounded, as mature, as Rosalind at the same age. I should have suspected that something was amiss, but…” She lightly shrugged. “With all the social organizing that having two daughters to establish entails…” She blew out a sigh. “I just hope we’ve all learned our lessons.”
Mrs. Hemmings refocused on Penelope. “But regarding Monty Underhill”—every soft feature in her face sharpened—“Iam utterly shocked and appalled. And truth to tell, saddened, too. I’d always rather liked him, but now, I feel that he preyed on my daughter and, through her, our family. I have to admit I feel as if my confidence has been utterly betrayed. I can’t imagine how Pamela must feel, knowing he was blackmailing friends.” She saw Stokes casting worried looks at Penelope and rushed to assure him, “I gave the girls, and Richard, too, my word I would breathe not a whisper of any of this to anyone until you give us leave.”
Stokes looked as relieved as Penelope felt. She arched a brow at him, but he gestured at her to continue.
She turned back to Mrs. Hemmings. “Aside from the blackmailing, do you know of any other reason why anyone might have wanted to kill Monty?”
Mrs. Hemmings shook her head and straightforwardly stated, “Obviously, he blackmailed the wrong person.” She shook her head again, this time in disbelief. “Can you imagine? Blackmailing other members of the ton. Well, it reeks of betrayal, doesn’t it? To prey on your own kind—a sort of cannibalism.” She paused, then, in a faintly amazed tone, asked, “How on earth did he manage it?”
Penelope blinked, then slowly nodded. “Quite.”
Deciding that they’d heard enough from the rather garrulous matron, Penelope smiled at Mrs. Hemmings. “Thank you. That’s all our questions for the moment.”
She rose, waited for Mrs. Hemmings to get to her feet and exchange nods with Barnaby and Stokes, then showed Mrs. Hemmings out.
Penelope returned swiftly to the armchairs and pinned Barnaby and Stokes with her gaze. “I know she meant the comment rhetorically, but it’s a valid question. How on earth did Monty learn so many secrets? About people who are usually rather good at keeping those sorts of secrets? I can imaginethat he might have stumbled across one or two such secrets in his time, but there were seventeen pages in his black book—eighteen if we include the one torn out.”
Barnaby was nodding. “You’re right. He must have had some sort of source.”
Stokes finished jotting and looked at what he’d written. “Where and how did Underhill learn his secrets? At present, that’s an unknown.” He looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “Let’s leave it for later cogitation and forge on. Who’s next?”
Five minutes later, Barnaby ushered Lord Griffith to the central armchair.
Griffith was in his mid-thirties and, at least by birth and wealth, qualified as an eligible bachelor, yet within half a minute of him seating himself—with a flourish—in the interviewee’s chair, it was apparent to all that he was a distinctly silly man.
Viewing Griffith critically as, plainly agog at the drama of being involved in a murder investigation, he gushed at Penelope, declaring himself only too willing to assist, Barnaby decided that the man wasn’t acting even though his florid and colorful attire testified to a theatrical bent.
With his legs crossed and his hands clasped on his knees, Griffith leaned forward and earnestly confided, “It’s all so very exciting! Please, tell me how I can help.”
“The first piece of information we need,” Barnaby said, “is confirmation of when you arrived.”
“Oh! That’s easy. I drove down on Sunday afternoon.” Without further prompting, Griffith explained, “M’mother’s a close friend of Lady Pamela, and the two of them insisted—positivelyinsisted—that I attend this gathering. And I’m so glad they did! A murder! Fancy!” His eyes gleamed, then with unexpectedly endearing self-deprecation, he glanced at Penelope and added, “I suspect my inclusion was more a matterof making up the numbers, but really, who knows what they might have planned?”
With a poorly suppressed grin, Penelope inclined her head. “We also need to learn what you did on Monday morning. When did you come downstairs?”
“Oh, I’m always rather early. I left my room at just after seven. I heard the clocks strike the hour before I made for the door, so I suppose it must have been about seven-fifteen when I reached the dining room.” He paused, clearly recalling, then went on, “Percival, Carrington, Morehouse, Cordingley, and Elliot were all before me, and Leith left just after I arrived.”
Barnaby owned to mild surprise at the detail and clarity of the answer. “And after you rose from the table?”
“Ah. I came in here and had a quick glance at the news sheets there?—”
“What time did you leave the dining room?” Stokes rumbled.
Griffith paused, then said, “It was a few minutes after eight. I recall the clocks striking again before I decided it was time to move.”
