Page 11 of Dead Beside the Thames
“Must say,” Charlie murmured as they headed for the front hall, “I can see why you two get drawn into these investigations.Now that I know I’m free of official suspicion at least, I can see the attraction of puzzling out who actually did the deed.”
Barnaby smiled. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER 3
Barnaby, Stokes, and Penelope elected to walk the few blocks from the house in Albemarle Street to Duke Street, one of the most favored locations for the residences of wealthy and, generally, titled bachelors.
On reaching that street, flanked by Barnaby and Stokes, Penelope paused on the pavement opposite Number 15 and surveyed their destination. The redbrick building was in an older style, with a high-pitched roof, ornate cream-stone window and door surrounds, and leaded diamond-paned windows. A short flight of stone steps led up to a brown-painted front door.
Penelope looked up at the first-floor apartment, which sported a bow window that overlooked the street.
Behind the glass, a figure moved, unidentifiable but definitely there.
“Someone’s at home,” Stokes said. “Let’s see who it is, shall we?”
Penelope had no argument with that course of action, and their party swiftly crossed the street. As they ascended the steps to the front door, she noticed a small black town carriage drawn up to the curb outside the house next door. The driver, a large individual wearing a dun-colored driving cloak, sat on the box,holding the reins loosely and, she would swear, observing them intently.
Pausing on the porch behind Stokes, she inwardly frowned.
Without knocking, Stokes opened the front door, which gave access to multiple apartments and, at this hour, was left unlocked.
Penelope felt Barnaby’s hand at her back, urging her on, and she dismissed the strangely watchful coachman in favor of more interesting sights.
A set of narrow but elegant stairs faced them. Ignoring the corridor that led to the rear of the ground floor and a door that must open to the ground-floor rooms, they started up the two flights to the first floor. About them, the building was quiet, and courtesy of the thickness of the stair runner, they made little sound. Expensive patterned paper covered the stairwell walls, and the banister was polished oak, cool and smooth under their hands. The stairwell was dim, but a skylight far above shed enough light for them to see their way.
They stepped onto the first-floor landing. The stairs turned and continued to the upper floors, while directly ahead of them stood a solid oak door, presumably the entry to Sedbury’s rooms.
Stokes raised his hand to knock, then paused and, instead, tried the doorknob. It turned, and he eased the door slowly and silently open. He paused on the threshold, cast a swift glance at Penelope and Barnaby, then faced forward and quietly walked in.
Penelope followed, equally silently, at Stokes’s heels.
The small front hall opened onto one end of a decent-sized parlor well-lit by light slanting in through the front bow window. To their right, at the far end of the room, two doors, both closed, bracketed a fireplace, while another door, also closed, was in the side wall immediately on their left. Several large studded-leather armchairs and a matching couch were arranged beforethe hearth and, together with several low tables, took up much of the floor space, along with a large rolltop desk positioned against the inner wall, halfway down the room directly opposite the bow window.
One swift glance informed Penelope that the room was very much lived in, with several editions of sporting magazines, all appearing well-thumbed through, tossed on various tables. Riding gloves and a quirt rested on a side table, and several invitations were stuck in the ornate frame of the mirror above the mantelpiece.
All well and good, but what riveted her attention was the lady standing facing the desk. The top of the desk was rolled back, revealing a mélange of papers pushed into the pigeonholes and haphazardly stacked before them, virtually covering the desk itself.
The woman was garbed in an expensive coat of recent style, and her wavy brown-blond hair was caught up in a fashionable topknot. She was of average height and curvaceous build and held a paper in one hand. Her eyes were glued to the sheet, and her delicate features were contorted in a frown of patent puzzlement.
Whatever she was reading was so engrossing that she hadn’t heard them enter.
Stokes cleared his throat, and the lady startled, and with one hand rising to her throat, whirled to face them.
When she simply stared, wide-eyed, Stokes calmly said, “I’m Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. And you are?”
The lady’s gaze had shifted from Stokes to take in Barnaby and Penelope, who had moved to stand alongside Stokes. A flicker of recognition passed through the lady’s large blue eyes, but after a second of silence, she returned her gaze to Stokes, tipped up her chin, and haughtily replied, “Lady Claudia Hale.”Deftly, her fingers folded the sheet. “These are my brother’s rooms. Why are you here?”
Under cover of her words, she smoothly slipped the folded paper into her pocket.
Stokes walked forward. “I’m here because I’m in charge of the investigation into Viscount Sedbury’s murder, so if you don’t mind, I’ll have that note.” He held out his hand. “And my associates, who you might recognize, are the Honorable Mr. Barnaby Adair and his wife.”
Penelope came forward. “I believe when you and I were first introduced, I would have been Penelope Ashford.”
She halted beside Stokes, and Claudia Hale politely inclined her head. “I know who you are, but why are you here?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Adair act as official consultants to Scotland Yard in cases involving the ton,” Stokes informed her, “as this case clearly does.” He hadn’t lowered his hand. “That letter, if you please.”
Claudia didn’t want to hand over the note—that much was clear in the set of her jaw and the suspicion in her gaze—but Stokes had put enough steel behind his words that, after a long-drawn moment, with obvious reluctance, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and placed the paper in Stokes’s palm.
