Page 41 of Dead Beside the Thames
Barnaby rose with Penelope as Mostyn halted and announced, “The Marquess of Rattenby.”
The marquess was as tall as his sons, but although still physically imposing with a rigidly upright posture, he no longer carried the heft and muscle they possessed. He was older than might be supposed, well into his sixties, and expensively if conservatively dressed with neatly coiffed steel-gray hair. While his features carried the same handsome stamp as his youngersons’ did, his expression was all ageing aristocrat accustomed to wealth and privilege and to getting his own way.
Smoothly, with her most graciously confident smile in place, Penelope moved past Barnaby to welcome the senior Hale. “My lord, do come in and join us. Despite the circumstances, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to our home.”
The marquess clearly hadn’t thought of what he would encounter at their house. His suddenly blank expression suggested that, certainly, he hadn’t expected to be taken in hand by a socially adept hostess, and for a moment, he was knocked a trifle off-kilter. As Penelope rolled on, following the established social script for receiving a senior noble and ensuring he was properly introduced to those of the company he did not know—namely, Barnaby, Charlie, and Stokes—the marquess had no real alternative but to fall in with her direction.
The marquess duly shook hands with Barnaby and Charlie, but when it came to Stokes, Rattenby fixed a glowering look on Scotland Yard’s finest.
But before Rattenby could challenge Stokes in any way, Penelope took his arm and solicitously guided him to the armchair by the fireplace. As that was a prime spot from which to observe everyone else, Rattenby gruffly thanked her and sat.
Everyone else resumed their seats, allowing the marquess to catch his breath. He fixed his steely gray gaze on Stokes and stated, “Inspector. Mr. and Mrs. Adair. I’m told the three of you work together on such cases as this, those that involve members of the haut ton.” Penelope and Barnaby inclined their heads in acknowledgment, and Rattenby rolled on, “I’m keen to learn what you’ve discovered in the matter of Sedbury’s death.”
Death, Barnaby noted, not murder. He also noticed that Rattenby hadn’t labeled Sedbury his son. Or even his heir.
Stoically, Stokes listed the facts they’d already ascertained and, without missing a beat, moved on to describing theircurrent avenues of investigation. “Through her sources, Mrs. Adair identified fourteen members of the ton presently in London who might have had reason to wish Sedbury dead. Via diligent investigating, she’s established that none of those fourteen or Lord Napier, who more recently had an encounter with the viscount, were directly involved in his murder.”
Barnaby noted that Stokes did not address the issue of any of the fifteen having hired a killer to do the deed. Instead, Stokes continued, “My sergeant is currently overseeing a squad of constables who are searching the north bank of the Thames and questioning all those who live and work in the area in a push to locate the spot where the body went into the river. If the viscount was murdered in the vicinity, it’s possible we’ll also identify the site of the murder.”
Rattenby was frowning with the air of a man trying to imagine a scenario that, to him, was entirely foreign.
“In addition,” Stokes went on, “we’re endeavoring to locate Sedbury’s whip, which, as I mentioned, we believe to be the murder weapon. Accepting that, if discarded by the murderer, such an item is unlikely to still be where he left it, Mr. Adair has agents scouring the pawnshops of London, and I’ve alerted those who make their living trawling through the debris washed up on the riverbank to our interest in that item. Unless it’s been destroyed, which is possible but overall unlikely, we stand a reasonable chance of finding it, and where it was initially discovered will likely give us some clue as to where the viscount was murdered.” Stokes added, “The site of the murder will help define who might be the murderer. And further to that, Mr. Adair’s agents are also seeking the jarvey who ferried Sedbury east from Pall Mall on the night in question. Learning where he let the viscount off will significantly advance the investigation.”
Amused to hear his lads referred to as “agents,” Barnaby made a mental note to share that fact with the lads themselves when next he saw them.
Meanwhile, Stokes had paused, and Barnaby sensed he was weighing his next words very carefully. Then, tucking his notebook away, Stokes said, “We’re also working to, if at all possible, establish sound alibis for Lord Jonathon and Lord Bryan, both of whom have arguably the most powerful motives for doing away with Sedbury.”
Rattenby’s reaction was reminiscent of a rigidly contained explosion. Instantly, he rapped out, “Jonathon and Bryan had absolutely nothing to do with Sedbury’s death.”
Stokes inclined his head and said nothing more.
Rattenby glowered, first at Stokes, then at Barnaby. “I expect,” he barked, “that the culprit will be identified in short order, the required evidence assembled forthwith, and the matter dealt with expeditiously.”
Returning his glower to Stokes, his tone forceful, he went on, “I do not wish to hear any suggestion that any of my surviving children were in any way involved.” Belligerently, he stated, “They weren’t, and that’s all there is to it.”
Barnaby was starting to see from where Sedbury had inherited his arrogance. Mildly, Barnaby stated, “That Sedbury’s body was put into the river along a stretch of embankment in a decidedly rough and seedy area rather than being left in some alley in Mayfair suggests his murderer had some reason for choosing such a site.”
Rattenby huffed, and the heightened color in his lined cheeks receded somewhat. “Just so. There’s no reason to suppose the murderer is anyone in the ton.”
That wasn’t what Barnaby had meant, but he was glad to have calmed the marquess.
Rattenby looked from Barnaby to Stokes and back again, plainly calculating, then he fixed Stokes with a level gaze and stated, “I’m happy to answer any questions you have regarding Sedbury, although I freely admit that since he came into his majority, I have seen little of him and am not well informed as to his habits.”
Barnaby seized the offer. “Do you have any idea why Sedbury might have ventured along the riverbank between the Duke Stairs and the Tower? Do you know of any association that might have taken him to that area?”
Rattenby shook his head. “I’m not aware of any interest he had that might account for him going there. Certainly, the family has no business or holdings in the vicinity.”
Barnaby saw Stokes glance his way and minutely shook his head. While he could think of countless questions about Sedbury they would be glad to have answered, he judged that despite Rattenby’s declaration, there was little chance the marquess would make any useful revelations.
Stokes shifted and, from his pocket, drew out Sedbury’s unfinished letter. “Perhaps, my lord, you or Lord Jonathon might know something about this.” He passed the letter to Jonathon, who was closer. “We found it on Sedbury’s desk the day after he was murdered. It appears he broke off writing it and left it as if he intended to return later to complete it.”
Barnaby watched Jonathon scan the single sheet. A frown formed on Jonathon’s face and progressively deepened. When Jonathon reached the end of the piece, Barnaby asked, “Do you know to whom Sedbury was referring?”
Jonathon’s expression matched his reply. “I have no idea.” He glanced at the ladies, then at Barnaby and Stokes, and colored. “I mean…” He swallowed and went on, “It could refer to any number of ladies. Women. Girls.” Helplessly, he looked atthe letter. “Without more to go on, I really can’t say.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
Given Jonathon was twenty-six years old and decidedly handsome, Barnaby could understand that.
Stokes tipped his head toward Rattenby, who was barely restraining himself from grabbing the sheet. “Perhaps your father might have some insight.”
