Page 44 of Dead Beside the Thames
Penelope’s investigative heart leapt. Trying to veil her eagerness, she inclined her head. “Please do enlighten me.”
The marchioness faintly smiled and said, “The first thing you need to know was that Sedbury was an infant when his mother died. Throughout his early years, as an only child and his father’s heir, he was dreadfully spoilt and grew accustomed to invariably being the cynosure of attention for everyone in his orbit.” She paused, then went on, “I married Gerrard—Rattenby—when Sedbury was seven years old, and from the first instant he laid eyes on me, he hated me. Not because of anything I did—of course, I tried to be kind and understanding and motherly toward him—and certainly not in the sense of me replacing the mother of whom he had no memory but because I took his place as the center of attention, not just for his father but for everyone in the household. That was the driving source of Sedbury’s abiding anger and his never-far-from-the-surface resentment toward me and my children. In his eyes, we supplanted him.”
Penelope contemplated the image the marchioness’s words conjured.
Her gaze fixed in the distance, the marchioness continued, “He hated us, and I do not use that word lightly. His wasn’t any sort of mild emotion, not even a childish one. It was a passionate fire that burned in him—he had to be the king of the castle, and everyone had to bow down before him. Because of that, because of his overweening sense of supreme entitlement, he quickly grew apart from his father. Rattenby is definitely not like that. He’s arrogant, sometimes bullishly so, but underneath, he’s a reasonable and even conscientious man, one protective of those he considers in his care. Rattenby didn’t know how to handle Sedbury, much less how to bridge the widening chasm between Sedbury and the rest of the family.”
The marchioness met Penelope’s eyes. “Sedbury was never one to share, not with anything, and when he was given no choice in the matter of his father’s attention and the attention of all others associated with the marquessate and, indeed, that extended to society as a whole, he grew ever more rancorous.”
The marchioness paused, then said, “I am aware that Sedbury diligently sought any lever he could wield to cause Jonathon and Bryan not just difficulty but pain. That was Sedbury’s way. As you might imagine, that’s not an attitude that endeared him to the rest of the family, all of whom have suffered at some time to one degree or another from his machinations, but Jonathon and Bryan were his favorite targets. They were the ones who stood highest in his mind as having taken or detracted from his own importance, the two who most challenged what he saw as his rightful dominance within the family.” The marchioness smiled faintly. “My sons may be more gentle souls, but they never cowered or bowed before Sedbury’s aggression. Sadly, that only entrenched his hatred.”
Recapturing Penelope’s gaze, the marchioness said, “Now that I’ve explained Sedbury’s unbending and unwavering attitude, you won’t be surprised to learn than none of us have shed so much as a single tear over his demise.” She tipped her head, indicating the rest of the house. “Not even Patricia, who was his godmother.”
Patricia was Lady Selborough. Penelope thought to clarify, “Lady Selborough is Rattenby’s sister, I believe?”
The marchioness nodded. “My sister-in-law. We’ve always been close.”
“I see.” Penelope took a moment to reorder her thoughts. Now she was there and had the marchioness’s undivided attention, she wanted to make the most of the opportunity. “There is one possible clue on which I hope you might be able to shed some light.” She met the marchioness’s gaze. “Sedburystarted writing a letter to Jonathon earlier on Saturday. He broke off mid-letter and left it as if he intended to return and complete and send it later, but then he was killed. The letter itself is in the hands of the police, but the few sentences Sedbury had penned went…” She closed her eyes and called up a mental picture of the unfinished letter. “Dear Jonno,” she recited. “I thought you’d like to know that a few months ago, I ran into that little maid you used to be so fond of. You know the one—pretty as a picture with rosy cheeks and blonde pigtails. I could see what caught your eye. I have to confess that I had my wicked way with her.”
She opened her eyes. “That was the extent of it.” The marchioness was now frowning. Penelope asked, “Do you have any idea to which ‘little maid’ Sedbury was referring?”
Slowly, still frowning, the marchioness shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine who that might be.”
Penelope hesitated, debating whether to air a notion that had been brewing in the back of her mind. She hadn’t spoken of it to Barnaby or Stokes yet, but she was there with Sedbury’s stepmother… She refocused on the marchioness. “According to Duggan, Sedbury’s man, Sedbury left the letter uncompleted and went out to dine and subsequently attend some meeting. Sedbury took his favorite whip with him, and in Duggan’s opinion, Sedbury was looking forward to that meeting with considerable anticipation. As if he was expecting to, in Duggan’s words, ‘squash someone under his heel.’”
The marchioness looked faintly disgusted. “Sadly, I can imagine that all too clearly. Sedbury was a bully through and through and not just with the family.”
“Quite.” Penelope fixed the marchioness with a direct gaze. “However, it occurred to me that the unfinished letter and the meeting might be connected.” She couldn’t quite imagine how, but… “I wondered, you see, if the reason Sedbury left the letterunfinished was because, after his meeting, he expected to have more to add on the subject. Namely, about the ‘little maid’ he had presumably seduced.”
The marchioness considered that, then inclined her head. “Clearly, that’s one potential interpretation of his actions.”
“Yes,” Penelope went on more eagerly, “and that makes the identity of the ‘little maid’ even more important. If we knew who she was, that might give us some clue as to whom Sedbury met with, who we currently believe was his killer.”
The marchioness was slowly nodding. “You think Sedbury might have met with a member of the little maid’s family?”
“I think that’s at least a possibility,” Penelope replied. “That’s why I asked if you knew or can even hazard a guess as to who the ‘little maid’ might be.”
Several seconds ticked past as, judging from the concentration apparent in her face, the marchioness trawled through her memories, but in the end, she grimaced and met Penelope’s gaze. “The truth is that Jonathon has been dallying with maids—in the country, at friends’ estates, and in town—for more than a decade. I couldn’t begin to guess which one amid that legion of candidates is the one to whom Sedbury referred. And as at various times, Sedbury would have visited the same family estates, many of the same country houses, and certainly had access to the same haunts in town as Jonathon, then Sedbury might have stumbled across one of Jonathon’s ex-paramours in any number of locations.” The marchioness raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “I can’t even begin to guess who she might be.”
Penelope grimaced. “The description…”
“Could apply to any number of girls.” The marchioness shook her head. “It might mean something to Jonathon—clearly, Sedbury believed it would—yet to be deliberately obtuse and teasing was quite Sedbury’s way.”
Penelope sighed a touch glumly. “Well, it was a theory and, I suppose, worth asking.”
The marchioness studied her, then, her blue gaze shrewd, said, “Actually, something you mentioned earlier, about those in the ton known to wish Sedbury ill not being directly involved in his murder.”
“Yes?”
“You referred to ‘indirect involvement’ remaining a possibility, by which I assume you mean hiring some thugs to kill Sedbury.”
When Penelope nodded, the marchioness went on, “The truth is that anyone—anyone at all—who had interacted with Sedbury would have known better than to attempt to murder him themselves. A member of the ton, a shopkeeper, a tradesman, a navvy, or anyone who decided to kill him would have hired a pair of brawlers, at the very least, to get the job done.”
Penelope held the marchioness’s gaze. “You’re saying that we can’t strike anyone off our list of suspects on the grounds that they, themselves, didn’t kill Sedbury.”
The marchioness smiled faintly. “I believe that means that your suspects list will, sadly, remain a very long one.”
Penelope screwed up her nose as the reality of the situation crystallized in her brain. “Unless we can directly identify the man who strangled Sedbury—for instance, via a witness—there is no way of solving this case.” She extrapolated further, then disgustedly shook her head. “We have a detested victim and far too many viable suspects, yet precisely because of that very large number, we absolutely must identify Sedbury’s killer in order to lift the taint of suspicion from the legion of those innocent of the crime.”
