Page 13 of Dead Beside the Thames
In the parlor, Stokes said, “There are several letters here that might mean something.”
That was a request for Barnaby’s help. Penelope saw Barnaby come up behind Claudia. Over her head, he glanced around the room, then turned and went to assist Stokes.
Somewhat grumpily and clearly still worried, Claudia retreated to stand before the bow window and watch Stokes and Barnaby as they examined Sedbury’s correspondence. After a last glance at the whip display, Penelope followed and halted before the whip room door.
Studying several letters, Barnaby observed, “On the surface, some of these appear to be the usual things—letters from acquaintances—but there’s a tone to them that suggests some underlying communication that’s not explicitly stated.”
Stokes grunted. “Meanwhile, these—which appear to be copies of Sedbury’s letters to such acquaintances—have a distinctly belligerent style, but again, seem to skate around whatever the point of the exchange actually was.”
Claudia stated, “Belligerence was Sedbury’s default. He was…a difficult man to like.” When Stokes glanced her way, she caught his eye. “The commissioner mentioned some gentleman who had a falling-out with Sedbury on the day before he died. Shouldn’t you be looking for him?”
A brief smile lifted Stokes’s lips. “We’ve already spoken with that gentleman, and it’s unlikely he had anything to do with Sedbury’s death.” He tipped his head to the letters and notes heand Barnaby held. “These, however, offer us a wealth of possible suspects.”
Setting down the letters, Stokes turned to Claudia and, reaching into his pocket, drew out the note she’d been staring at when they’d arrived. “And then there’s this. A letter in Sedbury’s hand, started on Saturday morning, but left unfinished.” Stokes flicked the sheet open and read, “‘Dear Jonno.’” He looked at Claudia. “I assume that’s your brother, Jonathon Hale?”
Claudia’s features tightened. “I don’t know, but I assume so.”
Stokes nodded and continued to read, “‘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 long blond pigtails. I could see what caught your eye. I have to confess that I had my wicked way with her.’” Stokes looked up. “The letter ends there. Unfinished, presumably intended to be finished later and, subsequently, sent.” He focused on Claudia. “Do you have any idea to what this refers?”
She frowned and shook her head. “I have no notion at all.”
Penelope put in, “That’s hardly surprising. Brothers don’t tell sisters what they get up to, much less upon whom their fancy alights.” Penelope studied Claudia. “However, the tone suggests a certain rivalry between Sedbury and Jonathon.”
Claudia returned Penelope’s regard, then closed her eyes and sighed. Opening her eyes, she admitted, “Sedbury lived to undermine Jonathon whenever and by whatever means he could.” She watched Stokes pocket the letter again, along with several other communications, then went on, “Sedbury resented all of us—Mama, me, and my siblings. He has since Mama married Papa, and his resentment grew as each of us were born. But his worst was always reserved for Jonathon.”
“Jonathon,” Barnaby said, “who, on Sedbury’s death, becomes your father’s heir.”
Claudia gave vent to a strained laugh. “The irony is that Sedbury never imagined he would be the one to die, thus ceding that position to Jonathon. Quite the opposite. He—Sedbury—told us, to our faces, multiple times, that the instant Papa died, we would all be cast out. That he would make sure of it—more, that he would relish and glory in the act. Of course, he never uttered such words in Papa’s hearing, but still.” She visibly bristled. “Telling eight-year-old Conrad that he best study hard because, one day, he would have to make his way in the world with not a farthing to his name is little short of despicable and an example of Sedbury’s barbs.”
Penelope asked, “What was your father’s reaction to Sedbury’s threats? Does he know of them?”
“He knows,” Claudia said, “and he does not approve and supports and reassures and comforts the rest of us as best he can, but Sedbury is—” She broke off, then amended, “Washis heir, and there was little Papa could do to effectively refute Sedbury’s declarations.”
Claudia studied Penelope, then went on, “You’ll ask around and no doubt hear the stories, so I may as well tell you. If Papa and Sedbury are in the same house for more than an hour, there’ll be an almighty row because Sedbury will deliberately say something to provoke Papa. And when Papa tries to counter him, Sedbury dwells on what he might do to bring scandal down on the whole family, then smugly walks out.” Disgust dripped from her words.
“So,” Barnaby concluded, “Sedbury had your father over a proverbial barrel in terms of the future of the family.”
Claudia faintly shrugged. “That’s the situation, more or less.”
Penelope frowned. “Although until today, I wasn’t aware of Sedbury’s existence, that only underscores that he has never made any attempt to find a bride, and consequently, he’s never loomed on my horizon.”
Claudia scoffed. “Even if he had thought to marry, no family of suitable standing would countenance a match between him and their daughter.”
Penelope widened her eyes. “Is that so? Because I believe there have recently been rumors of him showing an interest in pursuing an alliance with the Ellises. With Rosalind Ellis.”
Claudia’s face darkened. She stared at Penelope and transparently wrestled with her conscience, then her features firmed with resolution. “I’ve heard too much of your reputation to believe you won’t learn the truth, so for what it’s worth, Sedbury pursuing Rosalind was another example of his family-directed cruelty. The Ellises are our nearest neighbors in Gloucestershire, and Rosalind and Bryan are childhood sweethearts. They’ve always and forever had eyes only for each other. The Ellises have consistently encouraged the match, as have our parents—it would be an excellent outcome all around. But Sedbury hated—viscerally hated—the prospect of seeing any of us happy, and he’s been pressuring the Ellises to allow him to marry Rosalind. Of course, Rosalind knows Sedbury well enough not to want to have anything to do with him. However, with Sedbury in line to inherit Rattenby and the power he will then wield as the largest and most influential landholder in the district, I have heard that the Ellises—well, Mr. Ellis—has been wavering. I don’t know what threats Sedbury made regarding his actions once he succeeded to the title and estates, but you can easily imagine the sort of things he might have said.”
Penelope didn’t like the sound of any of that at all, and she was unsurprised to find her estimation of Sedbury—hardly high to begin with—sinking even lower.
Stokes and Barnaby digested the information, then Stokes crossed to the anteroom and looked inside. He turned to Claudia. “Do you know if Sedbury’s favorite whip—a Duckleberry Longe, apparently—is in there?”
She frowned. “The whip he always carried with him?”
“So we’re told,” Penelope replied.
Claudia made a disgusted sound. “Such an affectation! But no, Inspector. Sedbury usually kept that whip with him. I never saw him put it in that room.” She waved toward the still-closed door at the other end of the room. “You should check in his bedroom. It might be there.”
Barnaby turned and went to the bedroom. He opened the door and passed through. Stokes followed.
