Penelope frowned, apparently unconvinced, but Barnaby agreed. “She’s more than tall enough and strong enough to have delivered the killing blow.”
The door opened, and Richard came in. As, with a quick smile, he came down the room to join them, Barnaby waved him to the interviewee’s chair and explained, “We’re speaking with all the guests, more or less in order of precedence so no one can be viewed suspiciously for being singled out.”
Subsiding into the indicated chair, Richard nodded. “A very wise move, given the guests and the circumstances.”
“Speaking of which,” Penelope said, “how are the other guests reacting to the investigation?”
Richard sat back. “Truth to tell, now the initial shock is wearing off, most are increasingly consumed by curiosity. It’s not every day one gets to observe a murder investigation at close range.”
Somewhat airily, Penelope asked, “And how are the Hemmings sisters coping?”
Barnaby watched as Richard wisely answered rather guardedly.
Hiding a smile at his wife’s abiding interest in matchmaking and intercepting a long-suffering look from Stokes, Barnaby seized the reins. “To get down to business, to get some idea of who was where and when, we’re asking all the guests a standard set of questions, the first of which is, when did you arrive at the Grange?”
Very happy to switch tacks, Richard promptly replied, “I traveled down in my carriage with my aunts. We arrived on Sunday, midafternoon.”
“And you’re here because…?” Barnaby asked.
“I’m here because my aunts engineered an invitation, and to keep them quiet, it was easiest to fall in with their plans.” Richard glanced at Penelope. “As I suspect you already know, my aunts have suggested that Rosalind Hemmings might make me a suitable bride, and this house party provides an opportunity to explore the possibility.”
Before Penelope could pursue that topic, Stokes asked, “At what time did you come downstairs on Monday morning?”
“At affairs such as this, I come down early to breakfast to avoid the ladies and all the chatter. From the dining room, I went upstairs to my room again. I had several letters I needed to write.”
“And between nine and ten o’clock?” Stokes inquired.
“I was writing in my room until just before ten. I finished the letters and brought them with me when I came downstairs. I was on the stairs when Rosalind screamed. I tossed the letters on the salver on the hall table and ran outside.”
Stokes was jotting, so Barnaby asked, “Do you know if anyone else left the house during that time—nine to ten?”
Richard paused, clearly thinking back. “No. There were other gentlemen seated in here—I glimpsed them as I ran past the open doorway. They’d heard the scream, too, and followed me outside.”
“You didn’t see anyone outside while you were upstairs?” Stokes rumbled.
“No.” Richard shrugged. “I wasn’t looking.”
Barnaby asked, “What was your view of Monty? Did you know him well?”
“Not well, no. Much like you, I was acquainted with him well enough to exchange nods and stop and chat at social events or in a club. As to how I found him…” He blew out a breath. “If I ignore what we’ve recently learned about his illicit activities,then up to now, I’d always found him to be a likeable chap, good-natured, usually full of bonhomie with rarely an unkind word to say of anyone and only when it was well-deserved. He was more convivial than most, a harmless gentleman of good family.” Richard raised his brows. “Many in the ton will be deeply shocked to learn of his murder, primarily because it’s hard to imagine why anyone would want to murder a man like him.”
Barnaby’s lips twisted. “You’ve largely answered our next question, namely, whether you know of any reason anyone would want to kill him.”
Richard’s features hardened. “Other than him blackmailing members of the ton?”
Penelope sighed. “Everything we’re hearing suggests that has to be the motive.”
“But for the record,” Stokes said, “you’re not aware of anything else that might constitute a motive for Underhill’s murder?”
Richard shook his head. He glanced at Penelope and Barnaby. “Surely, Monty’s blackmailing stands a very good chance of being the reason he was murdered.”
Barnaby dipped his head in agreement.
Richard regarded the investigators, then added, “It’s worth remembering that there are more secrets within the ton than most will ever know, and many of those secrets are powerful ones—the sort that, should they become widely known, will change powerful men’s fortunes dramatically, literally from prince to pauper.”
Stokes was nodding. “A powerful secret births a powerful motive.”
“Exactly,” Richard said.
