Barnaby nodded in understanding, then rose, thanked Morehouse, and showed him out.
“Miss Cranton, please,” Penelope called, and Barnaby relayed the request to the footman.
Before that young lady arrived, Penelope shared her observations of Harriet Cranton. “I’ve seen her at events in London, and she appears a quiet, rather reserved, slightly nervous young lady. The latter is likely an outcome of her having lost her parents a few years ago and being Lady Wincombe’s niece and ward and, consequently, not wanting to do anything that might reflect poorly on her aunt and uncle. She seems waryof putting a foot wrong, so to speak. All that, however, suggests that she might well be more observant and aware than the other young ladies here.”
Shortly after that, Miss Cranton arrived. A slim young lady with neat brown hair and blue eyes, with wary politeness, she nodded in response to Penelope’s greeting and almost gingerly sat in the interviewee’s chair. As Penelope embarked on their questions, her reading of Harriet seemed borne out. When asked what she hoped to achieve during the house party, Harriet softly but straightforwardly explained, “I expected to spend time with Cecilia, Alison, and the Goodrich girls. We’re all part of the same group—Cecilia, Alison, and I made our come-outs together.”
“I see.” Recalling that neither Cecilia nor Alison had mentioned Harriet as being one of the group who’d taken refuge in the music room, Penelope skipped asking when Harriet had come downstairs and leapt ahead to the question, “So when the ladies left the dining room…”
“I went with the other young ladies to the conservatory, but we saw Lady Carville already there, so the others made for the music room. But I’d come down with a nagging headache, and I decided to rest quietly for a while. Everyone was planning to go for a ramble later—well, all the younger people—and I didn’t want to miss that. So I went upstairs to my room.”
Her gaze on Harriet’s face, Penelope tipped her head. “So were you in your room over the whole hour from nine to ten o’clock?”
Harriet’s lips thinned fractionally, and she shook her head. “I was at first, lying on the bed, but after a time, I heard Aunt Georgie next door. I decided I felt better, so when I heard her go back downstairs, I decided to go down, too. I was going to join the group in the music room, but I saw Aunt Georgie ahead of me, going down the stairs. I expected her to go to the morning room, which was where the other matrons were, but instead,she took the hall to the door to the rear terrace. I…wasn’t sure what she was doing, and I just followed, and I saw her go down the steps to the lawn and stride off toward the croquet green.” Harriet colored and shot a glance at Penelope. “I don’t know why, but I went out onto the terrace and waited for her to come back.”
Did she suspect something? Or was this the reaction of a young girl who’d had parents go away and not come back?
Penelope studied Harriet, then inclined her head. “I see. While you were out on the terrace, or even earlier when you were upstairs or moving through the house, did you see anyone outside?”
“Well,” Harriet said, “I went out, as I said, and Aunt Georgie was ahead of me. Other than that, I didn’t see anyone else outside, and Aunt Georgie was only away for ten or perhaps fifteen minutes at most. I was there, on the terrace, when she came walking back. She was nearing the terrace steps when we heard Rosalind scream for help.”
“Thank you. That’s most helpful.” Penelope noted that Harriet’s account tallied with her aunt’s and also those of the other girls. “Now, how did you find Mr. Underhill?”
Harriet’s expression suggested she found the question easy to answer. “All the young ladies found him pleasant and comforting. He was always reassuring and…well, kind.”
She looked at Penelope in patent confusion. “Why would anyone want to kill him?”
Penelope lightly grimaced. “That was my next question to you. I take it you have no idea?”
Vehemently, Harriet shook her head. “None at all. It seems quite incomprehensible. He was such a kind man.”
Penelope thanked Harriet, rose, and showed her to the door. Before returning, she sent the footman to summon Mr. James Patterson.
Resuming her seat, Penelope said, “I gather Patterson is a good friend of Vincent’s, which I expect is why he’s here. Along with Andrew Fentiman. Compared to the other bachelors present, Patterson, Fentiman, and indeed, Vincent are not in the same league of eligibility, primarily because of their age. The trio are about twenty-six years old and, in the grandes dames’ eyes, not yet up to scratch.”
Barnaby nodded, then rose to greet Patterson and steer him to the central armchair.
Patterson was of average height and build, well-dressed, albeit a trifle flashily, as was the current fashion among gentlemen his age. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and features regular enough and pleasant enough to render him attractive.
Once Patterson had settled, Barnaby started with their regular first question.
Patterson replied readily, with an open, honest air. “I drove down with Fentiman, and we arrived at the Grange late on Sunday afternoon.” With the faintest of smiles, he added, “We’ve visited before, quite often, actually, and knew not to be late and risk the wrath of Lady Pamela.”
In response to the question of why he was at the Grange, Patterson said, “Fentiman and I are here purely to spend time with Vincent. None of the three of us are hunting for a bride—not yet—so we were looking forward to simply relaxing and having a jolly time.” Without prompting, Patterson continued, “The three of us are sharing Vincent’s room—it’s huge—so we came down to breakfast together at about half past seven. We wanted to be done before the ladies arrived with all their chatter—it’s a bit much, first thing, you know?” Apparently only then remembering Penelope was there, sitting on Barnaby’s right, Patterson threw her an apologetic glance as if hoping he hadn’t offended her and rattled on, “When the ladies arrived en masse, we left and took refuge on the terrace. We smoked cherootsand chatted about this and that, then Vincent suggested we take a look at his new gelding and the latest litter of pups in the kennels, so we headed over there. To the stable and the kennels. They’re across the rear lawn and through that band of trees bordering it.”
Barnaby sensed both Penelope and Stokes, seated on either side of him, come alert. He clarified, “So between nine and ten o’clock, you—and Vincent and Fentiman—were outside at the stable and kennels?”
Compared with what the investigators had seen thus far of Vincent, Patterson’s direct answers and straightforward manner cast him as more grounded and sensible than the son of the house. “Yes. We were on our way back for the proposed ramble when we heard the scream for help.”
Stokes stirred. “Did you notice anyone else—any of the company—who were outside the house during that time? Between nine and ten?”
Patterson paused, then, faintly frowning, said, “I think one of the gentlemen—I assume it was one of the guests—was walking into the woods to the east, beyond the side door. I just caught a glimpse through the trees. I couldn’t tell you who he was…” Patterson’s eyes widened on Stokes. “Could that have been the vagrant who killed Vincent’s pater?”
Flatly, Stokes returned, “We seriously doubt that.”
Penelope leaned forward, drawing Patterson’s attention. “But you are sure there was someone there? Some man?”
Patterson took a moment to consult his memory, then he refocused on Penelope and, his jaw firming, nodded. “Yes. There was definitely someone there. I would swear to that.”
