“Yes.” Fentiman’s answer was quite definite. “There was a man walking through the wood. Judging by his coat, he—whoever he was—was likely a gentleman. He was definitely not any itinerant or passing vagrant. He was striding along quite purposefully, not skulking about.” Fentiman grimaced. “That said, I only caught a glimpse. I couldn’t tell you who he was.”
Leaning forward, Penelope clarified, “This was while you were on your way to the stable.”
Fentiman shook his head. “No. I know Patterson thinks he saw a man walking away from the house, out past the side door, while we were crossing the lawn on our way to the stable, but I didn’t see anyone then. That said, I wasn’t looking that way.” He drew breath and went on, “The man I saw was, at first, striding through the wood toward the house, toward the side door, quite intently, as I said. But then he paused and…sort of loitered in the trees. He shifted, and I couldn’t see him after that, but this was after we’d heard the scream and were pelting back toward the house. We hadn’t reached the lawn and couldn’t see the rear terrace yet, but we could see across the lawn to that section of the wood, and I swear I saw someone—this man—there. And he was heading toward the house, not away.”
Caught in his memory of the moment, Fentiman added, “Initially, I thought it might be one of the gardeners, but his coat was far too well-cut. And I would think most gardeners or any estate workers would have come running after hearing that scream.”
Barnaby exchanged glances with Penelope and Stokes, then asked, “What was your view of Vincent’s father? You must have interacted with him a fair bit over the years.”
Fentiman nodded. “He was a good sort. I always thought Vincent was lucky to have such an easygoing—even indulgent—pater, but it’s always different when it’s not one’s own parent, isn’t it?”
“Do you know of any reason why anyone would want to kill Mr. Underhill?” Stokes asked.
Fentiman frowned. “None at all. It seems rather strange. As far as I’ve ever heard, Mr. Underhill was universally well thought of.”
Barnaby arched his brows at Penelope, but she shook her head, as did Stokes; they had no further questions.
Returning his gaze to Fentiman, Barnaby smiled. “Thank you for your assistance.” He rose, as did Fentiman, and Barnaby showed the young man out.
When he returned to the armchairs, Penelope was leaning toward Stokes, plainly eager to discuss what they’d heard.
Barnaby halted behind the interviewee’s chair and widened his eyes at his coinvestigators. “Well, that’s a new and potentially revealing part of the puzzle.”
“If,” Penelope said, “we credit both Patterson and Fentiman’s accounts—and there’s no logical reason we should discount either—then someone, most likely a gentleman and therefore most likely a guest, left the house via the side door at somewhere between eight-thirty and nine o’clock,beforeMonty was killed, and someone, and surely that has to be the same gentleman, returned through the woods to the side doorafterRosalind found Monty dead in the orchard.”
Stokes was madly flicking through his notebook. “We need to work out who was where and which of the guests our mystery gentleman could have been.”
Penelope straightened. “We have two more to interview. While I’m inclined to say let’s leave them aside and forge on with what we’ve recently learned, given we didn’t expect to get anything useful from the younger crew?—”
“We’d be wise not to dismiss any potential gift horses before we even examine them,” Stokes stated unequivocally.
Barnaby nodded. “A tortured analogy, but I agree. Let’s get the last two in and done, then see what we have.” He looked at Penelope. “I’ve lost count. Who’s second last on our list?”
She told him, and Barnaby returned to the door and dispatched the footman to fetch Miss Samantha Goodrich.
As Barnaby returned to the armchairs, Penelope said, “Samantha is Susan’s younger daughter. I don’t think she’s twenty yet. Her reputation paints her as very young, flighty,and somewhat silly. However, from the few occasions on which I’ve encountered her, while the young, silly, and flighty might, indeed, be true, I would say she’s also highly observant and wide awake to everything that goes on around her.”
“So”—Stokes looked hopeful—“we might be pleasantly surprised?”
Rather primly, Penelope replied, “We can hope.”
She rose as the door opened, and Samantha walked confidently in. The wide-eyed blue gaze that scanned the three investigators as the men politely got to their feet testified to the accuracy of Penelope’s observations.
To Penelope’s eyes, Samantha was like a curious bird, eager to find a worm.
She was very young, with a figure that had yet to fully blossom, and her brown hair was put up in a simple knot. Her features were less aggressive than her sister’s and mother’s, and her attitude as she readily took the chair to which Penelope waved her was distinctly sunnier.
Firmly, Penelope took Samantha through their opening questions, eliciting answers that mirrored her mother’s and sister’s. Asked to divulge her reason for attending the party, Samantha smiled and, in a light, melodic voice, assured Penelope, “I’m too young to be bothered with anything other than enjoying myself and watching everyone else having to go through the awkwardness of learning about each other.”
Having herself been the youngest of four sisters, Penelope comprehensively understood and, indeed, sympathized. Aware that Stokes preferred to keep the questions rolling in their agreed order, she led Samantha through her movements on Monday morning, to the point of leaving the dining room with the other young ladies.
“We went to the conservatory—it’s brighter there, and we wanted to sit in the sunshine and chat—but Lady Carville wasalready there, admiring Aunt Pamela’s orchids, so instead, we went to the music room and settled there.”
“And you and the others remained there until you heard Rosalind scream?”
“Yes. We’d been chatting and laughing. Well,” Samantha confided, “I was mostly just listening while the others compared notes on the eligibles here.”
“While you were in the music room, did you notice anyone outside?”
