Vincent’s expression stated he hadn’t made the connection with his father’s murder. Again, he lightly shrugged. “I suppose that makes sense.”
After a moment of wordless communication with Stokes and Penelope, Barnaby continued, “If you had to describe your father to others, what would you say?”
Vincent hesitated, then offered, “He was all right. I can’t complain. All things considered, he was a pretty decent father. He didn’t get angry easily, and he usually listened to what one thought, what one had to say.” After a moment, he added, “He steered rather than pushed.”
When Vincent glanced at him, Barnaby nodded understandingly. “Last question—do you know of any reason why anyone might have wanted to kill your father?”
“No.” Confusion darkened Vincent’s eyes and was reflected in his expression. “It seems so strange, so unbelievable that someone would want to kill him. He was never the sort to stir up trouble, and I can’t recall him ever being aggressive or mean or nasty. He simply wasn’t like that…” Vincent paused, then tipped his head. “Well, except for the disagreements about money, but that was entirely within the family. Really just between Mama and Papa. Cecy and I tried our damnedest never to get involved.”
“Disagreements over money? What were they?” Penelope inquired.
Vincent faintly grimaced and shifted in the chair. “I expect it’s common knowledge that in our family, the funds flow from Mama, not Papa. Just like Cecy and me, he managed on a quarterly allowance. The reins for the funds are wholly and firmly in Mama’s hands, and there was always—as far back as I can remember—a sort of tension between them over that, if you know what I mean. Understandable, I think. I can imagine how Papa must have felt, always having to ask Mama for any extra he might need.”
“But your father managed the estate?” Barnaby asked, seeking confirmation.
Vincent nodded. “He did. He managed everything to do with the Grange estate, but the title deeds are in Mama’s name. All the profits, every quarter, get paid to her, and she always made sure Papa handed the lot over. Her father saw to it that she understood accounts well enough to oversee them, but otherwise, she’s not particularly good at—or interested in—managing money. Every quarter, she takes whatever Papa hands over, pays our allowances from it, takes what she wants, then puts what’s left into the bank. That’s how they worked theirfinances, and as I understand it, that’s how it was from the first—from the day they married.”
He paused, then added, “It might seem strange to anyone outside the family, but Cecy and I can vouch for the fact that just as much as Papa was financially dependent on Mama, she needed his social standing to properly claim her place in the ton.” Vincent met their eyes. “They balanced each other, you see?”
Penelope assured him they did.
Vincent nodded in acceptance, then his puzzlement returned. “So, you see, there’s no earthly reason anywhere that explains why someone killed Papa.”
For several moments, silence held sway, then Barnaby rose. “Thank you, Vincent, for being so frank. Your insights will help us understand the situation as we work to unravel that mystery.”
Vincent looked at Barnaby, then nodded and rose. With a bow to Penelope and a polite nod to Stokes, Vincent allowed himself to be ushered to the door.
On opening it, Barnaby was pleased to see Patterson and Fentiman lurking in the hall, plainly waiting to take Vincent in hand and support him as they could.
With an approving nod to the pair, Barnaby handed Vincent into their care, then closed the door and returned to the armchairs.
He dropped into his and looked at Penelope, then at Stokes. Both met his gaze, then collectively, they exhaled and sat back.
After a moment, Stokes said, “We did well, getting through that lot, and now, we’ve got a lot more pieces to fit into our puzzle.”
Penelope nodded. “Never has the analogy of solving a mystery being like putting together a jigsaw been more apt.” She looked at the mantelpiece, at the clock ticking there. “Best ofall, we managed that marathon in time for lunch. I suggest we reward ourselves with a short break to eat and recoup.”
Barnaby and Stokes immediately agreed, and Barnaby rose and crossed to the bellpull to summon Gearing.
CHAPTER 10
Richard sat beside Rosalind on a large rug in a pretty clearing in the wood to the west of the Grange. It was the perfect spot for a picnic, and about them, the company were relaxing on similar rugs and attempting to strike the right balance between somber memory and getting on with life. In the center of each rug, an array of delicacies provided by the Grange’s cook had been arranged by attendant footmen to tempt the appetites of the assembled guests.
The remaining members of the Underhill family had elected to join the gathering, bolstered by Lady Susan and her daughters. The unvoiced opinion of the guests seemed to be that, while mourning had its place, the peculiar circumstances and the as-yet-unresolved murder that hung over the house made Lady Pamela’s, Vincent’s, and Cecilia’s attendance understandable and acceptable. Despite the unexpected death, as hosts of the event, their responsibilities to their guests persisted, especially as, courtesy of the investigation, the guests were forbidden from decently departing.
The Underhills and Goodriches shared the large rug to Richard’s left, along with Elliot, Nevin-Smythe, Patterson, and Fentiman.
In addition to Rosalind, the circle around Richard included Regina, Mrs. Hemmings, Cordingley, Kilpatrick, and Leith. Mrs. Hemmings sat on Richard’s other side with Kilpatrick lounging beside her. The pair were quietly discussing various features of the locality, with Mrs. Hemmings drawing Kilpatrick out regarding his neighboring estate.
On the opposite side of the rug, Regina and Cordingley were discussing London pursuits, with Leith indulgently looking on.
On Richard’s right, Rosalind leaned a fraction closer and murmured, “Two days on from the murder. Is it my imagination, or are its gripping effects starting to ease?”
Keeping his voice low, Richard replied, “The tension has definitely lessened, although it hasn’t gone away. And we shouldn’t forget the investigators’ warning. The murderer is still here, among us.” He glanced around at the idyllic setting. “Even here.”
Briefly, Rosalind met his gaze. “That’s a very sobering thought.”
Richard gave a small nod. “Indeed.”
