‘I think I’ve worked them out,’ I said. ‘Percy, George and Jerald. I was surprised that none of them are betrothed. In fact I’d have assumed that the older two would be married by now.’
‘It is finding them estates that’s the problem,’ Adrien explained as I studied the cheerfully ordinary faces of the two older sons. Jerald was definitely the better looking. ‘They are all more interested in farming than anything, and, frankly, they aren’t bright enough for the law, the church or medicine. Aunt Prunella has the vapours if the army or navy are suggested. Of the three, Jerald has the brains, which is why Papa suggested banking for him.’
‘So the death of your cousin and their resulting legacies will help establish them, I assume. Oh, of course, that is why they suddenly developed an interest in Miss Jordan once they knew they were coming into money and that so was she.’
Adrien nodded. ‘They’ll be very content with a snug little estate each to experiment with sheep breeding and turnip growing.’
‘It sounds as though agricultural improvement is an interest in your entire family. Your father was at that Court reception for agriculturalists.’
‘As were my uncle and my cousins, as you know. I think Uncle Horace wanted to give them all the social experience and I wasn’t joking about their involvement – Percy has actually done some quite valuable work on turnips and winter fodder for sheep.’
‘They were all in London at the time of the murder,’ I said blankly, realising we had not seriously considered the implications of that. ‘And all together in Upper Wimpole Street.’ We knew this of course, but…
‘Yes, except Jerald because he was sulking about Papa still, I assume.’ Adrien stared at me. ‘You don’t think that any of them – ’
‘They all have motives that were stronger than we at first thought,’ I pointed out. ‘I wonder if they can have known about the size of their legacies before the will was read. They did all appear surprised,’ I added by way of consolation. I didn’t need to tell him that, even with the bequests, their motives weren’t as strong as his father’s or his brother Marcus and his wife.
‘Oh lord,’ he said on a sigh. ‘Have you eliminated everyone outside the family, then?’
Chapter Thirteen
I wished I could encourage Adrien by telling him there were any number of suspects besides his own family, but I couldn’t.
‘The footman Campbell seems unlikely, despite the fact that he carries knives and is of a somewhat volatile disposition. I really cannot see Madame Vaillant managing such a cool and controlled killing, although, of course, she might have hired someone. Then there is your new cousin, Mr Kumar, but I just can’t see his motive unless it was a sudden loss of temper or exasperation. But he seems too sensible for that. He did find Lord Tillingham infuriatingly pedantic, but he also knew he had good proofs and they would be accepted. He would have to be very stupid to risk his inheritance – and his neck – for simple irritation.’
‘And the rest of the staff are old family retainers,’ Adrien said gloomily. I couldn’t blame him: finding that “the butler did it” would be very convenient.
‘And no one else in the Square reports intruders or attempts at break-ins. I think the passing cat-burglar theory is probably pretty unlikely too.’
‘Cat-burglar? Oh, you mean second-storey men. Yes, I agree. And there would surely be more disturbance in the study if the attack had occurred as part of a burglary.’
‘We had better go and join the others now everyone is settled,’ I said. Helpfully passing cake and tea cups would allow me a better look at our field of suspects.
The men all leapt to their feet and I took a seat between Marcus and Charles’s pregnant wife who was making serious inroads into the shortcake. I joined her and we exchanged banalities about recipes for a minute or so.
‘This would be a terrible thing at any time,’ I remarked, passing her the plate again. ‘But it must have been very difficult for you, just at the moment.’
‘Oh, frightful. I hardly dared leave the house when I heard, but dear Charles said I could not be in any danger. And it was so unexpected. My Papa-in-Law says it must have been that footman Lord Tillingham dismissed.’ She stared at me earnestly, her big grey eyes widening at the awfulness of it all.
Bless her, I thought. Sweet and not perhaps the sharpest hat pin on the dressing table.
She turned to her husband and began on a lament that, from his expression, was a familiar one: was it safe to visit London? Should the accoucheur she had been consulting with come out to Buckinghamshire?
As her husband made suitable soothing noises I smiled at Marcus. ‘Were you in London for this reception as well?’ I asked.
‘No, I leave the turnips and the milk yields to my father and cousins,’ he said with an easy smile. ‘Don’t see the fascination myself – that’s what a landowner hires a steward for, in my opinion. Clarissa would have liked to attend, I’ve no doubt, but it’s one thing for the ladies to show off their Court dress and their plumes, but it’s a confoundedly uncomfort
able business for us men, you know.’
‘Is it?’ I asked. ‘I’m not from this country so I don’t know about things like that. Why is it so uncomfortable?’
‘Court dress. All that gold embroidery, tight tail coats in overheated rooms and having to carry around a chapeau bras. You must try not to trip over your dress sword and ladder your stockings at a guinea a pair and those confounded buckled shoes always pinch. And then you are standing around for hours – they never open a window, you know, and you mustn’t sit down – and the refreshments are pretty paltry.’
‘So you and your wife stayed at home in the country.’
‘Oh no. Clarissa didn’t want to miss out on the shopping and I like to take a look-in at my clubs, you know.’
‘Could I trouble you for the biscuits? Thank you. I think Adrien said both families stay at a house in Upper Wimpole Street?’