Nods came from all around the table.
Stokes continued, “And as none of you have ever seen the man inside, we still have no evidence, beyond Simpkins’s behavior and the locked or unlocked doors, that the man ever set foot inside this house.”
The staff stared back at him.
Stokes mentally ran through what they could deduce about the mystery man. He rode quality horseflesh and was almost certainly a member of the ton, possibly of the upper echelons—and Lady Carisbrook’s social-climbing tendencies made the latter trait even more likely, indeed, virtually obligatory.
Penelope had been studying the staff. Now, she asked, “Is there anything—any observation or inkling or idea you have—that might give us a clue as to this mystery gentleman’s identity?”
Most of the staff looked blank, but Mrs. Jarvis and Polly, Julia’s maid, shared a quick, uncertain glance.
Penelope caught it. “Mrs. Jarvis?”
The housekeeper reluctantly met Penelope’s eyes, then Mrs. Jarvis sighed. “It’s just a thought, mind. While none of us have seen the gentleman, and I can’t imagine his lordship or Mr. Franklin would have, either—their rooms are on the same floor, but in the other wing—Miss Julia’s and Miss Cara’s rooms are on the first floor and in the same wing as her ladyship’s room, and…well, from the time Miss Cara came to stay, she and Miss Julia were thick as thieves and in and out of each other’s rooms all the time.” Mrs. Jarvis glanced at Polly and at Abby, the upstairs maid who was sitting next to Polly. “And that included—me, Polly, and Abby suspect—late at night, after they’d come home from the balls and parties and were supposed to be asleep in their beds.”
Mrs. Jarvis met Penelope’s eyes. “When one or the other was returning to their rooms, slipping through the shadows in that corridor, it’s possible they might have seen the man. Of course, it’d be at some distance and in the semi-dark, but those young ladies’ eyes are sharp—especially Miss Cara’s with her drawing and all.”
Penelope blinked, then slowly nodded. “Yes, I see.” Her words were distant because her mind had leapt ahead…
Simpkins must have known the mystery man’s identity, and now, Simpkins was dead. What if Cara and Julia had seen the man, well enough to identify him…or at least for him to believe they could…
Penelope gripped Stokes’s sleeve. When he looked at her, she met his eyes. “We need to speak with Julia and Cara immediately.”
Stokes blinked, then his face hardened, and he nodded. “You’re right.”
He looked at the staff and nodded a brisk dismissal. “Thank you for your time.” With a glance, he collected Barnaby and Morgan.
Penelope released Stokes, whirled, and hurried up the steps and into the corridor leading to the front hall.
Chapter 10
“Wait!”
Barnaby’s call had Penelope pulling up in the lee of the main stairs. All but jigging with impatience, she swung to face him.
With Wilkes, who had spotted them, hurrying to join them, along with Stokes and Morgan, Barnaby halted before her. Before she could ask why they were dallying, he pinned her with his gaze. “Is there any point in appealing directly to Lady Carisbrook?”
Penelope blinked, then frowned and considered, but ultimately, she shook her head. “I can’t believe we’ll get any joy from interviewing her ladyship.” Jarvis and Jeremy moved past their small band, heading into the front hall. She waited until the pair were well past before saying, “After all the shocks visited on Livia Carisbrook yesterday and again this morning, to cap it off by asking for the identity of her until-now secret lover might well push her over the edge into outright hysteria. I, for one, would rather not face that. And”—she met Barnaby’s eyes—“I’m greatly concerned that if our mystery man is behind Simpkins’s death—if he, for some reason, decided to silence her—then if Julia and Cara saw him and he knows they did, they might be in danger.”
“Cara is safe.” Barnaby’s tone was utterly confident. “Quite aside from Hugo being with her, our people are watching over her.”
Penelope nodded. “Which is why I think we should see Julia immediately and make sure she’s safe, too.”
“Agreed.” Stokes started toward the main body of the front hall. “And we need to learn if she knows anything useful.”
He asked Jarvis where they might find Julia Carisbrook, and the butler led them to a small parlor at the rear of the house.
There, they found Julia sitting on a window seat and staring, somewhat forlornly, out at the garden.
Jarvis cleared his throat and announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Adair and Inspector Stokes, miss.”
Blinking, Julia turned, then she rose, her hands nervously fluttering before she clasped them tightly and regarded Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope with wide eyes. “Hello.”
Penelope smiled and glided forward. “Miss Carisbrook—Julia, if I may?”
Julia blinked warily. “Yes, of course…”
“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you, Miss Carisbrook,” Stokes said.
Julia’s eyes widened even further. “Oh?” Then as if remembering her manners, she waved to the rattan chairs and sofa nearby. “Please, won’t you be seated?”
Barnaby nodded a dismissal to Jarvis, who reluctantly withdrew, shutting the door softly behind him. They’d left Wilkes and Morgan in the front hall. Penelope sat on the sofa, adroitly drawing Julia to sit beside her, where the light from the wide window fell on her face.
Penelope waited until Barnaby and Stokes had subsided into the armchairs facing the sofa, then said, “We now know that, on certain nights, late at night or, more correctly, in the early hours of the morning, a gentleman visits this house.” Penelope trapped the startled gaze Julia turned on her; it was obvious from Julia’s reaction that she knew of whom Penelope spoke. “Do you know anything at all about this gentleman?”
For several seconds, Julia simply stared, then, slowly, she shook her head. “I know nothing about any such gentleman.”
She glanced at Stokes and Barnaby, then looked back at Penelope, as if hoping they would believe her—indeed, almost willing them to do so.
Penelope accepted that this round of questioning was up to her; neither Stokes nor Barnaby was likely to be able to gain Julia’s trust, especially not in a matter like this. From what Penelope could read in Julia’s expression, the daughter of the house was unsure as to where, exactly, her loyalties should lie—with her mother, with her father, or with the law in pursuit of justice.
“Julia, a woman of this household lies dead, and we don’t know why.” Penelope held the younger woman’s gaze. “Even if you suspect the gentleman we’re speaking of is a close friend of your mother’s, you need to consider that until we prove otherwise, entirely unwittingly, your mother might be consorting with a murderer.”
Julia’s eyes grew wide, then wider. Slowly, her lips formed a silent “Oh.”
Penelope could almost see the wheels turning in Julia’s mind, but they didn’t have time for her to vacillate. Still holding Julia’s gaze, Penelope sat up. “We’re about to return to Albemarle Street to speak with Cara about this same matter.” She arched her brows at Julia. “Would you like to come with us? Then you and Cara can speak and, together, decide what to do.”
Julia’s eyes lit. “Oh—yes. Yes, please.” Her tightly clasped hands relaxing, she shifted eagerly on the sofa. “That would be…most helpful.”
To us all. Penelope had much more faith in her ability to sway Cara to quickly and without undue fuss tell them all she knew. If Julia could then confirm what her cousin said, well and good.
With a swift glance at Barnaby and Stokes, both of whom nodded in agreement, Penelope rose, bringing Julia almost bouncing to her feet.
“I’ll just fetch my bonnet.” Julia led them from the parlor toward the front hall. “Mama’s taken to her bed—she won’t miss me. I won’t be a moment.”
Stokes dispatched Wilkes and Morgan back to Scotland Yard, then he went out and wai
ted by Penelope’s carriage.
With Barnaby, Penelope waited with Jarvis by the front door. But Julia was true to her word and, within a few minutes, came hurrying down, still tying her bonnet ribbons. Informing Jarvis of her destination, she accepted her cloak from him, then at Penelope’s wave, joined her in leaving the house, descending the steps, and climbing into the carriage.
Barnaby and Stokes followed, Barnaby having given Phelps the order to return to Albemarle Street.
They covered the short distance in silence—an expectant, impatient silence on Penelope’s, Barnaby’s, and Stokes’s part, while Julia appeared eager and faintly trepidatious in equal measure. As this would be the first time Julia had faced Cara since Cara had been ignominiously marched from the John Street house and Julia felt guilty over not having protested her cousin’s treatment, Penelope could understand Julia’s trepidation, although she believed it to be unnecessary.
They reached Albemarle Street and were admitted to the house by a smiling Mostyn, who, at Penelope’s inquiry, informed them that Miss Cara and Mr. Hugo were in the back parlor with Mrs. Montague.
Penelope led the way into the garden parlor that doubled as her office—and halted.
What Mostyn hadn’t told them was that Hugo was posed on a straight-backed chair and Cara was drawing a portrait of him—one that made Penelope and Barnaby blink and kept them all silent as they quietly filed in and waited for Cara to cease the swift, confident strokes of her hand as she laid down more lines.
Despite being executed entirely in pencil, the portrait was far more than just a remarkable likeness. It captured Hugo—the essence of him—in black, grays, and white, and through Cara’s magic, revealed a great deal about his inner self. About what made him Hugo. Quite obviously, Cara saw Hugo as he truly was, not as the superficial gentleman-about-town that, until recently, he’d pretended to be.
Penelope had halted at Cara’s shoulder. When Cara finally sat back and swiveled on the stool to look up at Penelope, with her eyes still glued to the portrait, Penelope said, “You absolutely must show that to Hugo’s mother.”
Cara smiled and turned back to the portrait and her subject. “Do you think so? It is just a quick sketch. Would she like to have it, do you think?”
“I think she would be beyond delighted.” Penelope moved farther into the room. “Now, if you can pause for a moment, see who we’ve brought.”
Cara turned again to look toward the door and saw Julia. “Oh!” Immediately, Cara set aside her pencil and sketch pad, leapt to her feet, and with pleasure wreathing her face, rushed to Julia.
And then the cousins were in each other’s arms, and Julia was babbling about how sorry she was for not standing up for Cara against her ladyship’s accusations—and much more in that vein—and Cara was dismissing Julia’s apologies and assuring her that Cara forgave her anything that needed forgiving.
Smiling, Penelope walked on to her desk. Violet was seated in the chair behind it, dealing with Penelope’s correspondence while keeping a chaperoning eye on Cara and Hugo.
Violet nodded in the pair’s direction. “I’ve been entirely superfluous. They really are an excellent match. Cara is so sweet and kind, and Hugo is head over ears in love and treats her like a goddess.”
Penelope chuckled and glanced around the floor. “No Martin?” As the baby still spent much of his time sleeping, Violet often had him nestled in a basket beside her.
“I sent him and Hilda upstairs to the nursery in case I needed to go out with our young couple.” Violet eyed the two girls. “You’ve come from John Street, I take it. What did you learn?”
Penelope watched Hugo, who had risen and gone to stand beside Cara. When Cara appealed to him over Julia’s self-recriminations, Hugo smiled and added his reassurances to Cara’s.
“Almost there.” Penelope met Violet’s eyes. “We’re hoping Julia and Cara might have caught a glimpse of our mystery man.” In a few words, she explained what they’d learned and that identifying the mystery man was now their most urgent priority. “With the matter of the missing emeralds resolved, we need to get to the bottom of Simpkins’s death.”
Determination glinting in her eyes, Penelope swung back to the trio now chatting animatedly in the middle of the room, with Barnaby and Stokes laconically looking on, clearly waiting for Penelope to take charge. She did so by clapping her hands. When Hugo and the girls turned to look at her, she stated, “If you will, we need Cara and Julia to dredge their memories and help us sort out what happened to Simpkins.”
Penelope waved the girls to two armchairs, while she sat on the sofa facing the pair. Hugo perched on the arm of the chair Cara had claimed. Barnaby ambled over to sit beside Penelope, and Stokes moved to stand on Penelope’s other side, from where he could observe Cara’s and Julia’s faces. Violet remained behind the desk, avidly watching.
“Now,” Penelope said, “we’ve learned from the staff of the visits of a mysterious gentleman to the Carisbrook house. We know he arrives very late at night—more usually in the early hours of the morning—stays for a time, then leaves. Simpkins always stayed up to let him in and, later, to let him out again, locking and bolting the door behind him.”
Barnaby kept his eyes trained on Julia and Cara. Penelope’s mention of the mysterious man had come as no surprise, but judging from the looks the girls exchanged, Simpkins’s involvement wasn’t something they’d known about before.
Penelope had paused to let her words—and their implications—sink in. Now she went on, “We would prefer not to be forced to subject Lady Carisbrook to further interrogation at this point. She’s already been severely overset by the revelations of the past days—her emeralds going missing, then turning up again but confirmed as being fake, and Franklin’s involvement, let alone his determination to marry Miss Ives. All these things have preyed on her composure.” Penelope paused; Barnaby had to admire the tack she’d taken. Then she continued, her tone even but weighty, “Consequently, if either of you girls know anything at all about this mystery gentleman—if you even glimpsed him through the shadows—we hope you will share what you know.”
“We will, of course,” Barnaby said, “keep anything you tell us, and anything we might deduce from that, in the strictest confidence.” He glanced at Stokes.
The girls followed Barnaby’s look. Stokes met their wondering glances and stated, “We at Scotland Yard are not in the business of feeding the news sheets information they don’t need to know. If there is some private connection between her ladyship and this gentleman, then beyond us determining the truth of the circumstances surrounding Simpkins’s death, we will have no further interest in the matter.”
Cara and Julia sat back, then exchanged another long look.
Penelope sighed and rolled out her heavy guns. Her tone formal, she declared, “If either of you have seen or know anything at all about this mystery man, then it is incumbent on you to tell the police”—she waved at Stokes—“everything you know.” She caught both girls’ now-widening eyes. “We need to identify that gentleman now.”
Cara studied Penelope, glanced at Barnaby, then looked at Hugo. After several seconds, finally, she transferred her gaze to Stokes’s face. “If you are talking of the man who sometimes appeared in the first-floor corridor outside my aunt’s room, then yes, I have seen him three times.” She transferred her gaze to Penelope and Barnaby. “But always, it was very late, and I only saw him at some distance, with both of us cloaked in shadows.”
Julia’s voice wavered as she whispered, “I saw him, too—not at the same time but at other times.” She glanced at Stokes. “Four other times.” Returning her gaze to Barnaby and Penelope, her voice strengthening, she went on, “After we were supposed to be in bed and the rest of the house had quieted, Cara or I would slip into the other’s room, and we’d talk”—Julia gestured—“about everything we’d seen or that had happened at whatever events we’d attended that evening.”
Cara nodded. “It was as I was creeping back
to my room that I would see him.”
“And me,” Julia confirmed. “It was always when we were going back that we would spot him—not every time, just sometimes.” She swallowed, then said, “It was as Cara said—he was always at the far end of that stretch of corridor, outside or just approaching Mama’s door.” She raised her gaze to Penelope’s face. “I’ve never seen him anywhere else.”
Penelope nodded encouragingly. “Now, I’m going to ask you both to close your eyes and think back to the time you saw the man most clearly.” She paused, waiting while the cousins complied. “Keep that scene in your mind’s eye—stay focused on it and keep your eyes closed. I’m going to ask you several questions, and I want you to look at that picture in your mind and tell me what you see. All right?”
Both girls nodded. Barnaby remembered that Griselda had used the same trick in a previous case, proving that people very often saw much more than they realized.
Urgently, Stokes waved at Penelope and mouthed, “Simpkins.”
Penelope nodded. “First question. Did you ever see Simpkins with the gentleman?”
“No” came immediately from both girls.
“Very well. Now, did the man carry a candle or a lamp to light his path, or did he know to find his way in the dark?”
Both girls frowned, then Cara said, “Every time I saw him, there was a lamp sitting on the small table at the top of the back stairs. A small lamp, like those the maids or footmen carry at night, and it was always turned low.”
Julia nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I remember thinking that if it wasn’t for that lamp, I might never have noticed him.”
“The lamplight, though faint, made him into a silhouette and left his face in shadow.” Cara paused, then the line between her brows deepened. “Once, I saw him as he came up the stairs and set the lamp down on the table—I saw his face lit by the lamp, just for an instant.”
“On a few nights,” Julia added, “there was moonlight shafting through the skylight above the main staircase. Those were the only times I saw anything of his face, but the view was never clear.”
The Confounding Case Of The Carisbrook Emeralds Page 21
