Lady Featherstone looked enormously pleased to have developed her theories so quickly. She said, “I simply used my own investigative skills, honed and sharpened by my attendance at Lord Ryland’s criminal society meetings, to narrow it down. First, it may seem that the date of the murder is just one date out of three hundred and sixty-five—it is December twenty-sixth, keep that in mind, as it is significant. Then, a lady hears of the death of a suitor and just disappears into the shadows? Highly unlikely. So, I conclude the first suspect is the mysterious Miss Umbrell. What happened? Well, I think that’s clear enough. Mr. Fortque gave the lady a rather substandard Christmas gift and she was enraged. Now, I think to myself, what sort of gift would be that affecting? Paste jewelry would do it. Or even, he gave her one of his own products that he had laying around the office. They were cheaply plated, if you will recall. Goodness, I remember one year that my lord got me something or other, I think it was a set of books. I was very let down over it. I did not go so far as to kill him, but people do have differing temperaments, you know.”
Grace forced herself to keep her composure and she did not dare even look at Mr. Vance. Lady Featherstone was a delight. And, she was also certain, very wrong.
“Now,” Lady Featherstone continued, “you will wonder who my second suspect is. You may be surprised to know it is none other than the neighbor with the cockatoo. My reasoning for thinking so will make it suddenly clear to you. Mr. Fortque threatened tostranglethat beloved pet. When I think what I might feel if someone were to threaten my pug Tulip! Well, I might not strangle them, but I might very well throttle them! Or insist my lord throttle them. Or perhaps my butler would throttle them. It’s hard to say how it would unfold, but I would be very vexed! So, the neighbor, to save the life of his adored cockatoo, gets rid of the threat. He is very clever, you see. He murders Mr. Fortque in his office rather than his house, as that would be too close to home.”
Grace fought to push down the bubbling laughter that threatened to overtake her. She was no longer in any wonderment as to why poor Lady Featherstone came away disappointed, year after year.
“That is exceedingly clever, Lady Featherstone,” Grace said. “I can hardly keep up.”
“You’ll get the hang of it, Miss Yardley,” Lady Featherstone said. “It only takes practice. Now, I must get to discovering which of these two is the real villain and how they managed it.”
Lady Featherstone had picked up her lorgnette in determination and scanned her clues once more. Out of the corner of her eye, Grace noted that Lord Mullhill and Mr. Vance had quite given up on the effort and had taken to speaking quietly about a bet currently open at their club.
Feeling as if she must help the lady in some fashion, and help Mr. Vance too as it was looking like this might go on for some time, Grace studied her paper once more.
As she read of all these different people, it struck her that the two suspects that Lady Featherstone had selected had nothing to gain by Mr. Fortque’s demise. Except saving a cockatoo from a throttling, she supposed, though that did not seem a strong enough motive for murder. So whodidgain at Mr. Fortque’s death?
Mr. Leslie, as the now sole proprietor. The nephew who thought he would inherit something. The sister and her husband whodidinherit, though they claimed surprise.
Those were the people who had something to gain. But the sister was not even in Town at the time? And, how did the nephew get into the office if it were he?
Only Mr. Leslie had access to the office, as far as she knew. But why would he do it? He was the one person who knew Mr. Fortque was suicidal. If he wanted to be rid of him, why not just wait until Mr. Fortque took the fateful step? Why risk hanging when it seemed the desired outcome was a near surety?
“Oh dear!” Lady Featherstone said. “I wished to narrow it down to one and now I’ve got it up to three! I find Mr. Remel very suspicious. He left Town, you know. Does that not point to a man who does not want to be questioned?”
Grace nodded, hoping that she looked thoughtful, though she considered the notion of a clerk in the next office murdering Mr. Fortque rather absurd. If there had been a problem with the accounting, then perhaps it might be supposed that Mr. Remel had been stealing, but that had not been the case. Further, Mr. Remelhadbeen questioned in Devon, so he had not exactly disappeared. He had only retired.
Grace paused and went back to the beginning of the paper. Yes, as she had thought she remembered. Mr. Remel was a thirty-two-year-old clerk. How had a clerk of that age afforded to retire? Further, he’d just been hired. Why accept a position if he intended to retire so soon?
Had there been some underhanded accounting and Mr. Remel had been caught out by Mr. Fortque?
No, that could not be right. Any clerk who stole money would have a clean set of books to show and they certainly would not leave their position. Leaving was a very good way to get caught, as the next clerk would eventually uncover the deed. It was especially not a good time to leave after there had been a murder next door and all eyes were upon one. In any case, Mr. Remel hardly had time to steal, so short had been his employment.
So where did Mr. Remel get the money? An inheritance? Or, perhaps he blackmailed the real murderer. Being just next door, he might have heard something.
And that brought her back to Mr. Leslie. Though she still could not work out why a man would kill another man who was already suicidal. That was the real sticking point.
“And now I find I cannot rule out Mrs. Welk either!” Lady Featherstone cried. “She tells the same precise story as Mr. Remel. Is that not suspicious?”
Grace nodded, though it did not seem particularly suspicious to her. She supposed they told of hearing the same thing because theyhadheard the same thing. Mr. Fortque was in despair.
Grace glanced up and saw Lord Gresham heading toward their table again. What on earth was he doing?
“Did you call me over, Lady Featherstone?” he asked.
“Dear me, no,” Lady Featherstone said, appearing rather flustered in keeping all her suspects in order.
“I could have sworn…” Lord Gresham trailed off.
Grace could not work out what end he worked toward.
Mr. Vance said, “Good God, Gresham, you’re imagining quite a lot these days, eh? First Miss Yardley’s ankle and now voices are calling to you?”
Lord Gresham turned on his heel and stalked off. Grace watched him return to his table. He practically threw himself into his chair. Neither Miss Huntskill nor Lady Mary appeared particularly amused. Miss Huntskill had just rolled her eyes and Lady Mary very decidedly turned to the duke.
Whatever Lord Gresham was doing, and Grace thought it was beginning to seem wildly childish, he was not proving himself a pleasant dinner partner to those two ladies.
“I am feeling very defeated,” Lady Featherstone said. “I cannot work it out. Another year is slipping through my fingers. Perhaps my investigative skills are not as sharp as I had thought.”
