With a graceful inclination of her head that included them all, she swept to the door.
Christian inwardly debated, but in the end let her go. Given the upheaval of the last days, a little time apart might be wise.
They met again the next morning, and journeyed into the city, to Heathcote Montague’s office within a stone’s throw of the Bank of England.
Christian had sent a note the previous afternoon. Montague was waiting, ready to greet them-to express his condolences to Letitia and bow to Christian.
He ushered them into his office, waited until they’d settled in the chairs before his massive desk, then he sat in the chair behind it and opened the file box that waited on his blotter. “Dreadful business, but I understand there’s some question about your late husband’s finances.”
“Indeed.” Letitia set her reticule in her lap and waved at Christian beside her. “You may speak freely before Lord Dearne.”
“Excellent. Well, I looked up the research I did on Mr. Randall at the time of your marriage, my lady. Eight years ago, I admit I was still in my father’s shadow somewhat, but all the relevant issues”-he studied a document he extracted from the box-“appear to have been covered. Since then, of course, I haven’t had reason to inquire into Mr. Randall’s finances-he wasn’t a client of mine.” He glanced at them. “What is it you wanted to know?”
Letitia glanced at Christian, a clear invitation to lead the questioning.
“I understand,” he said, looking at Montague, “that Randall was very wealthy at the time of his marriage. From where did that wealth derive?”
Montague briefly glanced at the contents of his box. “Ah, yes, here it is-a very sound fortune consisting primarily of conservative financial instruments of one sort or another, holdings in the funds, and some very solid investments.”
Christian nodded. “But where did Randall’s money initially come from? The seed capital, as it were? By your account, at the time of his marriage he had large sums of money sitting in various deposits-but where did he get that money in the first place?”
Montague blinked. For the first time in all the years Christian had known him, he appeared at a loss-momentarily. Then he frowned and delved back into his box. “That’s a very good question…” He eventually unearthed a sheet of paper. Straightening his glasses, he read it. His frown deepened. “I understood-well, assumed in the face of nothing speaking to the contrary-that it came from his family?” He directed a questioning look at Christian.
Who shook his head. “For various reasons-including that we know of no family-that doesn’t seem likely. Ton or gentry, a family with that level of wealth would have been more widely known. Do you have any information on his family and background?”
Montague now looked troubled. He went back into the box and came up with another document. “Randall attended Hexham Grammar School. I didn’t do the search for his birth certificate myself, but I have it recorded that he hailed from Hexham.” Lowering the sheet, he looked at Christian. “Given he went to the grammar school-I believe it has an excellent reputation-I assume that means the family has, or had, a certain social and financial standing.”
“Normally that’s true, but there are exceptions.” Christian glanced at Letitia, who was as puzzled as Montague. “Randall may have attended the school on a scholarship. Many larger grammar schools have such things.”
He looked at Montague. “Clearly we need to dig much deeper into Randall’s background, but at least you’ve given us a place to start-Hexham Grammar School. We’ll follow that up, but we have an even more urgent need to learn of his current financial state. We need to know of any recent activities, where his money was at the time of his death, where his income derived from, if he was involved in any scheme, any development, whether he’d gone into business in any way whatever, whether he’d made any unusual transactions in recent days-in short, every possible detail of his recent life that had anything to do with money.”
Montague looked at them, then beamed. “You’ve come to the right place.”
“Well,” Christian said as the hackney they’d hailed rumbled out of the city, “that certainly confirms Dalziel’s observation-the more we learn of your late husband, the more a man of mystery he becomes.”
Letitia frowned. “I’m not at all thrilled to discover how very little I knew of him. It seems rather bizarre in hindsight, but…well, I suppose we all took him at face value.”
“I’m surprised your father-if not your aunts-didn’t demand to know all about his family.”
Letitia grimaced. “They probably did, but that would have been after we were married, and Papa would just have scowled, growled and told them to go away. He asked Montague to check Randall’s finances-that, after all, was the point of the marriage-but as for family…as I said, Randall was perfectly presentable, and in the prevailing circumstances, not to say panic, his ancestors were a great deal less relevant.”
After a moment of trying to imagine it, Christian asked, “What about the wedding? He must have had family or friends there-a groomsman at least.”
But Letitia shook her head. “We were married very privately, here in town. Justin was his groomsman.” She grimaced. “That was mostly my doing. It was a travesty of a marriage-it seemed appropriate it commence with a travesty of a wedding. Randall wasn’t concerned. The story we put about was that it was an out-and-out love match and we were so urgent to tie the knot we wouldn’t wait for a big wedding to be organized.”
“That must have gone down well with your aunts.”
“Not to mention all our many connections. But by the time they learned of it, all was done and finished. They grumbled a bit, but…” She shrugged.
Christian studied her expression, serene now, but he could imagine what she must have felt-a lady of her nature, and a Vaux besides-to make do with such, as she’d termed it, a travesty of a wedding. It would have been the antithesis of her dreams.
He made a mental note-a vow-for later. If he got the chance. If she gave him the chance.
The hackney swayed as it turned into Trafalgar Square, reminding him of their unexpected destination. He frowned. “I don’t understand why you’re so keen to share this with Dalziel immediately.”
She was peering out of the window. “Because he might well have contacts in Hexham who can make inquiries at the grammar school.”
He frowned. “Do you know that he does?”
“No. I suspect that he might.” She turned her head and met his gaze. “Let’s just go and tell him and see.”
Dalziel’s clerk looked up as they entered. He didn’t wait to be asked but immediately rose and went to tap on Dalziel’s door. He was back in seconds to bow them into his master’s presence.
Immersed in paperwork, Dalziel signed a sheet, then rose. Once Letitia sat, he subsided again and fixed her with a patently false mild look. “Yes?”
Without embellishment, she related what they’d learned from Montague. “So, you see, the place we need to start asking questions about Randall’s family is in Hexham.” She fixed Dalziel with a pointed look. “I thought you might know how to make inquiries there without Christian having to travel all that way.”
His expression unreadable, Dalziel held her gaze for a pregnant moment, then straightened. “Consider it done. The grammar school will have records. I’ll get whatever there is in them sent down.”
Letitia beamed. “Excellent.”
Dalziel looked less pleased. “Is there anything else?”
His servile tone suggested he fully expected to be asked to supply cream buns for their next meeting. Seeing Letitia’s eyes start to narrow, Christian stepped in-before she could take his ex-commander up on his unvoiced offer. “I’ve sent word to Justin-he’ll come down to London tonight, to the club.”