“Have you uncovered anything about Randall’s original source of funds?” Christian asked.
“No, unfortunately.” Montague’s expression darkened. “I have to say that’s proving most…intriguing. I haven’t yet been able to track down any source prior to him setting up his London accounts when he moved to the city twelve years ago. But it has to be there-I will persevere.”
Reflecting that Montague’s choice of the words intriguing and persevere was apt-when it came to finances, he was a stickler for detail and a terrier for facts-Christian nodded and rose. “We’ll leave you to it.”
“To that”-Montague shuffled his notes-“and to toting up Randall’s present considerable wealth-which will necessarily involve a complete analysis of the Orient Trading Company’s worth.” Looking up, he smiled, then rose as Letitia did. He bowed to them both. “You may leave all that to me.”
They did. Returning to South Audley Street, they alighted before Randall’s steps. Barton stupidly let Letitia get a glimpse of him. Even across the width of the street, her contemptuous dagger-eyed glance scorched.
Christian drew her up the steps and through the door.
Ire lit her eyes. “That man!” Reaching up, she unpinned her veil. “Don’t you know anyone at Bow Street?”
Taking her arm, Christian steered her toward the dining parlor; Mellon had informed them that Hermione and Agnes were already at the luncheon table. “I probably could get Barton removed, but they’d only put someone else on the case.” He met Letitia’s eyes. “Much as he irritates you, he might well be a case of better the devil you know.”
She humphed, and let him lead her to the dining table and seat her at its end.
Hermione and Agnes were eager to hear of developments. While the footmen and Mellon were in the room, they had to be circumspect in what they said, but when the fruit was set before them, Letitia dismissed the staff and had Mellon close the door.
Lowering her voice, she told Hermione and her aunt that Justin was in town and safe with friends.
“Well that’s a relief.” Agnes reached for a fig.
“Yes, but,” Hermione said, “he can’t be free again until we catch the murderer.”
“Indeed.” Letitia was concentrating on the fig she was peeling, yet Christian registered her tone, sensed the same thread of something more deadening in Hermione, too.
The Vaux tended not to deal well with “nothing happening.”
He cast about for something to distract them. Remembered…“We haven’t yet pursued the question of how the man Hermione heard talking with Randall that night-presumably the murderer-got into and out of the house.”
A minor issue, but it would serve.
Busy neatly consuming her fig, Letitia slanted a glance his way. “You were going to question Mellon again.”
“So I was. No time like the present.” Swinging his legs from beneath the table, Christian rose and crossed to the bellpull.
When Mellon answered the summons, Christian, seated again, arched a brow at Letitia.
She waved to him to proceed. To Mellon, she said, “Please answer his lordship’s questions.”
Christian studied Mellon, standing between Letitia and Agnes on the other side of the table, for several seconds, before saying, “Mellon, think back to the night your master was murdered. Who, throughout all that evening, did you admit to this house?”
Mellon frowned, but answered readily enough. “Other than Lady Randall when she returned from her dinner, and the master when he came home at six o’clock, the only person I opened the door to was Lord Vaux, my lord.”
Christian watched Mellon closely. “You admitted no other person, at no other time during that evening and night, whether through the front door or any other door. Is that correct?”
Mellon fixed his gaze above Christian’s head. “Yes, my lord.”
Christian leaned forward. “Tell me, Mellon, in your opinion is it possible that someone entered the house, or left the house, through the front door without your knowledge?”
Mellon opened his mouth, but then shut it. Christian was pleased to see he took time to think before answering. Nevertheless…“I can’t say absolutely not, my lord-there were a few minutes between when I left Lord Vaux in the library and reached my room-but that was the only time anyone could have come in or out through the front door, or else I would have known, given as my room is directly above it.”
Christian nodded. “And if they’d come in then, when did they leave, and if they left then, then when did they arrive-quite.” He paused, then asked, “Is there any other door, or French door-any other way into the house other than through the servants’ hall?”
“No, my lord. None at all.”
Christian remembered. “There’s a lane down the side. No entry from there?”
“Not to the front of the house, my lord. There’s a gate at the side of the backyard, and as you will have seen, there’s only a very narrow area behind the front railings. The drawing room and front parlor windows look onto that, but they aren’t doors, and they’re locked anyway.”
Christian waved the windows aside. “There’s clearly no other way anyone else could have got into the house.” He caught Hermione’s eye as she opened her mouth-breathed easier when she shut it. Looking at Mellon, he smiled. “Thank you, Mellon. You may go.”
Mellon bowed, then cast a glance at Letitia. She waved a dismissal and he went.
Hermione managed to contain herself until the door shut. She even managed to keep her voice down. “But there was someone else there-I heard them.” She glanced at Letitia. “I’m not making it up.”
“We know you’re not.” Letitia looked at Christian. “What now?”
Carefully, he took Hermione step by step through her story again. She was unshakable in her certainty that she’d heard Randall speaking with some other man. “And it definitely wasn’t Justin. I wouldn’t mistake his voice-it’s deep, like yours.”
Christian raised his brows. “And the other man’s wasn’t?”
Hermione shook her head. “His was…lighter. Not light, but a medium man’s voice. Nothing one would notice either way.”
She remembered things far too clearly, in too much detail, for Christian to doubt her.
He sat back. “Very well. So what we’re faced with is this. On that night some man, a friend of Randall’s, gained entry into the house, how we don’t know, spoke with Randall, and then hit him with the poker, killing him. How did that man get into and out of the house?”
They all sat back and thought.
“Not the house,” Letitia eventually said. She caught Christian’s eye. “Just the study-we don’t know that he went anywhere else in the house. We have no reason to suppose he did.”
Christian nodded. “Good point. So how did he get into the study?”
Letitia sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table. “If this was Nunchance, I’d say he’d got in through the secret passage. But this is a London town house-no secret ways.”
Christian stared at her, at her face, for a long moment, then looked up-at the cornices-ornate-and the heavy rough plaster of the ceiling. Recalled similar plasterwork in the library and front parlor, and the wood half paneling that ran through most of the house… “But this is an old house.” Swinging around, he stood and stalked to the window to get a better sense of the thickness of the walls. Thick. Head rising, he pictured the front facade-of this house, and the one that abutted it, and the one beyond that.
He turned back to the table, caught Letitia’s gaze. “This isn’t a new London town house. It’s a very old house that’s been divided into three. It is of the vintage where secret passages and entrances were de rigueur.”
Something else struck him. “Why did Randall buy this house-this particular house? Did he ever mention it?”