He cast her a saber-edged glance. “What is the point?”
She heaved a huge sigh. “The point is that mentioning his name, whether to his face or otherwise, anywhere in the ton and, I suspect, even beyond, is forbidden. Absolutely not done.”
He stared at her. “Why?”
“Because it was so decreed years ago-even before my come-out. It was one of those things my aunts instructed me in before I came to town. I don’t know exactly how long the edict has been in place, but there you have it-anyone caught breaking the rule can be assured of instant ejection from the ton.”
He frowned. “Is this one of the Almack’s patronesses’ rules?”
“No, although they certainly support it. It was a rule-an edict-laid down by all the most powerful ladies of the ton, and, as I heard it, many of the gentlemen agreed. It’s been in force for…well, it must be something like fifteen years.”
He couldn’t fathom it. After a few minutes of slow rocking through the traffic, he asked-begged rather plaintively, “Can’t you just whisper it to me?”
“No!” She frowned at him severely. “No one speaks his name-that’s the rule. Aside from anything else, he would know.”
She wasn’t going to change her mind.
He heaved a huge sigh. He’d got so
The carriage slowed. They’d reached South Audley Street.
Letitia glanced at him. “I can’t see why you’re so exercised-you’ll learn the truth soon enough.”
Before he could question her further, the carriage halted and she leaned forward and opened the door. “I’ll meet you in Montrose Place at three. Until then…” A footman had come down the steps to assist her; she gave him her hand and alighted. On the pavement, she looked back at Christian. “I’m going to circulate and do my best to play down the rumors of Justin’s guilt.”
He hesitated, then nodded and saluted in farewell. Dalziel’s news about the warrant had shaken her; she no doubt wished to ascertain how widely known that development was.
With a nod she swung away-then halted, stared along the street. All but hissed. “That damned runner! Did I mention I found him in the library this morning? I’ve given orders he’s not to be admitted without my express permission, or unless he has a warrant, or both. If he wants to keep watch on the scene of the crime, he can damn well do it from outside.”
With another fulminating glare, she swung away, forged up the steps and swept through the door Mellon was holding open.
Christian watched the door close, then smiled. “St. James,” he called to the jarvey on the box. It was time to do a little social scouting of his own.
They met as arranged, delighting Gasthorpe and his staff, who were feeling rather redundant with so little to do.
Tea and ginger biscuits appeared in the library where Christian, Letitia, and Tristan gathered; the “no females beyond the front parlor” rule was long dead. While Letitia poured, Christian outlined for Tristan what they’d learned from Justin and Hermione, how the events on the night of the murder now appeared, and briefly detailed their meeting with Dalziel.
He’d barely finished when a familiar heavy knock sounded on the front door. A moment later Gasthorpe entered to announce, “Mr. Dalziel.”
A misnomer if ever there was one; they may not know his name, yet of one thing they were certain-Dalziel was one of them.
He walked in, his eyes briefly meeting theirs. He exchanged nods with Letitia, accepted a cup and saucer from her, then she handed the rest of the cups around and they sat and got down to business.
Dalziel spoke first. “I contacted the Bow Street magistrate in charge of the case. He and his minions are convinced Justin did the deed. A warrant for his arrest has indeed been sworn, and a runner, Barton, has been assigned to hunt him down.”
Letitia grimaced but didn’t comment-to the relief of all three men.
Christian quickly, succinctly, listed the facts they knew, establishing the likelihood that Randall was killed by someone he knew, most likely a friend, who’d visited the study between Letitia leaving it and Justin entering.
“It sounds as if he expected his killer.” Tristan glanced at Letitia. “Just to cover the obvious, have you checked his diary?”
Letitia shook her head. “He didn’t keep one.”
Christian frowned. “Not at all? No address book even?”
“Nothing. I don’t know how he managed, but he kept all that sort of thing in his head.”
Dalziel raised his brows. “Not so hard if you don’t have many friends.”
“He must have had some,” Christian said. “We need to learn who.”
“We need to make a list.” Tristan rose and, taking his cup, went to sit at the library desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper, checked the pen, then dipped it in the ink pot. “Friends.” He wrote. “Need to identify.” He looked down at his handiwork. “I’ll ask around the clubs. Given I’m in no way connected with the Vaux, I might learn more than you.” He looked at Christian.
“I’ll see what I can learn via other avenues,” Dalziel put in.
Tristan and Christian exchanged a glance, but forebore to ask what other avenues their ex-commander had in mind.
“With any luck,” Letitia said, “once he’s had time to think of it, Justin might, by the time he reaches here, have remembered something more.”
“That covers the direct approach,” Dalziel said. “For the indirect, what do we know of Randall himself-his background, family?” He looked at Letitia.
She met his gaze. A long moment passed, then she pulled a face. “You’re not going to believe it-in hindsight it seems quite amazing-but I know of no family. None. As for his background…” She raised a helpless hand. “I know our man of business looked into his financial state before our marriage, but other than that…he was educated, well-presented, was established in our circles, was wealthy and personable enough.” She paused, sipped. “I suppose we saw no reason to look further.”
“So…” Dalziel’s voice had grown softer-more intent. “No family known, no school, no university, no connections known.” He raised his brows, met Christian’s gaze. “Our man becomes more and more of a mystery.”
Tristan had been frowning. “Place of birth?”
Letitia shook her head. “Not even that.” She paused, then added, “I can’t even tell you which county he hailed from-he never said, never even dropped a clue that I recall.”
Dalziel looked at Tristan, who obediently dipped the pen and started writing. “So we’ve lots more to learn about Randall’s personal background.” He switched his gaze to Letitia. “What about his financial background? He was wealthy, so where did his money come from? Was he involved in any schemes-investments, developments? You mentioned your family’s man of business had checked earlier.”
She nodded. “I’m sure he’ll have some of those answers, at least as things were eight years ago.”
Christian caught Dalziel’s eye. “If we want to investigate Randall’s finances we should use Montague.”
Dalziel nodded.
“Heathcote Montague,” Letitia stated, “and his father before him, have always handled the Vaux family affairs-it was he who looked into Randall’s financial state.”
“Perfect.” Dalziel set down his empty cup. “We can rely on Montague to ferret out whatever there is to find in Randall’s financial dealings.”
Tristan was busily scribbling. Christian said, “I’ll go and see Montague.”
“I’ll come, too.” Letitia reached for a ginger biscuit. “He’ll want my permission before he speaks of Vaux family business.”
The men all nodded.
“Which brings us to the connected subject of Randall’s will.” Dalziel cocked a brow at Letitia.
She looked taken aback, then frowned, as did Christian. “Yet more oddity-the funeral was days ago and yet we haven’t heard a word of any will. What
The three men exchanged glances.
Christian leaned forward, setting down his cup. “Do you know who Randall’s solicitor was?”
