“I’ll check with the butler,” Christian said. “He should know.”
Dalziel nodded. “So as far as we can see at present, motive appears to be the most usual, and most obvious—money. In some way or form.”
He glanced around, but no one disagreed.
“So we need to learn who stands to profit from Randall’s death.”
“Even better,” Christian said, “who profits from Randall’s death now.”
“True.” Dalziel nodded. “If money’s the motive, there’s likely some reason he was killed at that time.”
“At that meeting between associates.” Tristan looked up from scanning his list. “So when will we meet again?”
They discussed who would do what, when, and decided to reconvene in two days’ time.
Letitia rose, pulling on her gloves. “Justin should be in London by then, so we’ll be able to see if anything we learn means something more to him.”
“Meanwhile”—Dalziel straightened his long legs and got to his feet—“while we all have our avenues to pursue, the most pertinent aspect is—”
“Who stood to benefit from Randall’s sudden death.” Letitia nodded regally to Dalziel and Tristan. “Gentlemen—I’ll see you in two days.”
She turned to the door and Christian, who struggled to hide a grin; if Dalziel had thought he would be in charge, he was fast learning otherwise. She arched a brow at him. “I thought to go and see Montague tomorrow morning.”
He nodded. “I’ll call for you at ten.”
Airily she replied, “I’ll see you then. My aunts and their families are dining in South Audley Street tonight—I must oversee the preparations.”
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.”