The Masterful Mr. Montague by Stephanie Laurens

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    The last to take his seat, Stokes finally did, then baldly stated, “I am Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard. I regret to inform you that Lady Halstead was found dead this morning.” Stokes paused to let the inevitable exclamations roll through the room.
    It was instructive to watch the reactions; the initial expressions of shock, of surprise, were all but immediately superseded by expressions of calculation, of speculation and consideration of what Lady Halstead’s death might mean for each individual. Although he watched closely, Montague detected no suggestion of sorrow, even of simple sadness; Violet had warned them that the family were a self-centered lot, but even so, he hadn’t expected such a comprehensively detached response.
    Across Stokes, Montague briefly met Adair’s blue eyes and saw the same realization—and the same instinctive disapprobation—reflected there. Then Barnaby looked back at the assembled company, and Montague did, too. If they were correct in their reasoning, then at least one person seated at the table had already known Lady Halstead was dead. Yet given the singular lack of finer feelings on display, search though he did, Montague couldn’t say one member of the family was less affected by the news than any other.
    Wallace Camberly shifted restlessly. After sharing a glance with his wife, Camberly looked at Stokes and somewhat peevishly remarked, “While that is, indeed, a tragedy, Inspector, I fail to see what interest Scotland Yard might have in this matter.”
    “As to that, sir, permit me to inform you”—with his head, Stokes indicated all those about the table—“and the rest of those gathered here that Lady Halstead did not die peacefully. She was murdered.”
    Once again exclamations of shock and surprise rang out, but, as before, it was impossible to label one person’s response less convincing than the others. The reactions of all the family members lacked emotional depth; although all seemed genuinely surprised, even shocked, by the news, they displayed no strong emotional link to Lady Halstead. Instead, their thoughts turned immediately to themselves—leaving no simple way to distinguish a murderer who had acted out of self-interest from the rest of the group.
    That somewhat shocking superficiality of emotional connection with her ladyship was borne out by the next exchange.
    “How did she die?” Constance Halstead asked, her tone making it clear that the question was prompted by curiosity, plus, perhaps, a realization that someone should ask.
    Her query, however, was drowned out by her husband’s clipped and rather pompous observation, “Be that as it may, Inspector, I am unclear as to who these other gentlemen are, and what their interest in what is plainly a private family tragedy might be.”
    Stokes looked first at Mrs. Halstead. “Her ladyship was smothered. A pillow was placed over her face while she slept, and held there until she died. Although frail, she struggled, but to no avail.”
    Montague saw nothing beyond expressions of detached distaste pass across the family’s faces at that news.
    Shifting his gaze to Mortimer, Stokes smoothly continued, “And as for my colleagues, this”—he gestured to Adair on his right—“is the Honorable Mr. Barnaby Adair, consultant investigator to Scotland Yard.” Stokes indicated Montague on his left. “And this is Mr. Montague, of Montague and Son, whom Lady Halstead recently consulted. Mr. Montague holds a letter of authority from Lady Halstead giving him far-reaching powers with regard to her ladyship’s financial affairs. I have viewed that letter and found it to be genuine and comprehensive. Consequently, in this matter, Mr. Montague will be an observer, in effect nominated by Lady Halstead herself.”
    That news caused puzzlement and minor consternation as the family decided how they should react. Noting the assessing glances thrown his way, Montague felt certain that had Stokes not confirmed his