The footman left to fetch his master.
Sergeant MacDonald scooted closer to Treadles. “Thought I’d be afraid to set me bum down in a place like this. But I never guessed it’d be because I don’t dare put any more wear and tear on the chairs.”
Treadles answered in a similar whisper. “It’s the price of crops. They’ve been dropping a good long while and these old families who depend on the land for their income, well, that income has been dropping, too.”
“Then why doesn’t his lordship sell this house and live someplace smaller and cheaper, so he can at least afford new chairs?”
“Not so simple. The house might be entailed. In which case he can’t sell it even if he wants to, not without first petitioning Parliament or something equally complicated.”
“Huh, fancy that. But now he won’t be as poor, not with his dead brother’s money coming his way.”
The day before, Sergeant MacDonald had paid a visit to Mr. Sackville’s solicitors, who had confirmed for him that Mr. Sackville, despite his regular visits to London, had seldom called on his men of business. MacDonald had also obtained a copy of Mr. Sackville’s will: There were various odds-and-ends bequests, but the bulk of his fortune had gone to Lord Sheridan.
Which meant that Lord Sheridan, unlike everyone else involved with the case so far, had a motive that passed muster. He needed a great deal of funds; and by getting rid of his brother, he would come into a great deal of funds.
Men had killed for much less.
The door of the study opened again and their best suspect walked in. Lord Sheridan, a man of about seventy, was short and bald, but his eyes were sharp and his movement spry. He greeted the policemen and bade them to take seats before the big desk.
“My secretary tells me you have questions for me, concerning my brother’s death.”
“We hope you can shed some light onto the circumstances of Mr. Sackville’s passing, sir. You have heard of the connection that has been made between his death and those of Lady Amelia Drummond and Lady Shrewsbury?”
“It is one of the leading topics of the day,” said Lord Sheridan with distaste. “That and the identity of this meddlesome Sherlock Holmes. Harrington retired from Society decades ago. The younger generation does not even know who he was. And now all manners of unfounded speculations circulate and multiply.
“But no, I cannot help you. My brother and I had not spoken in many years. I am unfamiliar with what his habits and inclinations had become.”
“Can you give us some knowledge as to why he retired from Society?”
“No, I cannot.”
Cannot or will not? Lord Sheridan spoke with a casual impatience that was surprisingly difficult to decipher. “And is that related to the reason the two of you became estranged?”
“You leap to conclusions, Inspector. My brother and I were not close, but I never suggested that we were estranged.”
This gave Treadles the opening he had been looking for. “My apologies, my lord. My perceptions might have been colored by having read a statement, made by someone in Mr. Sackville’s employ, that you would be glad if he were to drop dead.”
Lord Sheridan’s expression did not change. “I recommend that you give no credence to such statements, Inspector. I took no delight in Harrington’s passing. I was much older than he—at one point I was his guardian—both father and brother. There is no joy to be had at the death of someone I watched growing up. Now, if you have no more questions . . .”
His tone carried more than a hint of sternness. Treadles pressed on. “I do happen to have one more. Forgive me if the question borders on vulgar, my lord, but if I understand correctly, in families such as yours, the eldest son inherits the bulk of the family wealth. Yet the impression I receive seems to be that Mr. Sackville had been the one with the larger fortune.”
“Your impression is correct. Harrington is my half brother. His mother brought a great deal of wealth into her marriage. But while tens of thousands of pounds from her dowry were used in shoring up the estate, upon her death she willed almost all of her remaining assets to Harrington, her only child. So yes, he was wealthier and his wealth was never bled by the ancestral pile.”
His recitation of facts was . . . smoother than his avowal that he found no pleasure in his brother’s death. But how should Treadles interpret this observation? Was it because Lord Sheridan was not an accomplished liar—or was it because it in fact distressed him to have lost someone who had once been both brother and son?
“Would you happen to know, sir, who would benefit most from Mr. Sackville’s will?”
“His lawyers have informed me that I stand to inherit his fortune.”
“Did you know that before he died?”
Lord Sheridan’s expression turned forbidding: He was quick—too quick, perhaps?—to realize the thrust of the question. “Of course not. We are finished here, gentlemen. I trust you will see yourselves out.”