Page 11 of A Dangerous Vision

“I should hold my tongue, Inspector Pierce. Miss Faraday would not wish me to say more.”

“I would not ask you to betray your employer’s trust, but if the detail is relevant to Mr. Pennington’s actions today, then I should like to hear the rest.”

“It seemed to me that Mr. Pennington wished to speak to her on that matter this evening.”

“The matter of her admirer?”

“Yes, sir. Because they had not dined together since their row on Friday.”

Gideon made a few notes, and Miss McGuire seemed to be attempting to calm herself with deep breaths and a hand pressed against her middle.

“Do you know the young man’s name?”

“Worthington. I believe his given name is William.” Miss McGuire bit her lip. “Miss Faraday would not like that I told you that either.”

“I will ask it of her myself, and I will not mention you,” Gideon told her, hoping to allay her worries. Servants in houses like Pennington’s were often the most informative sources of information during an investigation, but he understood how vulnerable they were too.

“Did you ever overhear Mr. Pennington rowing with anyone else or observe anything that gave you reason to believe someone might bear a grudge against him?”

Sarah McGuire’s eyes widened. “I know of no one who might have done him in, sir, no. I can’t name a soul who would wish to harm Mr. Pennington. He seemed kindly enough.”

Yet Gideon could see there was more. He could all but hear the hesitation as she proclaimed her late employer kindly. So he waited, watching the young woman as she shifted uncomfortably.

“He and Mr. Callister would sometimes row, but it all seemed frivolous, sir.”

“How so?”

“They would sometimes have fencing bouts in the ballroom. Mr. Pennington has a fencing strip there. And they would argue quite vehemently, but I always thought it was what gentleman do over competitive matters.”

Gideon gave her a half-smile. “Sometimes they do, yes. So these disagreements were easily overcome? Not heated?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, it’s as you say. Shouting one moment and right as rain the next.”

“When was the last time you observed such a thing between Mr. Pennington and Mr. Callister?”

Her brow furrowed. “Not long ago, perhaps…last week, but I cannot recall the day. They weren’t fencing. Merely conversation in the master’s study, and a couple of us heard them shout.”

“Who else heard them shout?”

She bit her lip. He suspected she feared implicating the other staff member. “Teague. Mr. Pennington’s valet.”

“Thank you, Miss McGuire.”

Her eyes widened and she gripped the edge of the chair as if eager to launch herself out of it. “May I go, sir?”

“Yes, that will be all for now. Would you send Mr. Teague in?”

A few moments later, the valet entered the dining room.

“Close the door, if you would,” Gideon told him.

Once Teague had done so, he sat in the same chair that Miss McGuire had. The dark-haired valet had a solemn bearing. His own clothing was impeccably neat and pressed, and he held himself with stiff shoulders, his square jaw tight.

He reminded Gideon a bit of himself, dressing flawlessly, exuding an unflappable composure, all in a bid to get others to look at him respectfully.

“How many years have you been employed by Mr. Pennington?”

“Five years, sir.” Even his voice, which held a trace of the East End, was forcibly smoothed into something like the upper crust accent Gideon suspected Mr. Pennington had spoken with.