Page 20 of A Dangerous Vision

A petite young woman stepped into Gideon’s view, and he was struck by the delicacy of her face—small features, almost doll-like. Her cheeks and lips were flushed, her eyes bright blue, and her gold-blonde hair was arranged in a neat coiffure. As expected, she wore all black, but her gown was fashionable and its jet beads sparkled in the gaslight.

She acknowledged him with a nod, and Gideon reciprocated that silent greeting with a nod of his own.

“As you can imagine,” Pennington continued, “this is a most distressing time for our family, but of course we wish to assist with the resolution of your investigation however we are able.” He gestured to the settee and a pair of chairs. “Shall we sit?”

“I would prefer to speak to each of you privately,” Gideon said.

Pennington’s face folded into a fierce scowl. “That would not be appropriate, Inspector. My niece is but nineteen years old. She was my brother’s ward and now she is mine. I insist on remaining with her.”

Gideon had no wish for enmity with Pennington’s family, so he dipped his head, acceding to the young man’s wishes. “Very well.”

He could attempt to speak to Miss Faraday privately at some future date, if it proved necessary.

When they were all seated, Gideon noticed the difference between the two. Miss Faraday looked agitated, while Mr. Pennington looked fatigued. He pressed two fingers to his temple and stifled a yawn.

“Are you residing here now, Mr. Pennington?” Gideon asked as he reached into his pocket and extracted a pencil and his notepad.

The young man’s brow arched. “I arrived this morning, Inspector.”

“May I ask where you were last evening?”

Pennington’s blue eyes narrowed. “I was at home, Inspector. Not here. I have lodgings elsewhere.” He glanced at his niece. “In Soho Square. It is closer to the theatre.”

Gideon shot him a quizzical look.

“My uncle is a playwright,” Miss Faraday interjected, almost proudly. She had a light, breathy voice as youthful as her features.

“Yes, thus the lodgings near the theatre district,” Lance Pennington added.

Gideon dipped his head to note Pennington’s apparent absence from the vicinity of Mount Street the previous evening. “And what hours were you at your lodgings, Mr. Pennington?”

“I was at the theatre from midday until the last performance, which ended around ten. So, I suppose I returned to my lodgings around eleven in the evening. I found a message waiting for me to come to Mount Street, but I decided to do so at first light. I arrived here around half six.” Pennington’s knee began to bounce, his boot heel thudding rhythmically against the carpet. “The note made no mention of…” He swallowed and licked his lips, casting a sorrowful look at his niece. “The note did not explain why I was being summoned. If I’d known, I certainly would have come immediately.”

“Of course you would have,” Miss Faraday whispered to him.

“And you, Miss Faraday? May I ask where you were last evening?”

“Visiting a friend,” she said, her voice now a bit more tremulous. “How could I have known what would befall Uncle Percy?” She lifted a folded handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“You visited your friend at their home?”

“Yes, in Sussex Gardens.”

“May I have their name, please?”

Her mouth dropped open as if the question shocked her. “Miss Helen Greene. She won’t be dragged into this, will she?”

“I’m simply gathering details, Miss Faraday.”

“We dined together in her home and then I returned to Mount Street around ten.”

Gideon decided, for now, to allow her explanation to stand without further questions and took a moment to note what she’d told him.

“Mrs. Coyle conveyed the news as gently as she could.” Miss Faraday’s voice sounded a bit rawer now. “But it was all such a shock. To come home and be told my uncle would never return. I⁠—”

Lance Pennington reached out to place hand on his niece’s arm. His effort at comforting her had the result of quieting her.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, lowering her head and dabbing again at her eyes.