The Masterful Mr. Montague by Stephanie Laurens Page A

involved in any of her ladyship’s financial decisions?” Montague asked.
    “No. And I’m quite certain of that,” Violet replied. “Lady Halstead once made a comment about feeling much happier making her own decisions, and I know she rebuffed Mortimer, and also Maurice—both independently offered to assist her with managing her fortune, but she declared Sir Hugo had taken care of it all, and she was quite happy with the way things were.”
    “Hmm.” Adair had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was replaying the moments around the dining table. “One thing I noticed—and perhaps, Miss Matcham, you might confirm—but the impression I received is that the animosity, as witnessed by the tensions and tart comments flung across and down that table, lies primarily between Lady Halstead’s children, with supporting contributions from the two spouses.” Meeting Violet’s gaze, Adair arched his brows. “Was it always like that—them against each other—or was the animosity sometimes directed at Lady Halstead?”
    “No,” Violet said. “Their sniping was never directed at her. It always amazed me that, during the dinners, her ladyship paid the strife no attention at all. She would eat and ignore them—unless they became too noisy. Then she would insist they ended it, but . . . no. Even at such times, their viciousness was never directed at her.”
    Barnaby sighed and shifted his gaze to Stokes. “So out of that interlude, while we’ve established that the Halsteads are a highly unpleasant lot, overall we’ve got not one decent whiff of the murderer.”
    Stokes inclined his head. “Maybe so, but what we did gain was confirmation that, regardless of their behavior toward each other, there is no suggestion of any personal motive—no hint that any of her ladyship’s family held a grudge against her, no evidence of arguments or disagreements between her and any of her children.”
    Nodding, Montague picked up the train of thought. “And as we have reason to believe that the murderer is a family member, not just because of the apparent ease of entry to the house but also the timing of the murder so soon after her ladyship’s announcement that she intended to have her affairs looked into—”
    “ And ”—Barnaby sat straighter—“as we also have every reason to believe that there is something illegal behind these payments into her ladyship’s account, we’re left with that, and only that, as a strong motive.” He looked at Stokes. “It’s money, simply money, behind this.”
    Gravely, Stokes nodded. “What we’ve established is that there is no suggestion of any other motive—no personal animosity, nothing about her will. It’s those payments, whatever they are. Keeping them hidden is the motive behind Lady Halstead’s murder, that and nothing else.” He glanced at Montague, then Violet, then Barnaby. “Until and unless we get information to the contrary, I suggest we should proceed on that understanding.”
    T heir small meeting broke up shortly afterward, with the three men making arrangements to meet the following morning at Montague’s office to examine the evidence he’d already assembled regarding the odd payments they all believed were behind Lady Halstead’s murder.
    Violet accompanied the men into the front hall. She had felt not just accepted and appreciated but also reassured to have been included in the discussions thus far. Everything had happened so rapidly—the discovery of Lady Halstead’s body, the summoning of help, calming Tilly and Cook, coping with the doctor, and then the police, much less all the rest—that she hadn’t yet had time to grieve, to come to grips with her own roiling emotions. But of one thing she was instinctively sure: She wanted to help. She needed to do whatever she could to help catch the murderer and win justice for Lady Halstead. The violence of her feelings was unexpected and unsettling; she was relieved the three men seemed to understand