Free An Appetite for Murder by Linda Stratmann

where the Sweetman children went?’
    ‘If I knew that, I would tell you. I have no reason to conceal such information.’
    ‘Was there a trusted servant he might have confided in?’
    ‘There was a valet, Mr Pennyforth, who had been with him five years.’
    ‘Do you have his address?’
    ‘I am afraid not. He was entitled to one hundred pounds under the will, but I have never been able to find him to hand him what he was due. When I went to Whibley’s house on that sad morning, I found that Pennyforth had already departed and left no message or forwarding address. I placed an advertisement in the newspapers but received no reply. I retain the money safely for him still, in case he should reappear.’
    ‘Could you describe him to me?’
    Elliott looked surprised, as might any man asked to describe a servant. ‘Er – he was quite young, about thirty or possibly a little less, nothing very remarkable about his appearance. Middling height, hair dark, I think. That is really all I can remember.’
    Frances passed a sheet of paper and a pencil to him. ‘Please could you write the valet’s name so I can be sure of how it is spelled,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, without demur. He was obliged, while writing with his right hand to steady the paper with his left, and Frances observed that he had some difficulty in moving his left arm into place, and there were the marks of an old scar down the back of his hand. He wrote the valet’s name unhesitatingly in a neat, clear and perfectly even script, and passed the paper back. Frances quickly saw that Mr Elliott was neither Bainiardus nor Sanitas.
    Frances hoped she would not find it necessary to call upon all Mr Whibley’s past friends and their offspring in the faint hope that he might have said something to them about the Sweetman family. It would be better, she thought, to begin by tracing Mr Pennyforth, who might be the one person who could reveal if there was anyone other than Mr Elliott who Mr Whibley had spoken to shortly before he died.
    Frances showed Elliott a portion of the Bainiardus letter. ‘This is a letter received from a gentlemen saying that he was an intimate friend of Mr Whibley’s for some years,’ she said. ‘Do you recognise either the hand or the paper?’
    ‘I am afraid not.’
    She then presented the Sanitas letter, which received the same response.
    ‘Do you still have Mr Whibley’s correspondence?’
    ‘No, he was, like so many gentlemen, in the habit of destroying letters that he felt he no longer needed. He liked everything about him very tidily arranged.’
    ‘Did the housemaid or the cook mention him receiving any callers on the day before his death?’
    ‘It was not something I thought to ask them,’ he said reasonably.
    Frances could think of nothing more to ask, and Mr Elliott, promising that he would advise Frances if he thought of anything new that was relevant to Mr Sweetman, departed.
    Frances completed her notes without glancing at Sarah, who she knew would be giving her a very hard look. ‘So it’s murder cases now?’ said Sarah, at last. ‘And from the outset; not just ones that happen to fall on you by chance.’
    ‘Mr Curtis asked me to help his uncle,’ said Frances, ‘which I am already doing. I am sure it would have come to this eventually, and if I am to take a case of murder I might as well be paid for it from the start.’
    ‘This Mr Curtis, is he one of those handsome types?’ asked Sarah, suspiciously.
    ‘He is married with a family, and his looks, whatever they may be, are of interest only to his lady wife,’ said Frances, although she thought that Mr Curtis could well be considered handsome. ‘Now then, we have a lot to do and must make plans.’
    Frances was far too busy to think of eating supper. She had been perusing Mr Rustrum’s slim booklet entitled Healthful Living , which advocated a breakfast consisting of dry brown bread, fruit and tea taken in the Russian style with lemon.