Murder on Black Friday (9 page)

“My brother gave me this,” she said in that eerily serene way of hers, “when I first joined his household twelve years ago. He’d sent for me because he needed someone—someone he could truly trust and depend upon—to act as his private secretary and housekeeper. This necklace was his way of thanking me for taking on those responsibilities.”

Nell wondered how Munro’s business associates felt about dealing with a female secretary, but she knew better than to voice the thought.

“It’s actually a sort of locket.” Catherine turned the pendant over, revealing an oval-shaped, glass-covered miniature painting.

Nell leaned forward, squinting to make out the image in the semidarkness. It was a portrait of a man, brown-haired, mustachioed, and wolfishly handsome. “Is that...?”

“Philip.” Looking down at the locket, Catherine rubbed her thumb over the glass.

“So,” Nell said, “you...commissioned Mr. Munro’s portrait to fit the—“

“Oh, no, it was already in there when he gave it to me.” Smiling wistfully, Catherine turned the pendant back around, patted it, and said, “I mean to wear this every day until I depart this world myself, and then I mean to be buried with it.” 

Nell and Will both sat back in their chairs, staring at the pendant. When the silence started to become awkward, Will said, “Er, Miss Munro, would you mind telling us how long Mr. Munro had been counseling Mr. Bassett on business matters?”

“A few months. Let’s see, it would been...ah, yes. Four months—since May, because that was when he first called on Mr. Bassett to offer his advice, and it was shortly afterward that he and Miss Bassett...well...” She let out a long, disconsolate sigh.

Nell and Will both sat forward.

Still absently fondling the pendant, Catherine said, “I must admit, I was appalled last week, when he told me he’d actually gone and proposed to her. I told him he should give it some more time, he’d only known her four months, but he didn’t want to hear it. Poor Philip. So extraordinary in so many ways, but when it came to females—especially golden little things like Rebecca Bassett—he was...” She shook her head, frowning grimly at the table. “As foolish as any man.”

Nell said, “Your brother and Becky Bassett were engaged?”

Looking up, she said, “Well, it wasn’t finalized yet, but... I assumed you knew. She didn’t mention it when you were talking to her this morning?”

“No,” Nell said. Nor had Miriam or Dr. Tanner, although it may have been what was on Tanner’s mind when he said, regarding Miriam’s determination to excise the memory of Philip Munro from their lives, “It seemed to trouble her that he had
anything
to do with the family, but especially that he was...” That he was engaged to Becky—that was undoubtedly what Tanner had started to say before he cut himself off.

Nell looked at Will, who gave her a wry shrug.

“Philip told me they couldn’t make it official until they secured her father’s approval,” Catherine said. “But I just assumed Rebecca or the sister would have told you about it this morning, since, well...what would be the point of keeping it under wraps now? Philip is...he’s gone.” Her fist tightened around the pendant. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing can come of it now.”

More bewildered than ever, Nell said, “Had they
sought
Mr. Bassett’s approval?”

“Oh, yes, Philip was a gentleman—he did the proper thing. He asked Mr. Bassett for his permission, only to be summarily rebuffed.”

“Really?” Nell had a hard time picturing docile old Noah Bassett having the backbone to refuse anything to a man like Philip Munro.

“I can’t imagine why that should surprise you,” Catherine said, a little frostily. “Men like Mr. Bassett liked to use my brother for his business acumen—and Philip, being of a generous nature, always obliged—but they never really accepted him as one of them. That was why he convinced Rebecca to keep their courtship a secret. Philip was a very astute man. He knew Mr. Bassett would never allow the likes of him to call on his precious daughter.”

“Was it just generosity that prompted Mr. Munro to help these men, or did he charge them for his services?” Will asked.

Rather archly Catherine said, “Philip was brilliant at what he did—literally brilliant, a born genius with investments. Why shouldn’t he have retained a modest commission for his time and expertise?”

“No reason at all,” Will said.

“It’s not as if they’d ever approached him out of simple friendship, any of them,” Catherine said. “They didn’t invite him to dinner in their homes, never asked him along on their shooting parties, or onto their yachts, or into their private clubs. They came to him for one reason, to make money. Absurd, of course, that they should have viewed Philip as a gutter-blood just because he’d actually earned his fortune, through his own wits and hard work, instead of having it dumped in his lap. However, the fact remained that he had money, but no bloodlines. He once told me a man needed both to be a true success in this city. My goal, now that he’s gone, is to make him that kind of success posthumously. I’m going to establish a charitable trust, administered by myself, of course, to do good works in Philip’s name—the Philip James Munro Foundation. Generations from now, he’ll be remembered and revered, long after men like Noah Bassett are gone and forgotten.”

 “What happened after Mr. Bassett refused to grant permission for the marriage? Nell asked. “It must have cast a chill on his dealings with your brother.”

With a bitter little huff of laughter, Catherine said, “Oh, Mr. Bassett was quick to tell Philip, right after refusing permission, that he trusted their business relationship would continue as before. It was like telling him to his face that he wasn’t good enough for his daughter, but he’d appreciate it Philip would keep making money for him. The gall! Philip was outraged at the insult, I can tell you, utterly livid. He kept it inside until he was alone with me, of course. I was the only one he could ever really unburden himself to.”

Nell said, “I must say, Miss Munro, I find such blatant snobbishness a bit out of character for a man like Noah Bassett.”

“Well, he was egged on by the sister, that Miriam. Philip said she had a conniption when she found out he planned to marry Rebecca. She’d been begging Rebecca all along to call it off with him, and now that they were actually engaged, she was quite beside herself. She eviscerated Philip’s character—right in front of him. Mr. Bassett was there, too, and of course he got an earful, which just gave him that much more ammunition with which to turn Philip down.”

“This was a week ago?” Will asked.

“Last Saturday,” Catherine said. “A week ago today.”

“And did Mr. Munro sever his business relationship with Mr. Bassett after that?”

Raising her gaze to the ceiling, Catherine said, “No, he did not, to my utter disgust. He told me he thought there was still a chance to get Mr. Bassett to change his mind. In fact, he’d told him as much, told all three of them. He said he wasn’t the type of man to throw up his hands without bringing out every weapon in his arsenal, that sooner or later Mr. Bassett would not only allow the marriage, but give it his blessing.”

“Your brother seems to have been a man who knew how to get what he wanted,” Nell said. “Why didn’t he just marry her without her father’s permission?”

“Rebecca wouldn’t hear of it—absolutely refused to go against her father’s wishes—thank God. I hoped and prayed the little goose would stick to her guns and that Philip would eventually tire of the melodrama and move on.”

“Because Mr. Munro and Becky had only known each other since May?” Nell asked. “Was that the sole reason you objected to the marriage?”

“I objected because there was simply no need for it.” Catherine’s voice remained as soft as ever, but her eyes shone like silver half-dollars in the dim light. “Why on earth should someone like Philip have had to tether himself to a wife, especially a callow little girl like Rebecca Bassett? A man like that, with his lust for life, his magnetic appeal... Of course he attracted females—how could he not?—but he was never the type to settle down into dreary domesticity, and why should he have had to? He had me for companionship. We’ve always shared a special affection, he and I, a very deep bond.”

“I’m sure you were quite close,” Nell said carefully, “but a gentleman does sometimes entertain a desire for a more...shall we say, corporeal form of female attention.”

Will looked down, rubbing his mouth to hide his grin.

Straightening her back, Catherine said, “There was always...a certain kind of female willing to provide that sort of attention. God knows Philip didn’t need to bind himself in matrimony to secure it.”

Will cleared his throat, schooled his expression. “Then why did he ask Miss Bassett to marry him?”

“Were they very much in love?” Nell asked.

“In love?”
With a hectic little gust of laughter, Catherine said, “It was never about
love.
Good Lord—a mopstick like Rebecca Bassett? I mean, you’ve met her. You’ve got to admit, she’s a bit weak in the upper story. Philip felt nothing of the kind for her. He told me he’d never so much as kissed her. He said it was because he was trying to court her properly, like a gentleman, but I know it was really because he felt nothing for her. She’s
absurd.
A
joke.
What on earth could she bring to a union with someone like Philip except for, well, being blond and buxom, which always held a certain base appeal for him. I’m sure he found her quite satisfactory in that respect, but she’s terribly inane, and also terribly young, you know,
terribly
young, much too young to be considering marriage.”

It had been a remarkable show of emotion, considering the languid equanimity that Catherine had displayed until now.

Will said, “Why did she consider it, then, do you suppose?”

“For his wealth, of course.” She seemed calmer, but still a bit tense. “You’ve been inside that house. Their impecuniosity is all too evident. They’ve nothing left but their name. It’s all they’ve got to trade on anymore. You asked why Philip proposed to her. It was, I believe—although he never told me in so many words—an attempt to graduate from new money to old through matrimony. Philip was famous for his unorthodox business arrangements, which was essentially what this was. As in any transaction, both parties must achieve some sort of benefit for it to work. In this case, Rebecca would get rich, and Philip would get to marry into one of the oldest and most respected families in Boston—even if that respectability isn’t quite as...credible as it once was.”

“Why do you say that?” Nell asked.

“Well, they’re hardly as virtuous and upstanding as they’d like to make out, are they? I don’t mean the father, necessarily. I barely knew him. But the daughters... I daresay they were a cruel disappointment to him.” Catherine shook her head. “You already know what I think of Rebecca. As for Miriam, well, you must admit there’s something sly and secretive about her. I always worried about Philip whenever she sneaked upstairs for one of her little visits.”

“Visits?” Nell said.

Will sat forward. “Miss Bassett used to visit your brother?”

Catherine sat back, idly stroking the pendant. “Quite frequently, over the past several months—clandestine little visits at night.”

“Were they...engaged in an illicit relationship?” Nell asked.

Catherine said, “My brother never spoke to me about the women in his life. He had too much respect for me, and of course, a true gentleman is ever prudent about these things.”

Perhaps, Nell thought, Philip Munro actually
had
been a gentleman in certain respects, while remaining a self-serving cad in others. Some men—women, as well—had the ability to cordon off areas of their life like that. But even if he hadn’t confided in Catherine about his romantic affairs, she clearly had some of it sorted out—or thought she did.

“That said,” Catherine continued, “Philip was far too much of a gentleman to have conducted a liaison of that nature with the sister of his fiancée. A love match it may not have been, but there are some lines one doesn’t cross.”

Will said, “Why did Miriam pay him all these visits, then?”

“I couldn’t say for certain, of course, but given her virulent opposition to the marriage, perhaps she was trying to talk him into breaking the engagement.”

“Do you suppose she thought your brother and Becky had feelings for each other?” Nell asked.

“Oh, good heavens, no. Miriam had known my brother for some twenty years—they used to run in the same circle.
She had to know he wasn’t the kind of man to lose his heart to some vacuous little blonde. Any fool could see he was just marrying her to raise his estimation in the eyes of Boston society.”

“Were his financial reversals yesterday very severe?” Nell asked. “That’s the sort of thing that might prompt a man to take his life.” If the gold crash had ruined Philip Munro as it had so many others, he would have been left devoid of both bloodlines and the money by which to purchase those bloodlines—a true failure by his standards.

“Philip did not take his life,” Catherine said firmly.

“How do you know that?” Will asked.

“Suicide is an act of desperation and weakness,” she said. “My brother was constitutionally incapable of such an act. He was a man of backbone and vigor, a champion in everything he took on. The idea of knuckling under, to anything or anyone, was utterly repellent to him. You can’t imagine how it pains me to think of his memory being sullied by the presumption that he died by his own hand simply because he was found on our front steps. You must have doubts yourself as to the cause of death, or you wouldn’t be here, making these inquiries.”