Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“This can’t be good news,” I told Christopher as the door to Marsden House shut behind us, leaving Crispin and Thompson inside.
My cousin shook his head. “Not at all. It was starting to look unlikely that she was spending the time with friends anyway, but this proves it.”
Yes, it did. Or it seemed to do, anyway. Although there were still aspects of the situation that befuddled me. Such as— “So she left home forty-eight hours ago. Not yesterday, but the day before.”
“So her mother said,” Christopher nodded. “Or so Tom said Lady Euphemia said, anyway. I suppose we can trust him.”
“I’m certain we can. As she motored away, Laetitia told her mother that she was meeting Crispin for supper, and then they’d go stationery-shopping in the morning.”
Christopher nodded. “I believe so.”
“Meanwhile, Crispin motored from Little Sutherland to London, but not to see Laetitia. He wanted to see you—”
He shot me a look, and I made a face and amended it to, “—us, but he didn’t expect Laetitia to turn up for another day, and the stationery-shopping was supposed to be today.”
“That’s what he said,” Christopher agreed. “Should we stop at the stationers, do you think? Just in case she turned up there?”
It wasn’t a bad idea. If nothing else, we could confirm one way or the other whether the appointment had been scheduled for today or yesterday, and which of them had been wrong, if either had been.
If Crispin, then Laetitia might have been waiting at the stationers while the three of us had been tramping through Newlands Corner talking about Emma the woodcutter’s daughter and Bad King John.
But if that were the case, why hadn’t she attempted to contact Crispin later, about why he had made her wait?
Perhaps someone has snatched her from outside the stationers? That would explain why she hadn’t rung up to yell at Crispin about standing her up.
The kidnapper would have had to have known that Laetitia was going to the stationers in the first place for that, but if he did know, he could have lain in wait for her and then pounced, either when she arrived or when she left again.
I tried to picture it in my head. As I had absolutely no idea what sort of conveyance Laetitia owned, I populated the image with the Marsdens’ green Daimler. She probably hadn’t motored to London in that, but for the purposes of imagining, it served as well as anything else.
The imaginary Laetitia in my head opened the door to the imaginary Daimler, and a tall, dark shadow appeared next to her, out of nowhere.
And instead of pulling a sack over Laetitia’s head and dragging her into a waiting motorcar, the figure shoved her into the Daimler, followed her in, and took off.
Yes, it made sense. Or as much sense as anything else, and it would explain why no one had reported Laetitia’s motorcar abandoned or found in the past day and a half.
Christopher cleared his throat, and I came back to myself. And nodded. “Yes, I think we ought. Whoever took her, might have taken her from there. Her and her motorcar, both.”
“Seems reasonable to me,” Christopher agreed. “Why leave a motorcar behind when you don’t have to? Especially one as noticeable as the Daimler.”
Exactly. I opened my mouth to continue the conversation, but then the door to Marsden House opened and Crispin came out.
I closed it again. I wanted to ask how he was—he looked awful—but at the same time, I couldn’t quite bring myself to sound sympathetic.
As far as I was concerned, Laetitia being gone was by way of being a gift; I just hoped she would stay gone for another week and a half, until after the wedding.
So I asked, “Sworn him to silence?” instead.
Crispin nodded. “For now. I told him I’d notify Euphemia and Maury myself, after I’ve seen the note and shown it to Scotland Yard. They’ll determine how to proceed from there.”
I knew how I planned to proceed—help Crispin pull the necessary funds together, or stand by while he did it, in silent support, since I had no money of my own to contribute, not that I would have put a shilling towards bringing Laetitia home anyway—and then Christopher and I would tag along as he went to hand over the money in exchange for, hopefully, Laetitia.
I had a feeling that Tom would put his foot down severely were I to mention this plan, however.
“Do we contact Tom now,” I inquired, “or wait until we have the note?”
There was a moment of cogitation. “There’s really no need to do it now,” Christopher said, “when we know none of the details. Or at least—”
“Yes?”
“We might wait a little, at least. Enough time to go to the stationers, to see whether Laetitia turned up there yesterday—”
“Why would Laetitia turn up at the stationers yesterday?” Crispin wanted to know. “Our appointment was for today.”
Christopher glanced at him. “We—or Pippa—thought that one of you might be wrong about the appointment. Either Laetitia motored up to Town a day early because she got the day of the appointment wrong, or you spent the day with us yesterday because you did.”
“I’m fairly certain I didn’t get it wrong,” Crispin said, “but I don’t suppose it can hurt to check. If she was there, at least we’ll know she arrived in London.”
We would. Although it wouldn’t explain the supper date they were supposed to have had the night before the stationery appointment, which she hadn’t turned up for either, as far as we knew.
Crispin had spent that evening with us, although it seemed to me that Rogers would have said something about it, had Laetitia phoned or turned up expecting Crispin to be at Sutherland House.
Perhaps I ought to instruct Crispin to make certain of that, though.
“Feel free to do so yourself,” he told me. “We’ll be back at Sutherland House by afternoon, to receive the ransom note. You can interrogate Rogers then.”
“I would hardly call it an interrogation,” I grumbled, “but that’s fine. I’ll talk to him. Some people need to have things spelled out for them, you know. They don’t volunteer information unless you face them with it directly.”
I hadn’t intended it as a challenge, but Crispin flushed. “If that’s a slight, Darling…”
“It’s not,” I told him. “I simply mean that Rogers might not tell you things unless you ask for them specifically. If you thought I meant something else, then I probably meant what you thought I meant.”
Christopher sniggered. Crispin made a face and turned toward the motorcar. “Just get in so we can go to the stationers. After that, I suppose I shall have to visit Father’s—or rather, my—bankers, to see what amount of cash can be gathered on short notice.”
He opened the door and gestured at me to get in the back.
“Ten thousand pounds, you said?” I asked when I had made myself comfortable and he had folded back the seat and taken his place behind the wheel. Christopher was on the opposite side of the motorcar.
Crispin nodded. “That’s what the note said. According to Tidwell.”
“If Tidwell said so, I’m certain it’s accurate,” Christopher said. “Given the severity of the situation, it’s hardly something he would be vague about. If he said ten thousand pounds, it’s ten thousand pounds.”
I agreed. “It’s a lot of money. Are you certain Laetitia is worth that amount, St George?”
He met my eyes in the mirror. “It’s not the amount, Darling. I have plenty of money at my disposal now that Father…” He stalled, and tried again, “—now that I’m Duke of Sutherland. And ten thousand pounds isn’t so much compared to a human life.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I told him.
“Are you saying she wouldn’t be worth ten thousand quid to you?”
“She wouldn’t be worth ten quid to me,” I said, and relented, “although of course I’d pay it if I had it. I may dislike her, but I don’t actually wish her dead.”
“That’s good to know,” Crispin said. “Can I rely on you to welcome my wife to the family, then, if… when we get her back?”
I wouldn’t go that far, although I also couldn’t bring myself to actually say it. “Do you doubt that you’ll get her back?” I asked instead.
“Her parents didn’t get Flossie back,” Christopher murmured, and Crispin nodded.
“You never know, do you?”
I suppose you didn’t. “Well, I for one prefer to focus on the positive. And on that note, I do hope Tidwell motors up to Town himself instead of giving the job to someone else. I would so enjoy seeing him behind the wheel of the Phantom.”
The distraction worked as intended: Christopher’s lips twitched, and Crispin rolled his eyes. “Shall you be requesting my blessing for the two of you to wed soon, Darling?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Tidwell doesn’t want me. I think he’s sweet on Mrs. Mason, actually, although don’t quote me on that.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“As for myself, I plan to marry Christopher when I’m thirty, although I won’t need your permission for that, St George.”
“You never know,” Crispin said. “And that’s only if no one else wants you, surely?”
It was, but— “There’s no need to put it like that.”
He grinned. “My apologies, Darling. I was just checking that things hadn’t changed.”
“I’m sure,” I sniffed. And added, “It’s not as if I haven’t had suitors, you know. Wolfgang wanted to marry me, and Geoffrey at least wanted to take me to bed. So did that chap back at Oxford, remember, the tutor—”
“Two murderers and an adulterer,” Crispin said, and I turned to Christopher.
“You told him about that?”
“Years ago,” Christopher said. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I never told anyone about what happened between you and your tutor!”
“Tell me now,” Crispin demanded, while Christopher said, hypocritically, “That’s private, Pippa.”
“And the fact that my married tutor made advances to me wasn’t?”
He didn’t answer, and I continued, to Crispin this time, “It’s private. He should be the one to tell you. I can’t believe he told you about my tutor!”
“That’s because—” Christopher began, and Crispin cut him off.
“Yes, Kit. I’m sure it is.”