Chapter 12 #2
“You would tell me if you had Lady Laetitia hidden away somewhere,” Tom said after a moment, “wouldn’t you, Pippa?”
I sniffed. “Of course I would. Besides, when would I have had the chance to get her? I spent yesterday with Christopher and St George, traveling through Surrey, and the day before with Christopher, hanging about the flat and taking tea at Lyons Corner House. And we all know that Laetitia wouldn’t motor up to London to see me. We despise one another.”
Crispin muttered something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. Tom might have done, because he sent a sharp look into the front seat.
He didn’t ask Crispin to elucidate, however, just kept going on the current topic. Which, in fairness, was probably what Crispin had muttered about, too. “I can think of a reason she might motor up to London to see you.”
In the front seat, the leather squeaked as Crispin shifted his weight. His eyes flashed up to the rearview mirror for a second. I happened to be watching, so I stuck my tongue out at him. He huffed.
“And what’s that?” I asked Tom.
But—
“Never mind,” Crispin said. “None of us is hiding Laetitia, Gardiner. I’m paying the ransom. Assuming all goes well, she’ll be back with us by tomorrow morning.”
And if all didn’t go well, we’d deal with it then.
“I still say there’s a chance she’s behind it herself,” I said.
“She has every reason to want you to prove to her how much you care. And she’s precisely the sort of self-centered girl who won’t consider how her disappearance would affect all the other people in her life.
Her mother and father are probably going mad with worry.
Geoffrey, too. Not that I care how Geoffrey feels, but nobody deserves the worry of having their sister be kidnapped. ”
Or seemingly kidnapped. Missing, at any rate. When it was Christopher who had gone missing back in October, I had been frantic with worry, and so had everyone else.
“In fact,” I added, as we turned the corner of Park Lane and spied Sutherland House up ahead, “I’m surprised they’re still in Dorset. If it were me, and my daughter was missing in London, I’d be here like a shot.”
“Yes, Darling,” Crispin said dryly, as the portico outside Sutherland House came into view, along with the green Daimler parked there.
The Marsdens were waiting in the yellow sitting room.
Rogers had provided them with libations, and the countess was sipping sherry while the earl had his fist wrapped around a bulbous snifter of brandy.
Geoffrey, who was present against his will, at least judging by the expression on his face, was swilling what looked like straight whiskey from a cut glass tumbler.
All three of them turned toward the door when we appeared, and Lady Euphemia’s eyes zeroed in on me before dropping to the carpet bag in my hand.
(Tom had trusted me to carry it into the house, seeing as it was my bag, if not my money.)
“Son,” the Earl of Marsden grunted. It was directed at his future son-in-law, and was a greeting.
It was not a statement intended for his actual son, and a wince crossed Geoffrey’s face.
Lord Maurice either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
In either case, he didn’t acknowledge Geoffrey’s reaction, just gave Crispin a cordial nod.
“Lord Maury.” Crispin inclined his head politely. “Lady Euphemia. Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey raised his glass. “Your Grace.”
His tone was just shy of insolence, and we could all hear it. His mother sent him a look, and seemed like perhaps she was thinking about calling him out on it, but if so, she changed her mind, just turned her attention back to me and my bag. Her nostrils flared.
“Are you moving in, Miss Darling?”
She’d seen the bag before, of course. I had traveled to Marsden Manor with it in September. I just hadn’t expected her to remember, or to recognize it. Or perhaps it simply looked too feminine to belong to anyone else.
“Certainly not,” I said with a sniff. “It’s ten thousand pounds in cash, that St George shall have to exchange for your daughter’s safe return.”
I may have been a bit too flippant about it, or perhaps a bit too harsh, because she turned as white as a ghost, and for a second, it looked as if she were about to topple over.
“Effie!” Lord Maury exclaimed, and “Mama!” Geoffrey echoed. He made to get out of his chair to assist—the earl didn’t—and Lady Euphemia waved him back down. Her spine straightened with a snap that was practically audible.
“A ransom?” Her eyes flicked to Tom. “We haven’t received anything about a ransom.”
“It arrived at His Grace’s Wiltshire address yesterday morning,” Tom explained smoothly. “The butler intercepted it and brought it up to London today.”
“We’ve spent the day looking for Laetitia and gathering the funds,” Crispin added.
All three Marsdens eyed the bag. Their expressions ranged from avid—Geoffrey—to apprehensive—his mother. Lord Maury looked more pensive than anything else.
“What happens now?” he wanted to know.
Tom told him about the note’s instructions, and Maury nodded. “Take Geoffrey with you.”
Geoffrey looked like he wanted to protest, but while he opened his mouth, he closed it again without saying anything.
“We’ve already got a full motorcar,” Tom told him. “His Grace will be dropping off the bag, and I’m certain Miss Darling and Mr. Astley will be accompanying him.”
The Marsdens looked from me to Christopher. Or rather, Maury and Geoffrey did. Lady Euphemia’s eyes lingered on me, and the look in them wasn’t what I would call friendly.
“So will I, of course,” Tom added, “along with several colleagues, who will be stationed nearby to watch for the bag to be picked up. Once that happens, we shall follow them to wherever they gather, and arrest them.”
“And my daughter?” The Countess of Marsden finally glanced away from me to spear Tom with a look instead. Christopher arched his brows at me—he must have noticed Lady Effie’s attention too—and I shrugged.
“We hope that Lady Laetitia will be returned safely in exchange for the money,” Tom said carefully, “or if not, that she’ll be found where they gather after the pickup.”
“And if neither happens?”
“Then we’ll keep looking,” Tom said. “We’ll find her. Once we have the kidnapper, or one of the kidnappers, we can move on from there to the others. At some point, someone will know where your daughter is kept.”
The countess nodded, although she didn’t appear convinced. Geoffrey was still eyeing the carpet bag. And perhaps Tom noticed, as well, because he held out his hand.
“Give me that, Pippa, if you will. I’ll keep it with me from now on.”
“Of course.” I handed it over and turned to Crispin. “Supper, St George?”
“Go and inquire of Cook,” Crispin said with a flap of his hand, “or of Rogers if you can find him.”
The front door had been opened for us by Niles the footman, so Rogers might have been off somewhere with Tidwell.
Gone to the pub, perhaps. Or simply holed up in a room somewhere coordinating efforts now that they had a twenty-three-year-old, inexperienced Duke of Sutherland to shepherd through life.
“I’ll find out,” I said, “shall I?”
Crispin nodded. “Do, Darling. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” I told him. And since Lady Euphemia was listening and I couldn’t resist, I added, “Anything for you,” and put my hand on his shoulder for a moment as I walked past.
I didn’t wait long enough to see anyone’s reaction, but I heard it.
I was outside the door and a few steps away when the discussion started up again, but not so far that I didn’t catch Lady Euphemia’s outraged, “Really, Crispin? My daughter’s been missing for two days, and you’re moving someone else in already? ”
I sniggered, but didn’t go back. Between Tom, Christopher, and Crispin, surely they would be able to set the Countess of Marsden straight.