Chapter 14 #2
Not at all likely, I would say. Aside from the Viscount St George, the rest of us—those of us who might have felt comfortable with taking refuge in Christopher’s room—had all been together.
And Crispin would have had no reason to duck into Christopher’s bedchamber when the door to his own sitting room was no farther away.
“Any sign that the maid has come and gone?” I wanted to know. Perhaps the person we had heard in the hallway had been one of the maids, who had been worried about being caught eavesdropping.
He shook his head. “Not since this morning. They won’t be turning the beds down until later.”
“The chambermaids might know where everyone was between breakfast and luncheon,” I said. “Or at least they would know whether anyone spent that time in their room.”
“We should inquire.” He glanced at the door to the stairwell and seemed to change his mind. “Let’s go this way.”
‘This way’ was up the east wing to the central section and around the corner to the central staircase. We clattered down, and headed for the kitchen wing, where we stumbled into the servants’ dining room in time to interrupt the servants’ tea.
“Oops.” I stopped just inside the door. “Apologies.”
“Oof,” Christopher added as he ran into me and knocked me forward a step. “Sorry.”
“No matter, Master Christopher. Miss Darling.” Mrs. Mason looked from one to the other of us. “If this is about Detective Sergeant Gardiner’s accommodations, Master Crispin has already—”
“No,” Christopher said, and flushed, while I added, “I’m sure he has done. This is about something else.”
Mrs. Mason waited, eyebrows elevated, and so did everyone else. They were all excruciatingly polite, and made me feel more out of place for it.
Christopher cleared his throat, clearly as uncomfortable as I was. “We just wanted to ask the chambermaids whether any of the guests or family were in their rooms during the time between breakfast and luncheon.” He glanced around the table.
One of the younger women giggled and blushed when their eyes met, and Christopher looked horrified. Mrs. Mason fixed the poor girl—she couldn’t have been much over eighteen—with a basilisk-cold stare. “Do you have something to say, Mabel?”
Mabel did her best equivalent of a seated curtsey. “Just that Lord Geoffrey Marsden spent the time between breakfast and lunch in his room, Mrs. Mason.”
“Alone?”
Mabel flushed again. “Yes, Miss Darling. He…” She shot Mrs. Mason a look. “Well, he…”
“Flirted,” I said bluntly.
She nodded. “Yes, Miss Darling. He tried to tell me that I didn’t have to tidy the room, but that I could stay and keep him company.”
Mrs. Mason became, if possible, even more wooden. “You said no, Mabel. Did you not?”
Mabel looked terrified. “Yes, Mrs. Mason. His lordship told us about Lord Geoffrey’s trouble in Dorset, and he warned all of us to stay away from Lord Geoffrey.”
A couple of the other young women nodded.
Christopher cleared his throat. “So Geoffrey was in his room between breakfast and lunch. Anyone else?”
Mabel nodded. “Miss Constance. She was packing her bag because they—you—were supposed to leave for Beckwith Place. And your mother and father.”
“And Francis, I suppose,” I said. “Anyone else?”
But Mabel shook her head. “I don’t know about Master Francis, Miss Darling. I’m responsible for the rooms in the west wing.”
She glanced at one of the other maids, who cleared her throat. “I saw Master Francis. He was also packing to leave. I didn’t see anyone else on the upper floor.”
That left the older Marsdens as well as His Grace and Crispin unaccounted for, then, as well as Laetitia.
“What about the lower floor? Did anyone see anyone there between breakfast and luncheon?”
Sadie, the parlor maid, spoke up. “His Grace worked in the study this morning. Master Crispin took his fiancée to the hedge maze after breakfast.” She hesitated. “Or perhaps she took him.”
More likely that, I thought, although that might have been my biases. “How long did they stay there?”
“Long enough,” Sadie said with a saucy smirk that disappeared as soon as Mrs. Mason glanced her way. She added sullenly, “I don’t know, do I? I had work.”
“What about the Marsdens?”
“The Earl and Countess of Marsden,” Hugh the footman said, “stayed in the breakfast room when His Grace went to the study. After that, they were in the library for part of the morning. Or perhaps she was in the library while he was in the game room. She had a letter to write, she said.”
I exchanged a glance with Christopher. That was everyone accounted for, then, and for the most part, they didn’t have an alibi among them.
Uncle Harold had been alone in the study, and could have left without anyone noticing.
The earl and countess had been separated, and one of them could have left without the other noticing.
Geoffrey had been alone in his room, and no one would have noticed if he had made himself scarce for a while.
And as for Laetitia and Crispin, even they may not have been together the entire time.
They certainly hadn’t spent all of it outside in the hedge maze. Not in this weather.
“Thank you,” I said politely. “We’re sorry for keeping you from your tea.”
“Yes,” Christopher nodded. “You’ve been very helpful. As you were.”
He stepped backwards to the door and fumbled for the knob. We ducked through the door and out of sight.
Outside in the hallway we faced one another and breathed out.
“Awkward,” Christopher opined.
I nodded. “Couldn’t have picked a worse time for it, either. Just standing there watching as their tea got cold.”
“Oh, I’m certain we could have done.” He turned me around and nudged me down the hallway. “What did we learn?”
I started moving while I endeavored to parse the answer.
“Not much. You and I have an alibi, and we may be the only two people at Sutherland Hall who do. Mabel can’t have been in Geoffrey’s room for all that long.
The Marsdens were in separate rooms, according to Hugh.
Uncle Harold was in the study, and your parents and Francis and Constance came and went, it seemed. ”
He slanted a look my way. “Surely you don’t suspect my parents or my brother of killing Doctor Meadows?”
“Of course not,” I said irritably. “I’m just pointing out that it’s a good few hours between breakfast and luncheon.
You and I had time to walk to the village, talk to Doctor Meadows, walk back, and then pack our bags before going downstairs.
Any one of the others could have made it to the village and back, too, with no one seeing them. ”
“Geoffrey, his parents, and Uncle Harold, do you mean?”
“Or Laetitia, in the event that she and Crispin didn’t spend hours in the hedge maze, which I’m sure they didn’t. The weather is neither warm nor particularly pleasant, and staring at the spot where Grimsby breathed his last would lose its appeal rather quickly, I would think.”
“And if Uncle Harold was doing business in his study,” Christopher offered, “he might have called Crispin in to talk business.”
“Thus leaving Laetitia at loose ends.” I nodded. “She’s someone I could very well imagine framing me for murder.”
Christopher agreed. “We might just go out to the carriage house and the stables, and see whether anyone took one of the motorcars or horses out this morning.”
“As long as we go by the boot room. I don’t fancy getting my shoes dirty.”
He glanced down. “Of course, Pippa. Although I can go by myself, you know.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, as we headed for the boot room. “Just give me a chance to change my footwear and it’ll be fine. It won’t take but a moment.”
There were several pairs of Wellies lined up by the boot room door, and I unbuckled my strap shoes and looked around for a likely pair.
“These must be Uncle Harold’s,” Christopher said, nudging an oversized pair with the toe of his shoe. “Too big for you.”
I nodded. I’m not particularly dainty—a couple of inches taller than Constance, albeit shorter than Laetitia and her mother—but this particular pair would drag after me if I tried to walk in them.
“Aunt Charlotte’s,” Christopher added, and nodded to the pair on the other side. “Or perhaps one of the maids’. Certainly not Laetitia’s, and I doubt Constance brought Wellies to the party.”
“If she had done, they’d be in the Crossley by now.” But yes, this pair was dainty—as Crispin’s mother had been—and would likely pinch my toes. They were also neat and clean, quite unlike the other two pairs.
“I suppose you’ll have to wear Crispin’s boots,” Christopher said and kicked the pair in the middle. “They’ll be big on you, but not so big that you won’t manage.”
“Yes, thank you, Christopher. I’m sure I can do.”
He and Crispin were both of a size, and their clothes and shoes were, too. I knew exactly how big Christopher’s feet were, as it wouldn’t be the first time I had stuffed my own into a pair of his slippers for warmth.
The Wellies were all over dried mud, as they would be, had Crispin worn them to walk in the garden maze with Laetitia.
They fit well enough, however. Not so well that I didn’t have to concentrate on lifting my feet as we made our way across the courtyard, but also not so poorly that my feet slipped out of them.
They rubbed up and down on my heels with every step, but they stayed on.
“Are you certain you don’t want to stay in the house?” Christopher asked again as we made our way around the corner of the conservatory towards the stable and the old carriage house. He gave me a concerned look.
I shook my head. “It’ll take a minute longer to get there, but we have time. Supper won’t be for hours yet.”
“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. You’re not wearing much.”