Chapter 15 #2
“Blunt instrument to the head,” I said, and watched him wince. “I don’t know what kind. It wasn’t left at the scene.”
“The scene?”
“He’s on the floor just inside the door upstairs. It looked like he opened the door to someone, and that someone hit him in the temple with something. And then hit him again for good measure once he was down.”
“Ouch.”
“You can say that again.”
He opened his mouth, and I added, “Don’t. This isn’t the time for humor, St George.”
“Of course not.” He gave my face another look. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“As right as I’m likely to be,” I said, “after finding the footman dead.”
He looked concerned, and I added, “I’m fine. It just brings back memories.”
“Of course it does. Do you need to sit?” He looked around. “Why don’t we go inside, and—”
I shook my head. “Can’t. Tom sent me out here so I could tell the constables where to go when they arrive from the village.”
“I’ll do that. You go back inside and get warm. You’re shivering. Here.”
He pulled a flask from somewhere and handed it to me, after twisting off the top. “Only a sip or two. It’s strong stuff. But it’ll help.”
It did. I handed the flask back with a delicate cough as the heat from the alcohol curled through my stomach. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He capped the flask and tucked it away whence it had appeared. “Go on, Darling. I’ll stay here until the constables arrive, and then I’ll fetch Kit and bring him to you.”
I hesitated. It was tempting, I’ll admit. I was cold and wet, and I couldn’t stop seeing Alfie’s head in my mind. “Are you certain you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all. Off you go.” He waved me off, and then watched me slosh away. “Are those my Wellies you’ve got on?”
“I imagine they must be,” I said over my shoulder. “I found them in the boot room. I left my own shoes there, so I’ll put them back when I get inside.”
“No worries, Darling. You’re welcome to anything of mine that you want or need.”
It wasn’t the first time he had said something like that, although it was the first time he had sounded sincere about it. And of course I had to ruin it. “Don’t let Laetitia hear you say that.”
His face closed. “I won’t. Go on, now. Don’t dawdle.”
He flapped a hand in my direction, clearly desirous of having me take myself off as quickly as possible.
I wondered if I ought to apologize—the reminder had been like a cold bucket of water, probably for both of us—but in the end there was no point.
He was engaged, and reminding him of that fact wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know.
It was, in fact, telling him something he ought to have remembered before he started saying romantic things to me.
So I simply nodded, and walked away. When I flicked a glance over my shoulder, just before I turned the corner of the conservatory into the courtyard, he was still standing there, but facing the carriage house. He hadn’t cared enough to watch me walk away, it seemed.
Inside the boot room, I stepped out of Crispin’s Wellingtons and into my own shoes, and then thought about what I wanted to do next.
Christopher, Crispin, and Tom already knew what had happened.
So did Uncle Harold and the Earl and Countess of Marsden, according to Tom.
And Tidwell had been instructed to phone the constabulary, so Tidwell knew.
That surely meant that the rest of the staff was in the process of being told, as well.
Crispin had found out somehow, so Laetitia must already know, or if she didn’t, surely her mother would inform her.
That left Geoffrey—who would probably be told, as well, but I had no plans to inform him—and Francis and Constance.
They had been upstairs in Francis’s room when we left them earlier.
Assuming that such was still the case, I headed in that direction: along the rest of the west wing to the servants’ stairs, and up to the first floor.
And because I was still a bit chilled from standing outside—and I suppose from the murder—I stopped in my room to wrap a shawl around my shoulders before going back into the hallway to find my cousin and his fiancée.
And that was when the door to Laetitia’s room opened, and the future bride stepped out.
I stopped. So did she, and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” I said. “Or rather, I’m visiting. My room is just there.”
I pointed to it.
Her eyes narrowed further, to where they were just two pale blue slits. “Why aren’t you with your little cousin?”
My ‘little’ cousin?
“You mean Christopher?” That was rich, given that he was precisely as big as Crispin, and several months older. Laetitia had practically robbed the cradle when she got herself engaged to St George. She’s at least two years older than he is, if not more. “He’s outside, with Tom and Crispin.”
Her lips tightened.
“Crispin didn’t want me standing outside in the cold,” I added, sweetly, “so he volunteered to wait for the constables in my stead. He was standing outside the carriage house the last time I saw him.”
Unless the constables had arrived by now, and then Tom wouldn’t need Christopher or Crispin to stick around any longer.
Tom might not be allowed to stay, either.
Scotland Yard cannot simply invite itself into the middle of a local investigation.
They have to be invited in by the Chief Constable, and so far that hadn’t happened.
I doubted the Chief Constable knew that Tom was even here.
“I heard that the two of you spent some time in the garden maze this morning,” I added.
Laetitia squinted at me. “And what if we did do?”
“It must have been cold. How long did you stay outside?”
“Not long enough for it to be a problem,” Laetitia said with a smirk. “We kept one another warm.”
I smirked back. “He’s good at that, I hear.”
Her face turned stony, and I added, “Did you happen to see anyone else while you were out there?”
“In the garden maze? Of course not.”
“Somewhere else?”
“You and your cousin were on your way into the village,” Laetitia said with a toss of her head. The glossy black wing of her Dutch Boy haircut swung against her jaw. “Two of the grooms were saddling the horses. One of the footmen was talking to them.”
That sounded as if Alfie had been alive when Christopher and I walked to the village. Unless she was referring to Hugh, of course, although as far as I knew, he had had no reason to be outside by the stables.
I asked for a description, but Laetitia gave me an elegant shrug of a single shoulder. “How should I know? All I saw was the uniform.”
Of course. “What happened after you came inside?”
She blinked. “What do you mean? Nothing happened.”
“What did you do? Did you and Crispin go somewhere else together?”
“Oh.” She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. Had I been Crispin—or another bloke, any bloke—I might have thought it charming. As it was, I mostly wished I could slap the expression off her face. “No. His Grace had some business with Crispin, so I went upstairs to my room to freshen up.”
“Did you see or speak to anyone? Your brother? Your parents?”
But Laetitia said she hadn’t done, and furthermore, she objected to me interrogating her. “You’re not with the constabulary. You have no business asking me these questions.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I just wanted to know whether you had an alibi or not.”
“I don’t need an alibi! I didn’t go to the village. There was no time for that.”
“I’m not worried about the village,” I said. “I meant an alibi for the footman’s murder.”
“The—” She staggered a bit, so on the face of it, at least, this was news.
But of course you can’t always tell when someone’s pretending, and her reaction didn’t make me take her off the suspect list. Not that I had any reason to put her on the suspect list in the first place—she had no motive that I knew of; certainly not if she couldn’t tell Hugh and Alfie apart—but as far as I was concerned, everyone in the house was on the suspect list until I knew that they couldn’t have done it.
“Someone killed the footman?”
I nodded. “Bashed him over the head with the proverbial blunt instrument.”
“The same footman that I saw?”
“I assume it was the same footman.” How would I know, when she couldn’t describe him beyond the gray uniform? “Were they arguing when you saw them? Did either of the grooms look like he wanted to commit murder?”
“Of course not,” Laetitia said with another toss of her head. “It was a perfectly civil conversation.”
“Good for them. And when you came inside, Crispin went somewhere with his father, did you say?”
“To the study, I assumed.”
“And you went upstairs. By yourself.”
She nodded.
“That’s a shame,” I said.
She blinked. “Why?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? If Alfie was alive when you saw him, then he was killed after you went inside. And if you were alone in your room from then until luncheon, you have no alibi.”
She stared at me. I smiled sweetly. I had no reason to think she was involved, of course. I simply wanted to rattle her. But it seemed as good a place as any to end the conversation, so I gave her a nod and left her standing there in the hallway.
Francis’s room was empty when I reached it, so he and Constance must have gone back downstairs. I knocked, and then opened the door.
The east wing of Sutherland Hall faces the formal gardens, as well as the stable and carriage house. I made my way over to the window and peered out.
I only wanted to see whether the constables had arrived yet, or whether Crispin was still standing in front of the carriage house, shivering and flapping his arms like a chicken.
Instead, what I saw was him and Christopher on their way back to the Hall, just a glimpse of two fair heads, platinum and gilt, before they ducked around the corner of the conservatory.
They had their heads together and their mouths were flapping.
Christopher’s hands were flying, as well. He likes to express himself physically.
There was nothing else to see, the carriage house sat silent, so I pushed off from the window and hurried into the hallway and up to the central wing and the main staircase.
I was halfway down the stairs to the foyer when the two of them stepped through the front door.
“Thank you, Tidwell,” Crispin said, and looked up. “Darling.”
“St George. Christopher.” I finished my descent and handed Christopher the jacket he had lent me earlier.
He shrugged it on. “Thank you, Pippa.”
“Your Wellies are back in the boot room,” I informed Crispin. “Your fiancée is upstairs, or was, the last time I saw her.”
He glanced at the stairs, but made no move to ascend.
“I assume the constables arrived,” I added, “and that’s why you’re here?”
Christopher nodded, smoothing down his lapels and situating the jacket across his shoulders. “Tom came down to say that they had requested his help, since he’s here. So he stayed.”
I nodded. “What now?”
“Upstairs,” Christopher said, “if you don’t mind.”
He tucked his hand through my arm and pulled me towards the staircase. “We shall see you for supper, Crispin.”
Crispin blinked. “Certainly, Kit.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder as Christopher pulled me towards the stairs, and the look he gave me was as confused as the feeling that permeated my own being.