Chapter 17 #3
Crispin looked from him to me and back. “Am I right in thinking that the two of you have concocted another fantasy in which I’m guilty of murder?”
I raised my hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t believe it.”
That single eyebrow rose. “Not even for the past few minutes, when you’ve been sitting here wondering whether I strangled Kit with a belt before you came in?”
“Perhaps then,” I admitted. “You have to admit you were acting sinister on purpose.”
He sniggered. “Perhaps just a bit.”
He turned to his cousin. “What’s going on in your head, Kit? Who am I supposed to have murdered this time?”
When Christopher didn’t answer—because he was sipping on his brandy, probably for the express purpose of avoiding having to answer—I said, “Everyone from your grandfather and your mother to Doctor Meadows and Alfie.”
His eyes widened. “My mother wasn’t murdered!”
“But all the others were.”
“Not by me!” Crispin said. “Why would I murder Alfie, for God’s sake? Or Doctor Meadows? The man’s never been anything but nice to me.”
“He was there when you were born,” I pointed out, and he looked at me in silence for a moment. I could almost see the thoughts clicking through his head, adding up, one on top of the other, and as usual—he’s always been smart—it didn’t take long for him to arrive at a conclusion.
“I see what this is about. How long have you known?”
“I only found out about an hour ago,” I said, while Christopher confessed, “I listened outside Father’s study window that weekend in July when the story about Wilkins came out.”
Crispin nodded. “I thought you looked at me rather queerly when Philippa and I turned up.”
“You mean—” I looked from one to the other of them. “The two of you haven’t discussed this?”
Neither of them said anything, and I turned to Christopher. “You discovered that your cousin was your brother four months ago, and the two of you didn’t talk about it? Then, or since then?”
“There was nothing to discuss,” Christopher defended himself. Which was rich, if you asked me, and also entirely false. There was quite a lot to discuss, in my opinion.
Crispin must have agreed, because he snorted. “If I had known what you overheard, I would have brought it up, Kit. Don’t you think it’s something we ought to talk about?”
“No,” Christopher said. “The walls have ears, and you never know who might be listening. Besides, you left a few hours later, and it’s not as if there weren’t plenty of other things to figure out at that point.”
That was true. Wilkins had been dead, and there had been the question of what to do with little Bess, not to mention Crispin’s obsession with talking his father into buying the Rolls Royce Phantom. But—
“It was four months ago,” I pointed out again. “It’s not as if you haven’t spoken since.”
“But that was about other things. And there was always something else that took precedence. First you met Wolfgang, and then Crispin proposed to Laetitia, and I wasn’t about to bring it up during the engagement party at Marsden Manor—”
No, certainly not.
“And then you got yourself engaged to the bastard—” Crispin supplied, and I turned to him.
“It wasn’t a real engagement. And he wasn’t a bastard then.”
“He was always a bastard,” Crispin said. “You just hadn’t realized it yet.”
Christopher gave him an approving nod. “Quite right. And he tried to kill you—” This was me again, “—and kidnapped me, and then he kidnapped you, too. When was I supposed to have a heart to heart with Crispin about anything else?”
“Between those happenings?” I suggested, and Christopher threw his hands up. Literally. Brandy splashed everywhere.
“Bloody hell.” He eyed the spots on his trousers ruefully. “Fine, Pippa. It wasn’t something I wanted to discuss, all right. That sort of thing is much better kept under wraps. Once you say it out loud—”
“It becomes real,” Crispin finished. “And I don’t think anyone wants that.”
Christopher shook his head. “I certainly don’t. I have no designs on the title. I’d have to get married and produce an heir if I were Duke of Sutherland. And I know what you said, Pippa, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have no desire to wed you and bed you just to keep up the succession.”
Crispin eyed me over his glass. “Is that a possibility?”
“No,” Christopher said, at the same time as I qualified, “Not a very likely one, I suppose. If we’re both unmarried at thirty, we said we’d consider it. But—”
“Pippa isn’t likely to last to thirty,” Christopher said. “Or at least I thought not, until a few months ago.”
A few months ago, that statement might have confused me. As it was, I knew that he was referring to Crispin’s engagement to Laetitia. And so did Crispin. His cheeks colored.
“You wouldn’t be first in line anyway,” I told Christopher. “Francis is first after your father. And you know that he and Constance will have children.”
“You never know who can or cannot have children,” Christopher said, and I watched Crispin wince at the reminder. Christopher winced, too, once he realized what he had said. A beat of silence followed. Then we all took a collective breath.
“With that out of the way,” Crispin said, “what were you trying to prove, skulking around in my dressing room, Kit?”
Christopher muttered something.
“He was being daft,” I said, so Christopher wouldn’t have to.
“Here’s the thing, St George. On paper, what we just discussed serves as motive for every one of these murders.
Grimsby figured it out and told your grandfather, who called your mother on the carpet.
Lydia Morrison left your mother’s employ when you were a few months old, presumably because she knew the truth.
Margaret Hughes was her replacement, and she figured it out, most likely from Grimsby but perhaps from Morrison or your mother.
Doctor Meadows delivered you, so he might have known.
He did know that you were born ‘prematurely—'” I used my fingers to make quotes around the word, “—which would indicate that the delivery date didn’t line up with your father’s… with Uncle Harold’s expectations.”
“And you thought I killed them all?”
“No,” I said, with a glance at Christopher. “I know you wouldn’t do that.”
“You thought I’d killed Grandfather and Grimsby in April.”
“That was before I got to know you better,” I said.
He muttered something non-committal, and I added, “Come now, St George. You rescued me from a fate worse than death a month ago. You can’t tell me we aren’t friends.”
“She’s got you there, old man,” Christopher opined, and Crispin scowled for a moment before acquiescing.
“Very well. We’re friendly, and you didn’t believe me guilty of murder.”
“Not this time,” I said. “But you have to admit it’s all a bit suspicious.
First your mother kills her father-in-law and his valet, and then herself.
Then her former lady’s maid goes missing.
Her current lady’s maid is murdered. Then her former lady’s maid is murdered.
Then her doctor is murdered. Then the footman, or perhaps I should say chauffeur, is murdered—”
“Someone left that night,” Christopher interrupted. “The night before we motored to Upper Slaughter. I heard a motorcar.”
Crispin shook his head. “It wasn’t me. I went to bed after we spoke, and I didn’t wake up until morning. I only woke then because I had set an alarm.”
“You did seem rather sleepy at the end of our talk,” Christopher confirmed. “Unusually so, I’d say. I don’t suppose you ate or drank anything that might have put you to sleep?”
Crispin sneered. “I assure you that I can hold my liquor, Kit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not like that, you nitwit. He’s wondering whether someone doped you.”
“Not that I can noticed. But I suppose it’s possible. You and I didn’t have anything to drink while we were talking. Before that, it’s anyone’s guess.”
“I assure you I didn’t go out of my way to dope you,” I said dryly. “I wouldn’t have minded if you’d come along with us. Nor would Francis or Constance.”
“The obvious suspect,” Christopher said, “is your fiancée. You wouldn’t hesitate to accept a drink from her, and she had incentive to…” He floundered for a moment before settling on, “…to keep you home.”
“Aside from that,” I added, “Laetitia also has the most to lose if the truth comes out. Apart from you, of course, Crispin. But you said you didn’t motor up to the Cotswolds and kill Morrison, and someone did.”
“And you think it was Laetitia?”
I opened my mouth, but Christopher got there first. “That would depend on what she knows—”
Crispin turned to him. “I certainly haven’t told her!”
“I didn’t think you had done,” I told him calmly. “It isn’t news we want to get out, is it? But she may have found out the same way Christopher did.”
Perhaps even by listening to the very same conversation. The Marsdens had been there at Beckwith Place that weekend, and Crispin had been with me, so there was no telling where Laetitia had been. She might well have been outside the door to the study with her ears peeled.
“That’s a bit disingenuous of you, Darling,” Crispin commented. “It’s not as if you are above dropping at eaves yourself.”
No, I wasn’t. “Nor are you.”
He smirked. “We’re both as bad as the other, then. But that doesn’t mean that Laetitia is in the habit of pressing her dainty ears to keyholes.”
I sniffed. “I’m afraid I hadn’t noticed her ears. Although I don’t suppose they’ll remain dainty for long, considering the weight of the diamonds you gave her.”
“Dear me,” Crispin said, “is that jealousy I hear, Darling?”
“You wish. Not only would I not have the Sutherland diamonds as a gift, I’m sure she’ll end up with holes the size of grapes in her earlobes. Overly ostentatious, heavy things, they are.”
“Be that as it may,” Christopher said, “other than Crispin himself, she has the most to lose if word gets out that he’s not the heir to the Sutherland title.
How are her skills behind the wheel, Crispin?
Could she have made it to the Cotswolds and back while we were sleeping, if she made certain to dope you to make sure you wouldn’t go looking for her? ”
“I wouldn’t go looking for her anyway. I’m not going to misbehave in my ancestral home with her brother next door and Philippa across the hall.”
He flicked a glance at me, and seemed to realize what he’d said, because he flushed. “How long of a drive did you say that it is?”
Christopher told him how long it had taken Francis to motor from Sutherland Hall to Upper Slaughter the next day, and Crispin nodded.
“Anyone could make that drive overnight. And any of the motorcars in the garage—or at least the Phantom or the H6, or the Marsdens’ Daimler—could have made the trip easily. ”
“She said you were called into the study by your father, St George, after the interlude in the maze this morning. Is that correct?”
He nodded. “The interlude, as you call it, was a cigarette. The weather wasn’t conducive for necking in the outdoors. But yes, Father had some paperwork for me to look over regarding the situation.”
“Which situation?”
“The engagement,” Crispin said. “The marriage. The dowry.” He flapped a hand.
“Your bride-to-be wasn’t invited to look at it?”
“That would defeat the purpose,” Crispin said. “No, she pushed off, and so did Father after handing me the stack and telling me to go through it.”
“And how long would you say you were in the study? Long enough for your fiancée to make it to the village, kill Doctor Meadows, and come back?”
“It’s not a far distance,” Crispin said. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
There was a moment of silence. “Do you believe she might have done?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment. “It seems that someone did do, doesn’t it? And there are only so many of us who have motive. Or opportunity.”
“It wasn’t us,” I said, with a glance at Christopher. “Not that Christopher wouldn’t kill for you, and not that I wouldn’t help him get rid of the body if he did kill someone—”
They exchanged a glance and smirked.
“But we wouldn’t kill someone over this.” Preserving Crispin’s place in the succession wasn’t important enough to me to kill someone over, especially if the news getting out would get Laetitia off his back.
“I was stuck in the study with the paperwork,” he said. “Not that I can prove that.”
“I’m sure Uncle Harold would swear that he left you there with a task and a stack of paper,” Christopher told him, “if it came to that.”
Crispin nodded. “No doubt. We should have a talk, Kit. Long overdue though it is.”
Christopher agreed. “Will you excuse us, Pippa?”
“Of course.” I pushed to my feet. “I’ll go get ready for supper. I’ll see you both downstairs later.”
They both nodded. Neither made a move to get up. I walked to the door and let myself out.