Chapter 18 #2
“I’m not in charge of the case,” Tom said eventually, “so it doesn’t matter what I think. But I can tell you that Constable Daniels hasn’t sent anyone to Beckwith to bring them back here. Or hadn’t, as of this afternoon.”
“Has he spoken to them?” Christopher wanted to know. The tension in his body was evident in his voice too, now.
“He said he had done,” Tom confirmed. “Your parents said they hadn’t seen either of you after you left Sutherland Hall, and they didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary while they motored through the village.”
He didn’t add, “but of course that’s what they would say.” I heard it, nonetheless. And so must Christopher have done, because he asked again, “Do you suspect my parents of murder, Tom?”
“No, Kit,” Tom said. “Of course not.”
“You suspected my father enough that you stopped by Beckwith Place after Hughes was killed.”
“That was for their protection,” Tom said steadily. “Not because I thought either of them was guilty.”
“And he did have an alibi,” I said. “Didn’t he? You said that he did do.”
Tom nodded. “He had been with Lady Roslyn all day. And with Francis and Constance that night.”
“My parents aren’t murderers,” Francis said stiffly.
“I agree,” Christopher said, and I nodded.
“Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert had no reason to want Doctor Meadows dead. They certainly had no reason to kill Alfie. Doctor Meadows was still alive when Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert left Sutherland Hall.”
That might not have been the reason Alfie was killed, of course. The footman-cum-chauffeur might be dead now because he knew something about the night Morrison died. Such as who had been behind the wheel of that motorcar Christopher said he had heard leave, for instance.
But we had tried to make it sound like there was no connection between Morrison’s murder and what had happened here, and now we were stuck with it.
I got to my feet. “I think it’s time I turned in. It’s been a long day, and this might be the last night in a while I get to sleep in my own bed, if Constable Daniels decides to arrest me tomorrow.”
Laetitia’s eyes glinted in delight. Everyone else—save for Tom and Crispin—assured me that he wouldn’t do.
I was fairly certain that Crispin didn’t join in because his fiancée wouldn’t like it, but the fact that Tom didn’t protest did, I must admit, fill me with a measure of worry.
If Tom thought I might be arrested, there seemed a real chance that it might happen.
And Christopher seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he pushed to his feet, too, protectively. “I’ll walk you up, Pippa.”
“He’s not going to haul me off between here and my room, Christopher,” I told him.
He directed a narrow look at Tom across the table. “Perhaps not. But I’d rather not give him the opportunity.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “I have no authority to arrest anyone, Kit. I’m here as a guest.”
“And if he wanted to arrest me,” I added, “neither your presence, nor the fact that I was in my room, would make any difference.”
Tom shook his head. “But I solemnly swear that I won’t break your door down overnight to take you off to prison.”
“I appreciate that. You’ll forgive me if I lock myself in in spite of your assurances.”
Unless I missed my guess, and it truly had been one of the villagers who had murdered Alfie and Doctor Meadows—and Morrison and Hughes, and perhaps Duke Henry and Grimsby—there was a murderer on the loose in Sutherland Hall, and I’d feel better with a locked door between myself and whoever it was.
“You do that,” Tom said. “In fact—” He glanced around the circle of faces, “—you should all do that. Lock your doors, don’t wander the halls overnight, and if it seems like a good idea, spend the night with someone else.”
Laetitia turned doe eyes on Crispin. He flushed.
I scoffed. “I’m certain a locked door will be sufficient. Along with, perhaps, a cricket bat.”
“I’m afraid I would have to visit the carriage house for that,” Crispin said, “and I assume that’s off limits, Gardiner?”
Tom nodded. “Just for the time being, you know. If you need a motorcar tomorrow, I’m sure that can be arranged. As long as you’d be allowed to leave, of course.”
Crispin’s eyebrow rose. “Is there a particular reason I might not be allowed to leave?”
“None that I know of,” Tom said, which didn’t really answer the question. And Crispin must have realized it, although he didn’t pursue the subject any further. He did catch my eye for just a second, though.
“On that note,” I told Christopher, “let’s go, if you’re seeing me up.”
“We’ll all go,” Francis said, and got to his feet. “Up you come, Connie.”
He extended a hand to his fiancée, who allowed herself to be assisted to her feet. Crispin offered his elbow to Laetitia, who latched on with a clear look of ownership, and we headed for the door, with Tom bringing up the rear.
The Marsdens and Uncle Harold called it a night at the same time—it was hard to say whether it was because of our discussion, or whether they had simply finished their game at the same time we were leaving—but the three older adults headed up the main staircase while Geoffrey attached himself to our party as we made our way down through the west wing.
Behind me, I could hear Geoffrey making inquiries of Tom as to what was going on, and Tom repeating the advice about keeping the bedchamber door locked overnight due to the recent murder on the premises.
Geoffrey blanched, I saw, when I glanced over my shoulder as we entered the staircase.
The servants’ stairs are narrow, so we had to proceed up two by two. Christopher and I went first, followed by Francis and Constance, then Crispin and Laetitia, and finally the two unattached gentlemen.
Had there been any justice in the world, of course Tom would have been escorting Christopher—I’m certain Christopher would have liked that—but that would have left me prey to Geoffrey, so it was just as well that he didn’t.
Besides, I was equally sure that once we got upstairs, Christopher would deposit me in my room, wait for the door to close, and then Tom would find an excuse for walking my two cousins and Crispin to the other wing.
And right on schedule—
“I’ll see the three of you to the other side of the Hall,” Tom told Christopher—and by extension, Francis and Crispin—as the three of them saw their various charges to their various bedroom doors.
Geoffrey hesitated in his for a moment, but ended up going inside without a word to anyone.
He hadn’t even looked at me. We heard the key turn in the lock and then the scrape as it was removed to, I presumed, a safer spot on the bedside table.
Tom nodded approvingly. “Make certain you all do that.”
I fully intended to. I also planned to wedge a chair under the handle, to ensure that no one could break the door down and come in. Or not without making a lot of noise, at any rate.
But first— “We’ll have to visit the facilities before bed, you know.”
“We can wait,” Christopher offered dutifully.
I shook my head. “Don’t be silly, Christopher. If anyone accosts me in the next five minutes, I’ll scream loudly enough that you’ll hear me, even on the other side of the Hall.”
He looked doubtful, and I added, “Besides, whoever is doing this seems to have set me up as scapegoat, haven’t they? They aren’t likely to kill me.”
Unless my death was set up as a suicide, of course, wherein I ostensibly killed myself and left a convenient note taking the blame for it all, the way Aunt Charlotte had done.
Or not done, as the case may be.
“I have no plans of committing suicide,” I announced, preemptively. “If I’m discovered dead in the morning, with a note taking responsibility for all the murders, know that I didn’t do it.”
Christopher snorted. “As if I would ever believe something like that.”
“Nor would I,” Francis added, and Constance nodded.
“We’ll avenge you, Pippa.”
“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” I said, “but thank you.”
“Would you like me to fetch you something from the gunroom?” Crispin wanted to know, solicitously, and I rolled my eyes.
“No, St George. I’m not worried.”
Christopher nodded. “Very well, then. Good night, Pippa. See that you survive until morning.”
I promised I would do, and then I watched the four men wander down the hall toward the central wing.
“If you’d like to use the loo first,” I told Constance, “I’ll stand guard.”
She nodded. “I’ll just fetch my sponge bag.”
She disappeared into her room. I did the same.