Chapter 20 #2
The Hispano-Suiza or the Rolls Royce, then. I bent to peer under the Phantom. The ground was pristine, of course. The Phantom was practically brand new, only in the possession of His Grace since August, and hardly used since then. There was no reason to think it would have developed a leak so soon.
It was with a feeling of inevitability that I directed the light from the broken torch under the rear of the Hispano-Suiza. I wasn’t even surprised when I saw the light reflected in the sticky black puddle that was slowly sinking into the dirt floor.
The second shock of the night—or perhaps it was the third or even fourth by now—was when I opened the garage door to the outside and found myself face to face with another tall, dark silhouette.
Or it might have been the same one, for all I knew.
I stumbled back, and then squealed when the figure shot out a hand and grabbed my arm to keep me upright.
It was the bad arm, of course. I let out a very unladylike expletive, and Crispin sighed. “I knew that was you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I wanted to know, offended, as I cradled the arm against my chest again.
“Who else would be sneaking about the crime scene in the middle of the night?” He glanced beyond me into the darkness of the carriage house before turning his attention back to me. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Someone threw something at it,” I said.
His eyebrow twitched. “What, pray tell? Or should that be whom?”
“It should be who, but the answer is that it was a bicycle pump. I suppose the wrench wasn’t available anymore.”
He sighed. “You’re not making any sense, Darling. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said.
“I heard the door slam,” Crispin said, with a glance at it. “If you’re sneaking around, Darling, you should be more circumspect. I’m surprised the entire house didn’t hear you.”
“It wasn’t me slamming the door, you git. It was whoever hit me with the bicycle pump.”
“Whomever,” Crispin corrected, not without a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. “You want me to believe that you heard the door—from the other side of the house, no less—and you decided to come out and see what was going on?”
“Fine,” Crispin said. “I was in my sitting room earlier, having a night cap and thinking about things, and I saw you come out of the boot room and tiptoe across the courtyard. I didn’t get down here until now because, unlike you, I decided to get dressed before I ventured out.”
He gave my pyjamas and dressing gown a halfhearted sneer.
I returned the favor. He had taken the time to dress head to toe in tweed, with plus-fours, socks and shoes, shirt and waistcoat, and even a tie. The only thing missing was the hat, and he probably regretted leaving it off, as the mizzle beaded on his hair. Mine was turning curlier by the second.
“Are you certain you weren’t on your way somewhere?” I inquired suspiciously. “That’s a lot of clothes to put on just to follow me to the garage.”
“I’m positive, Darling. I could have put the evening kit back on, I suppose—it was handy—but it didn’t seem like quite the thing for the occasion.”
No, for him to traipse down here in full black tie would have been even stranger than this.
“I suppose Laetitia would have had something to say about it, had you come to my rescue in your jim-jams,” I said maliciously.
His voice didn’t change. “Let’s keep Laetitia out of this, if you don’t mind. You still haven’t told me what possessed you to leave your room and venture out to the carriage house in the middle of the night. Secret assignation?”
I snorted. “Hardly. There’s no one here for me to assign with. And it’s not the place I would choose, is it?”
“So why—?”
“I wanted to see whether any of the motorcars leaked,” I said. “You were there when Tom talked about the oil slick behind the infirmary. I thought, if one of the cars here was leaking, at least it would exonerate Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert.”
He nodded. “And what did you discover?”
“Someone else doing the same thing. Or doing something else. I have no idea. I stepped inside and turned on my torch, and he—or she—threw the bicycle pump at me. And then he threw a blanket on top of me before he ran away.”
Crispin’s lips twitched.
“It’s not funny,” I said defensively. “I think my arm is broken.”
It wasn’t, of course. I would likely have a nasty bruise tomorrow, but I felt none of the greasy nausea that I associated with broken bones, so I was likely good in that respect.
But of course Crispin didn’t know that, so he gave it a concerned look. “Would you like me to help you splint it? There’s no doctor in the village anymore, that I can take you to see.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll let Francis take a look tomorrow. Or Tom. Someone with some experience. Perhaps it’s only bruised.”
“And who was it who threw the pump at you?”
“No idea,” I said cheerfully. “He knocked the torch out of my hand first, so I couldn’t see much, and then he threw the blanket on top of me so I could see even less. Clearly he knew I would recognize him, if I got a good look.”
Crispin hummed, and I added, “It could have been you, for all I know. Your story is highly suspicious, you know. It’s very late, and I was quiet leaving the house. You oughtn’t to have noticed me come outside.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Darling.”
“The truth would be nice.”
“That is the truth.”
Fine. “Did you see anyone when you came in this direction, then? Whoever it was ran out of here just a minute or two before you showed up? You must have seen him.”
To be honest, I didn’t know whether that was true or not. If Crispin had gone out through the front door, or the boot room door, the person who had been here, might have had time to cross the lawn and the terrasse before Crispin came around the corner.
“I’m afraid I didn’t,” Crispin said, and I couldn’t tell whether he was telling the truth or not. He might have seen someone, or he might not. He might have been here himself, maiming me, or he might not. “Just out of curiosity, does one of the motorcars leak?”
“Funny you should ask. Yours does.”
He got a strange look on his face. “Mine?”
“The Hispano-Suiza. Feel free to take a look.”
I handed him the broken torch. He hesitated a second before he took it. “Wait here.”
I had no intention of going anywhere, and told him so.
He ducked inside the carriage house and left me standing outside the door.
I put my back against the wall and peered up at the Hall while I waited.
It was still silent and dark. Whoever had been out here, clearly hadn’t been stupid enough to turn on any lights when he or she got back inside.
Or had it been Crispin?
I didn’t like to think so, obviously. But the fact that he had shown up here, fully dressed, a few minutes after my attacker had absconded, was suggestive, to say the least. He might have wanted to check out the oil slick situation for himself, and I had caught him at it.
And now he was inside the garage, looking at something he had already looked at, so I wouldn’t think he’d already been inside.
Although there had been no need for all that.
When I introduced myself earlier, he could have simply stood up and told me what he was doing—the same thing I was—and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.
Why maim me and run away to avoid being recognized, only to come back as himself five minutes later?
Or perhaps he really had been drinking alone in his room when I came out through the boot room door, and he had decided to follow me. We all had a lot on our minds lately, and Crispin had more than most.
If he had done, and had decided to follow me, he ought to have seen my attacker, however.
And if he had done, but wouldn’t admit it, perhaps it was someone he wanted to protect, like Laetitia. Her room had been silent earlier, so it was at least possible that she was the one out of bed.
There were all the other Astleys, too, but I wasn’t any more likely than Crispin was to want to get Christopher or Francis in trouble, and as for the Marsdens, it was nigh on impossible to imagine either Lady Euphemia or Lord Maury creeping out of bed and down the drive under cover of darkness. Why would they?
Beside me, the door squealed again, and broke my train of thought. Crispin came through, his face grim.
“Well?” I said when he didn’t speak.
He nodded. “You’re right. My motorcar has a leak.”
Yes, indeed. “I assume you didn’t motor to the village this morning and kill Doctor Meadows?”
He looked at me, seemingly searching my face for something. Whatever it was, it mustn’t have been there, because he shook his head. “I was with Laetitia in the maze, and then I was in my father’s study.”
“But someone else could have taken the H6 out.”
“Anyone who wanted to. The keys are in the car.”
Yes, of course they were. When I didn’t answer, he glanced up at the Hall. “Are you ready to go back inside? There’s nothing more to be discovered here, I think.”
No, likely not. I started up the driveway with him beside me.
Part of me wondered, distantly, whether I ought to be worried.
I had made a good case for why Crispin was the murderer.
And here we were, alone together, after I had made it obvious that I was investigating.
If he had already killed multiple people, it would be nothing to kill me too, or so I assumed.
Although if it had been him in the garage earlier, it would have made more sense to do it then, in the dark, before I knew who he was. When he wouldn’t have had to look me in the eye as he wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed.
I shivered, and he cast me a look. “Cold?”
“A bit, but that particular reaction was something else.”
He didn’t ask what—perhaps he guessed—but he offered, “Would you like my jacket?”
“I’m all right, thank you. We’ll be inside in a minute.”
After a few steps, I added, “Out of curiosity, which way did you leave the house earlier? Surely not the boot room door.”