Chapter 20 #3
He shook his head. “Down the servants’ stairs and out through the conservatory.”
“Was the conservatory door locked when you got there?”
“As tight as a tick,” Crispin said, which made sense. If my attacker—assuming he was someone other than Crispin—had come and gone through the conservatory, Crispin would have seen him for certain.
I slanted him a look. “I’m fairly certain that I’ve figured out what this is about, you know.”
He slanted one back. “I imagine you have done, Darling. You and Kit both. We talked about it earlier, in fact.”
We had done, and if he didn’t want me to bring it up again, he gave no sign of it.
“There are only so many of us here this week who could have made that trip to the Cotswolds and back overnight,” I said apologetically. “Francis and Christopher have no motive, nor does Uncle Herbert, and I can assure you that I don’t care one way or the other who the next Duke of Sutherland is.”
“I’m sure you don’t, Darling.”
“But even if I don’t, there are people who do. Or would do, if they knew the truth.”
He nodded. “Go on, then.”
“Well, there’s the Earl and Countess of Marsden, for one. They would quite like their daughter to become Duchess of Sutherland, I imagine.”
“I imagine so,” Crispin agreed. “Although I don’t see Maury or Euphemia motoring around smothering people or bashing them with wrenches, somehow.”
I didn’t, either. “Geoffrey missed the gallows by a hair, so he isn’t likely to risk his freedom again so soon. His sister, on the other hand…”
A corner of his mouth turned up. “Yes, Darling. Tell me about Laetitia.”
“She’s a horrible cow and you oughtn’t to have proposed to her,” I said bluntly. “I take full responsibility for telling you to do so.”
“Thank you, Darling.”
“Unfortunately, that’s water under the bridge, or at least it is unless we want to commit a murder of our own.”
I waited, but he didn’t tell me to go ahead and plot Laetitia’s demise.
In the absence of that, I continued. “Now that the title is within reach, I wouldn’t put it past your fiancée to kill untold masses of people to hang on to you.
She likes you well enough on your own, but the title and fortune would tip the scales, I imagine.
She would also frame me for murder without any compunctions whatsoever.
Nothing would make her happier than to get me out of the way. ”
In fact, I was probably next on her list, if getting me arrested didn’t work.
Crispin made a noise, but it was hard to say whether it was laughter or something else. I glanced at him, but he merely cleared his throat and gestured for me to go on.
“She could have made the drive to Upper Slaughter,” I said.
“She was there when Hughes left for Bristol in July, so she knew where to find her, and she had time to go to the village while you were dealing with Uncle Harold’s paperwork this morning.
And I don’t think she would have hesitated to borrow your motorcar. ”
“No,” Crispin confirmed. “She has used it before. But you don’t know her the way I do, Darling.”
I made a face. “Certainly not.”
“You know what I mean. She really isn’t so bad when you get to know her.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Are you telling me that you don’t think her capable of murder?”
He hesitated. “I think we’re all capable of murder in the right circumstances. Or the wrong ones. When the stakes are high enough that murder seems the easiest way out.”
“Well, that’s the case for Laetitia. And then, of course, there’s you.”
He nodded. “Yes, I’m well aware of what you think of me.”
“I’m not sure you do,” I said, “but you can’t deny that you had motive.”
He shook his head. “Not at all, Darling. I also had means and opportunity. It’s my motorcar that’s leaking.
I could have motored to the Cotswolds and back overnight, more easily than most of the rest of you.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone without sleep.
I could have told you and Kit that I was doped to throw suspicion off myself.
I could have shut myself in the study yesterday, and then sneaked out through the boot room door.
When Alfie saw me come back from the village with the bloody wrench, I could have killed him, too.
I had the opportunity to do all of it, and a better motive than most.”
Yes, indeed. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone,” I said, as we reached the door to the conservatory and he opened it for me and bowed me through. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He shut the door behind us, and locked it, and we headed in.
“I don’t care about most of these people,” I continued. “Grimsby was a blackmailer, and so was Hughes. Morrison was unkind to Constance, and anyone who’s unkind to Constance can’t possibly be a nice person.”
His lips twitched, and I added, “Doctor Meadows seemed like a decent chap, and it’s awful about Alfie. But it’s in Constable Daniels’s hands, and not mine. I’m going to leave well enough alone and not get involved.”
Crispin nodded. “I’m sure that’s the safest thing you can do.”
We reached the door at the other end of the conservatory, and he opened it and waited for me to step through. Outside in the hallway, I lingered. “I should make certain that the boot room door is locked. We don’t want anyone who doesn’t belong to be able to get in.”
“I’ll walk you,” Crispin said.
“That’s not necessary. I made it down here on my own earlier.” And I had assumed that he’d want to take the quickest route up to his own rooms.
“It seems the least I can do,” Crispin said, “with your arm out of commission. What would you do if anyone attacked you between here and there?”
“Scream loudly,” I told him, since there wasn’t much else I could do.
“Better just to let me accompany you.” He eyed the arm dubiously as we set off. “Are you certain you don’t want anything for that? Laudanum? Or perhaps a sling?”
“It’s already better,” I told him, even as I still held it cradled against my body. “If it’s not well again by tomorrow, I’ll wrap a scarf around it and ask Francis to take a look.”
We headed down the east wing, past the game room, library, and drawing room, and into the central and west wing, where Crispin locked the door between the boot room and the outside while I watched.
“Are you certain about not wanting a gun?” he inquired when we were walking again, past the gun room this time.
I shook my head. “I’ll lock myself in when we get upstairs. I’m not worried.”
“As you wish.”
He put a hand against my back and nudged me forward. I stepped into the servants’ staircase and started climbing.
Throughout the whole experience, from when he had first turned up outside the carriage house until now, I had been aware of the fact that he might have murdered several people. He knew that I suspected him, and I knew that he might choose to murder me too.
It didn’t feel as if that was his plan, honestly—why would he offer to fetch me a gun if he planned to try to kill me?—but I knew it theoretically, at least.
What I hadn’t thought about at all was the fact that he was supposed to be in love with me. That lasted until we came out in the west wing hallway, just down from the door to Laetitia’s bedchamber (as well as my own), and he stopped to look at me.
“Here we are.”
Here we were, standing outside my door, quite like a girl and the suitor who had escorted her home at the end of a normal evening out.
I swallowed. “Thank you for seeing me to my door, St George.”
He smirked. “Any time, Darling. Do I get the usual reward for my trouble?”
The usual reward being… a kiss?
“I don’t think your fiancée would approve of that,” I said, even as I felt my cheeks heat.
The smirk widened. “I’m quite certain that she wouldn’t. But what Laetitia doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
I supposed not. But even so— “Do you plan to proposition other girls after you’re married, as well, St George?”
He grinned. “No, Darling. This is my last hurrah before donning the old ball and chain. I figure I’d better make the most of it.”
“Well, you’ll have to make the most of it without me,” I told him. “Although I do appreciate the effort, St George.”
“Any time, Darling. Sweet dreams.”
I gave him my thanks, and then I unlocked my door before hesitating on the threshold. He was still standing there, waiting for me to duck inside, and he was right: what Laetitia didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
So I turned back, and slung an arm around his neck, and went up on my tiptoes, and brushed my lips across his cheek before I whispered in his ear. “Good night, St George. Sleep well.”
I didn’t wait to see his reaction, just turned my back to him and disappeared into my room. I did notice, however, as I stood inside waiting, that several seconds passed—several very long seconds—before I heard him walk away.