So commissioner or no commissioner, I had a feeling that Letty and Geoffrey would be stuck with us for the duration, and we with them.
Constance came back after a few minutes and took her seat behind the teapot. “Would anyone like another cup?”
I was still sipping my first, so I thanked her no. Everyone else was drinking alcohol, so they said no, also. Constance transferred a cucumber sandwich onto a place and bit into it, delicately.
“What are the coppers up to?” Marsden wanted to know.
Constance chewed as quickly as she could and swallowed, clearing her throat. “They’re still processing the crime scene, and the rest of the upstairs. And I think Tom—Detective Sergeant Gardiner—and the young constable are talking to the staff.”
“Maybe the butler did it,” Marsden said, with an inane chuckle.
“I’m sure the police are investigating the butler,” I said. “And the gardener and chauffeur—” who had been at Sutherland Hall with Lady Peckham, so couldn’t possibly have killed Johanna, although I supposed he might be on the hook for Lady P, “—and the hallboy.”
“No one had any reason to want my mother dead,” Gilbert said firmly. “It must have been an accident. She got her hands on a bottle of Veronal somehow. Perhaps she needed help sleeping while away from home, or perhaps she simply mistook it for her own medicine and gave herself too much. But she wouldn’t have harmed herself deliberately, and no one had any reason to want to harm her.”
Constance nodded fervently.
“Be that as it may,” I said, since it was at least possible he was right, “Johanna’s death was no accident. Someone killed her deliberately. The police have to go through every room and everyone’s belongings to see what, if anything, pertains to her death. And I’m sure that includes all the servants’ rooms, as well.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Well, I’m going to make sure Daddy complains to the commissioner,” Lady Laetitia said. “If so much as one of my silk stockings goes missing—”
“They don’t care about your silk stockings,” I told her. “At least not unless you used one to strangle Johanna. I don’t suppose you did?”
She stared at me.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Anybody who didn’t kill Johanna has nothing to worry about. So just sit back and wait for the detectives to finish. And eventually they’ll let you go home.”
I reached for a scone and put it on my plate. And then I reached for the jam and the clotted cream and put that on my plate, as well. And this, of course, was the moment when the door opened and Inspector Pendennis walked in.
Fourteen
The Chief Inspectorfrom Scotland Yard is a stocky man in his late fifties, with shrewd eyes and a face like a bulldog. He surveyed us all in silence for a moment—several faces evinced expressions of guilt, I noticed, but it was probably due to the brandy and not anything to do with either death—and then he focused on Crispin. “Lord St George. If I may have a word?”
Crispin swallowed and nodded. “Of course, Chief Inspector.”
The legs of his chair screeched across the floor when he pushed it back, and several of us winced. If Pendennis noticed, he gave no sign of it. “Mr. Peckham?”
Gilbert jerked to attention.
“We’re just going to continue to use your library for our business, if that suits.”
Like the invitation for Crispin to come in for a chat, this wasn’t a request. Gilbert gulped and nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you, sir. This way, my lord.”
He nudged Crispin towards the door. They passed through into the reception room, and the door shut behind them. Peckham and Marsden exchanged another significant look.
“The first one the chief inspector wants to talk to,” Marsden muttered, and Peckham nodded.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the scone. Christopher looked worried, I noticed.
The door opened again just a few minutes later, and Constable Collins stuck his head in. “Miss Darling?”
From the way his eyes flicked between me, Constance, and Laetitia Marsden, I guess he hadn’t paid enough attention in the dining room earlier to know which of us was which. Too busy writing down the conversation verbatim, perhaps.
“That’s me,” I said brightly, while Peckham and Marsden exchanged another of those looks.
