“Come back downstairs when you’re done,” Tom called after them, and then they passed out of sight and were in the hallway, and Tom turned to the rest of us. “Have a seat, St George.”
He nodded to Crispin. Once the latter was seated, and once Laetitia had staked her claim with a possessive hand to his arm, Tom added, “In case anyone missed the introduction earlier, I’m Detective Sergeant Thomas Gardiner with Scotland Yard.”
There was a quick indrawn breath from somewhere in the room, so it was obvious that someone must not have realized exactly who Tom was. Detective Sergeant, yes. Scotland Yard, perhaps not.
“A crime seems to have been committed in this room during the last hour,” Tom continued, “and as such, you’ll all be required to stay in your seats until we’ve had a chance to talk to you all.”
Euphemia’s eyes narrowed at that, and Tom must have seen it, or sensed it, or perhaps just expected it, from previous experience with her type, because he turned to her with a practiced, professional smile. “Lady Marsden, Lord Marsden—” He gave Maurice a deferential inclination of the head, that none of us were thick enough to believe was actually deferential, “if I may have the use of one of your spare rooms to conduct individual interviews? Perhaps a study or library?”
Maurice cleared his throat. “There’s a library next door,” he indicated the connecting door, “and a study beyond that, between the library and the outer hall. You’re welcome to use either of them. Or anywhere else that suits you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tom took us all in. “As soon as the others come back, we’ll get started. We’ll start with you, Lord Geoffrey, since you were sitting next to Lady Violet.”
Geoffrey gulped, but nodded. His mother shot him a worried look before she opened her mouth. “Detective Sergeant?”
Tom inclined his head politely. “Yes, Lady Marsden?”
“The local constabulary is in charge of this investigation, is it not?”
Tom’s brows rose, and I didn’t blame him. That sounded remarkably like the runup to an objection. His voice, however, was perfectly pleasant when he told her, “Officially that’s correct, madam. But with two murders and what appears to be two additional attempts, all within a twenty-four hour period, all in this house, the Chief Constable feels—and I quite agree with him—that the local constabulary can use some help. I was here already, so I offered to step in.”
Lady Euphemia looked like she had sunk her teeth directly into a lemon, but she capitulated. I hid a smile, but seemingly not quite well enough, because Laetitia slanted a fulminating look in my direction. Christopher dug an elbow into my ribs. “Stop it, Pippa. You know who’ll be paying for that, don’t you?”
Crispin would, I assumed, once Laetitia had the chance to properly harangue him without having to moderate her voice. “That’s what he gets for shackling himself to her, isn’t it?”
“If you didn’t want him to propose,” Christopher said, “you shouldn’t have given him your blessing.”
“I’d hardly call it that, Christopher.”
Christopher ignored my attempt to debate the situation again, and understandably so, since we’d been over thisad nauseamthese past couple of weeks. “Just behave,” he told me. “We’ll be done soon enough.”
“If you say so,” I answered doubtfully, although I settled in to wait while Constable Collins and Francis came back downstairs, and while Tom took Geoffrey off to the study to apply the thumb screws, and while Laetitia hissed volubly in Crispin’s ear.
After Geoffrey it was Olivia’s turn, and then the Honorable Reggie. Once the table that Violet had occupied was empty, Tom moved on to anyone else who might have something to contribute, which was the rest of the Marsden family initially. Iassumed that he would be asking them questions about Dominic Rivers and who might have invited him to Marsden Manor, and other inquiries of that nature. As soon as they were all away, and only the current Duke of Sutherland and his heir were left at the head table, Uncle Harold began hissing at Crispin quite as vociferously as Laetitia had done.
“Poor chap,” Christopher muttered. “He just can’t catch a break, can he?”
I sniffed. “It’s his own?—”
He slanted me a look. “It’s not his fault that he was born to Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Harold, Pippa. He couldn’t help that.”
Well, no. I supposed he couldn’t. “I don’t like your uncle.”
Christopher sighed. “I’m well aware of it.”
“I didn’t like your aunt, either. She tried to shoot me once.”
On the other side of me, Wolfgang’s eyes widened.
“She’s dead,” Christopher pointed out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get over that.”
“I’m over it. Mostly. It just comes back at certain times.” Such as when I was irritated with Uncle Harold and the way he always tried to beat Crispin into submission, sometimes literally.
But then Tom came back and fetched Crispin, and Uncle Harold was left to sit alone, impotently stewing with no one to berate. I smiled, pleased, and of course he looked over and caught me. I can’t imagine that he knew the reason for my happiness, but he scowled at me nonetheless. I pretended that I hadn’t seen, because waving would have been rude.
The drawing room emptied out agonizingly slowly. After Crispin was called away to the study, Tom let Uncle Harold wait, and instead pulled in Constance, and then Francis, and then finally Aunt Roz. At that point, Uncle Herbert got up and joined his brother, and the two of them fell into a low-voiced conversation. Too low for me to catch, more’s the pity.
After Aunt Roz, there was Bilge and Serena Fortescue’s turn, and then finally, Tom came and removed Wolfgang. As soon as he was through the door, Uncle Herbert beckoned. “Come here, Kit.”
