Christopher winced.“So I would guess.”
We sat in silence for a moment.It wasn’t actively raining at the moment, but the sky was gray and the air wet and cold.I shivered.“What happens now, do you suppose?”
He slanted me a look.“To the title?”
“Among other things, but we can start there.”
“I suppose that’ll be up to Crispin,” Christopher said.“If Father hasn’t said anything about it in twenty-four years, he must be happy to let things lie.”
“You mean, he doesn’t want the title?”
“I would assume that he doesn’t.It’s a lot of responsibility.The aristocracy is on its way out, Pippa.Keeping up appearances takes too much money and trouble.I don’t think Francis wants to be duke any more than Father does, and I certainly don’t.”
No, of course not.
“Uncle Herbert might just have stayed his hand because his brother was still alive,” I suggested.“Now that Uncle Harold is dead—heisdead, isn’t he?”
“I’m sure he is.Tidwell wouldn’t address Crispin as His Grace otherwise.”
Yes, Tidwell undoubtedly knew the intricacies better than any of us.“Then your father might feel differently about it now.”
Christopher shrugged.“I suppose he and Crispin shall have to duke it out, no pun intended.Although I don’t know how they’ll be able to prove anything one way or the other.Crispin is an Astley, one only has to look at him to know that, and he’s the acknowledged heir.He became Duke of Sutherland when Uncle Harold died.Father could challenge it, I suppose, if he were so inclined, and he was willing to tell the world that he bedded his brother’s wife.But I don’t know how they’d prove one way or the other whose son he really is.”
I didn’t, either.“Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Harold between them committed multiple murders to keep it quiet.Surely that points to it being true.”
“It might,” Christopher agreed.“Then again, how would anyone know for certain?”
“At any rate we were both wrong about the murderer.It wasn’t Crispin at all.It was Uncle Harold.”
Christopher nodded.“It must have been.And it makes sense if you think about it.He was there when Hughes left for Bristol.He was here the other night, when we discussed Shreve and Morrison and the Cotswolds.Alfie might have motored them both to Upper Slaughter that night.”
“The golden-haired young man the old chap saw,” I realized.Not that Alfred had been particularly golden-haired, but he had been a sort of sandy blond.
“Uncle Harold wouldn’t have told him why they were going there, so Alfie wouldn’t have known that anyone was dead until we came home two days later, and at that point he might have confronted Uncle Harold about it, and Uncle had to kill him.”
That was certainly a possibility.“Uncle Harold would have had the time to go to the village after setting Crispin up in the study yesterday morning,” I said.“And apart from Laetitia, he was certainly the person here who disliked me the most.”
Not to mention that the anonymous note had been blotted with the blotter in the study.If it hadn’t been written by Crispin, it could only have been Uncle Harold.No one else would venture into the study and use the desk.
“Until Laetitia and Crispin were properly wedded and bedded,” Christopher said, “I suppose he simply couldn’t trust that Crispin wouldn’t give it all up for you.Framing you for murder must have seemed like a good way of getting rid of you.If not permanently, at least until after the wedding.”
The nuptials were coming up in less than a month.Geoffrey had spent more time than that waiting for the Assizes.
“I just didn’t realize that he knew about Crispin,” I said.“The whole idea was that Aunt Charlotte killed your grandfather and Grimsby to keep it quiet.”
“Crispin found out by eavesdropping,” Christopher answered.“Who’s to say Uncle Harold didn’t do the same?”
Well… his dignity, I would have assumed.“You don’t suppose your grandfather told him, do you?”
“I don’t know if Grandfather knew,” Christopher said.“It might have been information that Grimsby kept to himself, the better to blackmail Aunt Charlotte with.The way he tried to blackmail me.”
I nodded.He might have done.Grimsby, while he had shared all sorts of less-inflammatory secrets with Duke Henry, had also kept certain things back.Christopher’s penchant for ladies’ gowns and drag balls was one of those secrets.Aunt Charlotte’s night with Uncle Herbert might have been another.It would certainly have been worth paying for.And for Aunt Charlotte, worth killing over, as well.
“But if he did know,” Christopher continued, “I wouldn’t put it past him to have informed Uncle Harold.He was a bastard.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say about your grandfather.”
“Perhaps not, but he was one.He tried to pressure me into marrying you, don’t you remember?”
