He flapped a hand. I imagined it was intended as an insouciant gesture, but it came across more as if he couldn’t control the movement the way he had planned to. “Oh, you know.”
It was all he said, and I nodded. “It’s good to see you. Even under the circumstances.”
Francis grinned. “You too, Pipsqueak.”
That horrid moniker has been my nickname since I showed up on Aunt Roz’s and Uncle Herbert’s doorstep, skinny and awkward at eleven years old, and between you and me, I wasn’t sure whether I hated it more or less than Crispin’s drawling use of my last name. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“I know,” Francis said. “Why do you suppose I do it?”
This time the corner of Crispin’s mouth quirked, and Christopher’s eyes narrowed in amusement. I rolled my eyes at both of them.
“So what happened?” Francis wanted to know, but before any of us could enlighten him, there was the sound of more footsteps in the foyer. This time it was Uncle Harold who appeared in the doorway, tall and thin and flushed, presumably from a walk or perhaps a ride in the great outdoors.
Like Francis, he stopped in the doorway and took in the assembly. Unlike Francis, he didn’t appear to have had anything to drink while he’d been out. His voice was firm and no-nonsense when he ignored the rest of us to address his wife. “Charlotte?”
Aunt Charlotte flushed. I have no idea why, because it wasn’t like she was clutching a tumbler of brandy anymore. “Harold. I’m so sorry to have to tell you…”
She ran down without coming to the point, and Uncle Harold shifted his attention from her to Aunt Roz, and then to his son.
“Grandfather’s dead,” Crispin said.
For a moment, Uncle Harold’s jaw dropped, and he turned pale. Then Francis piped up with a, “Congratulations, Your Grace,” and Uncle Harold’s face flushed an alarming shade of puce.
SIX
The doctor arrivedat the same time as Uncle Herbert, and was conveyed upstairs by Aunt Roz, since Aunt Charlotte still didn’t seem equal to the task. Uncle Herbert went with them, since he hadn’t yet seen his father’s corpse. Nor had Uncle Harold, but he was still processing what had happened, I guess, and perhaps also Francis’s irreverent remark from earlier, because he didn’t go upstairs. All the men had switched from tea to something stronger by now, and I was sipping from a glass of sherry, while Aunt Charlotte still nursed her cup of tea, with or without alcohol mixed in.
It didn’t take the doctor long at all to come to a conclusion. “Heart failure,” he announced when he was ushered into the salon by Aunt Roz just a few minutes after going upstairs in the first place. “I understand he’s had an exciting afternoon?”
Someone snorted. I think it was Francis, although it could have been Crispin. They were over there on the same side of the room, and Francis frequently acts on instinct, while Crispin has no problem being deliberately rude.
“Quite,” Aunt Roz said blandly. “A lot of exertion and high emotion.”
“That’s what did it, then. I told him last year, peace and quiet is the ticket.” Doctor Meadows—a small man with a fringe of white hair—clutched his bag with both hands as his gaze roved over the assembly.
“Can I offer you some tea?” Aunt Roz asked, “or perhaps something stronger?”
“Very kind of you, Lady Herbert, but my wife will have supper on the table soon. I’ll contact the mortuary and have a car out tomorrow, to transport the remains. You can coordinate the details with them.”
He addressed us in turn, and in descending order of importance. “My condolences, Your Grace,” Uncle Harold, “Your Grace,” Aunt Charlotte, “Lord St George.” Crispin.
He then moved his attention to the rest of the family. “Lord Herbert, Lady Herbert, Mr. Astley.”
His eyes lingered on Francis for a moment, before moving on to Christopher, “Mr. Astley,” and, finally, to me. “Miss…um…”
We had met before, but he clearly couldn’t place me, or at least couldn’t lay his mind on my name. I opened my mouth, but before I could get it out, someone got there first. “Darling,” Crispin said with a smirk.
The doctor’s eyes darted from him to me and back. “Are congratulations in order?”
“God, no,” escaped my mouth, while Crispin said blandly, “Miss Darling is Christopher’s intended.”
I was hardly Christopher’s intended, but it also wasn’t something I wanted to deny in public, in front of everyone. So— “I’m Christopher’s cousin,” I said. “On his mother’s side.”
The doctor looked more confused than ever now, which I had to admit was fair. “I should perhaps warn you that while legal, consanguineous marriages can produce offspring that lacks some of the healthier—”
Crispin stifled a snigger, and both Aunt Roz and Aunt Charlotte sent him quelling glances.
“Thank you,” I told the doctor, since I’m well aware that marriages between close relatives can be unfortunate for the health of the children. Just look at King Tut.
