“Of course.” Crispin got to his feet and headed for the door, without looking at anyone. His father was looking at him, I saw, but Crispin either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He passed through into the hallway, and Finchley closed the door behind him.
Silence fell, until—
“Lady Roslyn?” Tom Gardiner prompted, and the conversation continued.
When Finchley came back,it was after another twenty minutes or so, during which it had been established that Aunt Roz had heard a shot, but hadn’t thought anything of it—poachers—while Uncle Herbert hadn’t heard anything. He had gone to sleep immediately, he said, while Aunt Roz read in bed. So at least they could alibi each other, to the degree that a sleeping person can alibi one who isn’t asleep. Aunt Roz could alibi Uncle Herbert, but not vice versa.
Tom didn’t look like he thought anything of it, but of course I realized that if Aunt Roz had slipped out and down the staircase and through the drawing room doors and into the maze, Uncle Herbert might have slept right through it.
Uncle Harold likewise pleaded the long day and his father’s death for having succumbed to sleep almost immediately upon retiring. He hadn’t heard the shot, either, he said, and of course Aunt Charlotte wasn’t there to refute or confirm what he said. Pendennis must have told her to go elsewhere after their interview was over. Perhaps he didn’t want her to share with the rest of us what his questions had been about.
And then it was my turn. “Miss Darling?” Finchley said. “Chief Inspector Pendennis would appreciate a moment of your time.”
“Of course.” I glanced at Christopher as I got to my feet, and tried to convey with that single look that he should relax, his alibi was well in hand. I don’t know whether he caught on or not, but he smiled.
“Good luck, Pippa.”
“I’ll probably go to my room after,” I told him. “Come find me when you’re done.”
He nodded, and I followed Finchley out of the room and down the hall to the breakfast room.
Pendennis was seated at the table, but he was gentleman enough to stand when I entered. “Miss Darling. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course,” I said politely, like I’d had a choice in the matter, like we don’t all have to jump when Scotland Yard says to. “We all want you to figure out what happened.”
“Have a seat, please. I just have a few questions for corroboration.”
“Of course.” I took a seat at the table and crossed my ankles demurely.
“Can you explain to me your relationship to the family? You’re young Mr. Astley’s intended, is that correct?”
“Not at all,” I said. “That’s Crispin’s idea of a joke. I’m Christopher’s cousin. My mother was Lady Roslyn’s younger sister. She died in the influenza epidemic in 1919. I was taken in by the Astleys when the war broke out on the Continent and my mother sent me to England for my safety.”
Pendennis nodded. If any of this was news, he didn’t show it. “You came to Sutherland Hall with Mr. Astley yesterday afternoon?”
“With Christopher, yes. Crispin stopped by our flat in London on Friday evening to say that the late duke wanted to see Christopher here at the Hall yesterday afternoon. We traveled down together.”
“The two of you and Lord St George?”
I shook my head. “He offered, but Christopher and I chose to take the train to Salisbury and get picked up there instead.”
“Is there bad blood between the viscount and his cousin?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I’m the one who finds Crispin annoying. He and Christopher get along quite well most of the time. They had eleven years together before I ever came on the scene.”
Finchley made a note. He had a notebook, too, just like the one Tom Gardiner was using in the other room, and he had placed himself sort of behind me, maybe so I wouldn’t be so aware of what he was doing. I glanced over at the scratching of his pencil across the page, and then back at Inspector Pendennis, when he asked me, “Were you present for the duke’s conversation with Mr. Astley?”
“Christopher, you mean?” I shook my head. “He wasn’tmygrandfather. I didn’t hear any of the conversations, and I didn’t have one of my own. Christopher told me his grandfather wanted him to propose to me, that it is unseemly that we’re living together in our own flat without being married.”
“How did Mr. Astley feel about that?”
“Irritated,” I said. “It isn’t… it wasn’t the duke’s place to tell him who he should or shouldn’t marry. We’re both adults. And we’re more like brother and sister than cousins. I’ve lived with the Astleys since we were both eleven.”
“But he came close to proposing marriage yesterday afternoon?”
“That was just for convenience,” I said. “Christopher and I do not want to be married. But we decided we could pretend for a few months, if it would make things easier with the duke.”
“There’s no one else who would be upset if you became engaged to Mr. Astley? Or if he were to become engaged to you?”
