His eyes focused back on my face. “Every projectile has to go somewhere. If it didn’t end up in your arm, it’s somewhere else.”
Of course. He was looking for the bullet.
“Finch and I’ll have to come back and hunt for it.” He put his foot down on the gas and the motorcar picked up speed again as the Hall disappeared behind the trees.
“I’ll come with you,” Christopher said.
Tom shot him a look and seemed to contemplate telling him he couldn’t. But instead he simply nodded. “That would be helpful. Thank you.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Christopher informed him. “I want to find whoever did this just as much as you do.”
Beside me, Aunt Roz nodded agreement.
We droveinto the courtyard two minutes later, and burst past Tidwell and into the foyer. “I’ll go fetch Finch and talk to Pendennis,” Tom told Christopher. “Wait here.”
Christopher nodded. Meanwhile, Aunt Roz turned to me. “Let me help you upstairs, Pippa. I’m sure you’d like to change.”
I absolutely would. The sleeve of my beautiful new blouse was shredded, and so was the sleeve of my jacket. And while the tweed jacket could perhaps be mended—once the blood had been washed out of it—the blouse was a lost cause. I was pretty sure I had blood in other places, too—I could see it on my hands, and suspected there was some on my face, perhaps even in my hair—and there were the grass stains and dust from the road ground into my skirt and stockings.
I must look a fright, an assessment that was borne out by—who else?—St George, who appeared on top of the stairs like the ghoul he was, just when I looked my worst.
“Goodness, Darling,” he drawled, as he descended the staircase with all the regalness of a royal, “don’t you look rather the worse for wear? Did you have a tumble somewhere along the way?”
The gaze he flicked onto Christopher and Thomas Gardiner made it clear that he’d used the word ‘tumble’ in its most suggestive way. That was only until he’d descended far enough to get a look at my arm—or more accurately the blood and the bandage. At that point, all the amused maliciousness dropped off his face like it had been wiped clean with a rag, and his eyes widened.
“What happened?”
“I got shot,” I said callously—and a bit inaccurately—and had the pleasure of seeing his face lose whatever color it had had left.
“Shot?”
His eyes flicked from me to Aunt Roz, to Christopher, to Tidwell, and finally to Aunt Charlotte, who had come out of one of the rooms off the foyer, probably at the sound of our voices. I hadn’t even realized she was there, until Crispin’s eyes fell on something behind me, and I turned my head and saw her standing there.
“Dear me,” she said, “that’s terrible, Miss Darling. Is there anything I can do?”
“I was just going to take Pippa to her room,” Aunt Roz said, snaking an arm around my waist, “and help her clean up and change. Christopher?”
Christopher nodded and fell in behind as Aunt Roz guided me towards the bottom of the stairs. I assume his task was to make sure I didn’t topple over on my way up.
“I’m fine,” I said irritably—which was probably a sign that I wasn’t fine, actually. I’m usually not irritable. But my arm hurt, and I felt grimy, and all the fussing played on my nerves, and St George’s expression rubbed me wrong, the way it usually did, even though he actually looked more concerned than happy right now.
“Of course you are, darling.” Aunt Roz didn’t pay my grumbling any mind whatsoever, just kept pushing me towards the staircase. “Excuse us, Crispin, dear.”
She nudged him out of the way, just far enough that we could pass each other without touching. I glanced up as we moved past, expecting some sort of snide remark, but his eyes were fastened on my arm, on the bandage and blood on my sleeve, and his lips were tight. He didn’t say a word while we walked by, and then he gave himself a sort of shake and glanced over at Aunt Charlotte. “A libation, Mother?”
Aunt Charlotte must have been lost to her own reverie, because she gave a little start when he addressed her, and had to drag her gaze up from the floor to land on him. When she saw his offered arm, she colored slightly. “Of course, Crispin, dear.”
They proceeded towards the doors to the library arm in arm, very decorously. Aunt Roz snorted and renewed her efforts to get me up the stairs.
EIGHTEEN
Christopher leftus on the landing, when Tom Gardiner and Detective Sergeant Finchley came out of the breakfast room, Tom with a camera in his hand. “Ready to go?” he called up at Christopher.
Christopher nodded. “I’ll see you later, Mother. Pippa.” He started down.
“Be careful,” I called after him. “You never know who might be out there, taking potshots at people.”
“If someone takes a potshot at any of us,” Tom promised, “I’ll be watching the trajectory of the bullet very carefully.”
