After a second, he added, more lightly, “You were the one who was hit, though, Miss Darling. Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful.”
I intended to be careful, to be honest. However— “I really think it could have been either of us. An inch to the right, and I wouldn’t have been hit at all.”
“A foot to the left, and you would have had a bullet in the heart,” Christopher reminded me grimly.
“And a foot or two in the other direction, and it would have been you.”
He shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. I agree with Tom. You’re the one who should be careful. Stay with Mother.”
He glanced at her. She nodded.
“There’s no reason why anyone would want me dead,” I told him, although I added, when I saw his mouth open, “but I’ll be careful. You be, too. All of you.”
They promised they would, and then they headed back out the door to the Hispano-Suiza and the hunt for the bullet, while Aunt Roz propelled me down the hallway past the Duchess’s Chamber and towards my room.
“Would you like to take a bath?” she asked as she tugged me along. “Or will a wash-up in the basin and some new clothes do?”
A bath actually sounded lovely, but it involved filling the tub and soaking in it, and getting the bandages wet and having to replace them, so I told her a turn with the basin would be just the thing. “Mostly, I can’t wait to get out of these clothes. Christopher was very enthusiastic when he pushed me into the ditch. And the sleeve itches my arm where the blood has dried.”
Aunt Roz nodded, guiding me around the corner into the west wing and towards my door. “A bird bath it is, then. I’ll help you undress. It’ll be difficult for you to move that arm.”
It probably would. An exploratory lift from the shoulder sent a stab of pain down to my elbow. “Yes, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Aunt Roz said grimly. “This is very upsetting, Pippa. What have you done? Who would want to kill you?”
I had no idea, and said so. “You heard me just now. It might as well have been Christopher.”
“It wasn’t Christopher,” Aunt Roz said and pushed the door to my room open. She looked around briefly, but when nothing jumped out to harm either of us, she shoved me across the threshold ahead of her. “It was you. You must have done something to someone.”
“I can’t imagine what. I don’t know anything more about these murders than anyone else in the household. Honestly.”
“Perhaps you know something you don’t know you know,” Aunt Roz said, and grabbed the collar of my jacket. “Careful now.”
She nudged it down off my shoulders and over my arms. I held my breath when the sleeve dragged over the bandage, hoping it wouldn’t dislodge the doctor’s handiwork, but the bandage was tight enough, and the rayon of the blouse slippery enough, that the jacket came off with little difficulty and no damage to the wound.
“So far, so good,” Aunt Roz said. “Such a shame about your new blouse. It was so becoming to you, too.”
“It’s fine. Could have been worse.” It could have been a bullet embedded in my arm, or my head, or my chest. Or Christopher’s. The loss of a blouse, even a brand new one, was minor compared to that.
“It’ll have to come over your head,” Aunt Roz said, looking at it, “unless you want me to cut it down the middle?”
I glanced at what was left of the sleeve, stiff with blood and with the bottom already cut away by the doctor for easier access to the wound. I had the missing part of the sleeve in the pocket of my jacket, but… “I don’t think there’s any way to mend rayon, so you might as well finish the job. There’s a pair of scissors in the escritoire over there.”
Aunt Roz headed that way, and turned around a few seconds later, scissors in hand. And here’s where I have to admit that as she approached me with them, with the sharp points aimed at me, my stomach clenched. I didn’t think Aunt Roz was the one who had shot at us—she wouldn’t have risked Christopher, and I thought she was rather fond of me, too—but there was just something about having someone come at me with a sharp implement after what had happened, that struck me as profoundly unsettling.
“This will be easier from the back,” Aunt Roz said, and walked around me, to where she could grab the bottom of the blouse and apply the scissors to it. “Stand still, dear. I don’t want to scratch you by accident.”
I froze and held my breath as the scissors made short process of the back of the blouse.
“There we go.” Aunt Roz tossed the scissors in the direction of the bed, where they landed on the counterpane with a softflump, and walked around me. “Breathe, Pippa.”
I breathed, and continued to do so as she eased the rayon off my shoulders and down my front. “Pity. It was a nice garment.”
She tossed it after the scissors, but instead of landing on the bed, the soft fabric fluttered to the floor, short of the goal, with a soft sigh that mirrored my own.
“Oh, well.”
Aunt Roz shrugged and unzipped the back of my skirt. “Can you make it out of this on your own?”
