“He woke up feeling unwell.” Aunt Roz didn’t look at me, or at anyone else, as she leaned forward to put her cup and saucer down. “I told him to stay in bed.”
Crispin’s eyes found mine across the table, and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. I scowled at him. Yes, we both knew that Francis had been under the influence of something beyond alcohol when he went to bed last night, but I certainly wasn’t going to share enjoyment in that knowledge, and certainly not with St George.
Francis was here, though, and that was something to keep in mind. If Uncle Harold and Uncle Herbert had been away from the Hall all day, and it could be proven that the shot had come from the Hall… well, if it hadn’t, then I guess Uncle Herbert and Uncle Harold might be guilty. But if not, then it was down to the handful of people left in the manor when Christopher and I left for our walk. The servants, of course. The detectives. Francis, up in his room. Crispin, off somewhere sulking about the way his mother had chastised him earlier. Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Roz.
And of the four, I’m sure I don’t have to spell out who my money was on. He was sitting across the table from me, watching me intently, with an amused, slightly malicious expression, quite like a cat at a mousehole, just waiting for me to make the wrong move.
NINETEEN
Christopher,Tom, and Finchley arrived in time to partake in a spot of tea—Aunt Roz insisted, probably so she could have an excuse to interrogate them about any progress they had made—and then they went off (without Christopher) to search the Hall and grounds for any evidence of a rifle or a shooter.
“Hunting rifle?” Crispin inquired. It was now the five of us in the parlor: Francis hadn’t come downstairs, and Uncles Harold and Herbert were still off on the grounds somewhere.
“Military,” Christopher said, “I think. But I don’t know much about it.”
“Nor do I.” Crispin agreed. “Born too late, the both of us.”
“And a good thing, too,” Aunt Roz said firmly. “I lost one son to the war. That was enough. I’m glad I didn’t have to risk another. Or my only nephew.”
“But you gained a daughter,” Crispin pointed out, with a glance at me.
Aunt Roz shot one at him. More like a glare, really. “They’re not interchangeable, Crispin. I didn’t have to lose Robert just because I gained Pippa. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Of course not, Aunt Roslyn.” Crispin glanced at his mother, who had been very quiet this whole time. The almost-demise of a Spode teacup seemed to have unsettled her. “Have you heard, Mother? We’re not dressing for dinner tonight. Darling feels unequal to another costume change.”
“Crispin…” Aunt Charlotte sighed, and sounded exhausted with it.
“My apologies, Mother.MissDarling.”
“You’re awful, St George,” I told him, with a sigh of my own. “I don’t know how your crowds of women put up with you. Truly I don’t.”
“Upon my word, Darling, neither do I. And yet, somehow they manage.”
He smirked. And that might have been what did it. That awful, self-congratulatory smirk. The words fell out of my mouth without conscious thought; I think I just wanted to say something, anything, that would wipe the self-satisfied look off his face.
“I was curious… Not that it’s any of my affair—I’m sorry, my business—but the young woman with the baby, the one who showed up at Sutherland House. That worked out all right, it seems?”
I got my wish. The smirk dropped off his face so completely it was like it had never been there at all, and was replaced with a look of malice so concentrated I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had dropped dead from the sheer impact, right then and there.
At the head of the table, Aunt Charlotte straightened in her chair. “Baby? Did you say baby? Crispin…!”
“Thanks ever so, Darling,” Crispin told me through gritted teeth. “How do you even know about that?”
I glared at him. “I notice you’re not denying it.”
“Would it do me any good if I did?” He shook his head. “You could have just left it alone, couldn’t you?”
“That’s rather rich, coming from you,” I fired back. “You could have leftheralone, first of all. And when you leavemealone, perhaps I won’t bring up your shortcomings as often as you feel you have to bring up mine.”
“It wasn’t a shortcoming, Darling.”
“It most certainly was not. In order for her to claim paternity, you had to have—”
“Not that! For God’s sake, Darling—!”
My mouth was still open, but before I could respond, Aunt Charlotte’s voice cut through the bickering. “Crispin! What woman with a baby?”
He closed his mouth, turned to her, and waved a languid hand. “Just some poor waif with a newborn, Mother, who thought I’d be stupid enough to take her at her word.”
