He took his own seat again, flapped his napkin open over his lap, and went back to enjoying his supper.
“But he’s all right?” Aunt Roz asked.
“Right as rain,” Uncle Harold nodded. “Up there having a sulk, is all. Obstinate little popinjay.”
You’d have thought he’d have a little fondness in his voice when he applied this appellation to his only son, but you’d be wrong.
“Leave the boy alone,” Uncle Herbert grunted. “He’ll come out when he’s ready. Pass the butter, Kit.”
Christopher passed the butter. Conversation lagged. Eventually Aunt Charlotte excused herself and headed upstairs. We all knew she’d gone to check on Crispin, but none of us said anything about it. Uncle Harold rolled his eyes, but didn’t do anything to stop her.
All in all, it was a very strange meal. At the end of it. Uncle Harold and Uncle Herbert went into the billiards room with Aunt Roz, where they talked Christopher into making a fourth for bridge. Aunt Charlotte never came back downstairs, or if she did, it wasn’t into the game room. We didn’t see Crispin or Francis for the rest of the evening, either. I thought about retiring to my room, or to the library or somewhere else in the manor, but whenever I looked like I thought about getting up, Christopher sent me a warning look. Instead, I spent a couple hours watching other people play cards, and then Christopher and I headed upstairs. Via the servants’ staircase in the east wing, because I wanted to see, or at least hear, for myself, that Crispin was still in his room and hadn’t, as the books say, done a bunk with his guilty conscience while we were all sitting around the dining table.
The light was on in his sitting room, and when Christopher knocked on the door, it took a moment, but eventually a voice from inside said, “What do you want?”
“It’s Kit,” Christopher said. “And Pippa.”
There was a beat, and then— “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“We just want to make sure you’re all right,” I tried.
There was a snort. It was clearly audible through the door. “Of course, Darling. I know how much you care.”
“I don’t want you dead,” I told him, which was the truth as far as it went.
“I’m flattered, Darling. But missing supper once isn’t going to kill me.”
No, of course it wouldn’t. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” I said.
There was a beat. Perhaps he was thinking about asking me what I might have meant by that. Or perhaps he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“I’ll do my best,” came the answer eventually. I glanced at Christopher, who shrugged.
“Good night, Crispin.”
“Night, Kit,” Crispin said. “Sleep well.” The admonition could have been sinister or smug, or perhaps simply honest. Hard to say through the door.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Christopher told me as we continued down the hall. “I’ll check on Francis on my way back, and make sure he’s all right. But first I want you safely tucked away in your own room. Unless you’d like to stay in mine tonight?”
“I’m afraid your aunt would have a heart attack if I did. There’s a reason she put me in a room clear on the other side of the Hall.”
“She wouldn’t have to know,” Christopher said.
“I’m sure she’d figure it out somehow. And while I honestly don’t care what your Aunt Charlotte thinks of me—” Not much, anyway; or at least not when she wasn’t snubbing me to my face, “—we are guests in her home. Besides, no offense to you, Christopher, I feel safer in the other wing, surrounded by Scotland Yard detectives.”
“It’s hard to blame you there,” Christopher admitted, as we turned the corner into the central wing. “MaybeIshould stay inyourroom.”
“You’re welcome to, if you’d like. The bed is big enough for two.”
“I’d better not,” Christopher admitted, if a bit wistfully. “As you said, weareguests.”
I nodded. “Hopefully not for much longer, though. And then we can go back to London and our own lives. I’ll be glad to get away from here.”
“You’re not the only one,” Christopher agreed. “It’s been a horrid weekend. Two deaths, one attempted murder…”
“Much too much St George.”
He sniggered, and I added, “On the other hand, there’s been Tom Gardiner.”
