“There’s always that possibility,” I agreed.
“I got the impression that this was more of a general thing, though, and not targeted at me in particular. The girl—woman now—is not quite right, and he didn’t like to talk about it.”
Christopher nodded. “That was the impression I got, too. He didn’t like the reminder and didn’t want to discuss it.”
“Hutchison and Ogilvie both sounded rather protective of Ronald Blanton,” Tom said. “Would you say that’s correct?”
Christopher and Crispin both nodded. “In their own ways,” Christopher added. “Ogilvie is sweet on him, I think.”
“Romantically attached? Does Blanton reciprocate?”
“I’m hardly an expert on other people’s feelings,” Christopher began, and Crispin made an amused noise. Christopher shot him a look but refrained from comment, although what comment he could have made, I have no idea. He continued, “But I would guess, from his general behavior and everything we’ve learned about him so far, that Blanton inclines that way but is desperately trying to suppress his feelings because his father disapproves. One of those stringent old gentlemen who told his son not to be a nancyboy, I imagine.”
Tom nodded. “So Ogilvie is in love with Blanton and is protective of him because he cares.”
“That was my impression,” Christopher said, and Crispin nodded.
“Nigel Hutchison does not incline that way at all,” he said. “He likes women, and overall, they seem to like him. He and Gladys had a thing going for a while, if that matters. I’m not sure whether it was over or not, by the time this all happened. He and Blanton go way back, though. I’m honestly surprised it’s not the two of them living together instead of Hutchison and Ogilvie, although I suppose it might have been old man Blanton putting his foot down again, and refusing to let his son share a flat with another man.”
“But he’ll have Dobbins live in?”
He flicked a glance my way. “I’m sure Dobbins reports to the old man, Darling. And he’s hardly going to engage in sexual escapades with Ronnie, is he?”
“From what you just said, Hutchison isn’t, either.”
He shrugged, acknowledging my point. “In any case, Hutchie is protective of Blanton because they go back a decade, at least. We knew them at Eton, didn’t we, Kit?”
“You may have,” Christopher said. “I didn’t.”
Crispin nodded. “Blanton’s the soft type,” he told Tom, “you know? Sensitive. Delicate. The sort that either gets picked on or turns malicious to avoid it.”
“Like someone else we know,” Christopher said dryly.
Crispin twitched irritably, as if a mosquito had stung him. “Hutchison’s less exalted socially than Blanton,” he added, “but he’s more of a scrapper. The two of them gave each other something the other needed at Eton. So while Hutchison’s reason is different from Ogilvie’s, he also feels responsible for Blanton. They’re both protective of him.”
“And do you suppose there’s a particular reason why they both might feel that Blanton needs protecting?” Tom wanted to know. “In this particular instance, I mean? Beyond the friendship and possible romantic feelings?”
There was a pause while, I assumed, both Christopher and Crispin tried to sort out what Tom meant.
“They think—or know—he’s guilty of murder?” Christopher suggested eventually. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Tom eyed him for a moment. “You tell me.”
Christopher glanced at Crispin, who made a face, and then back at Tom. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who turns to violence as his first option in most instances. Like Crispin said, he’s soft and sensitive. But he certainly wasn’t in his right mind on Saturday night. He had just taken a rather large dose of cocaine and was clearly flying high. Adrenaline pumping off him in waves.”
I nodded. Blanton had certainly come across that way, delicate or not.
“And there was a reporter in his flat,” Christopher added, “spying on his dope dealer. Unless that rolling pin was laid out in plain view somewhere, Blanton might be the only one of us who would have known where to find it.”
“And if Montrose was on the floor when Hutchison came into the butler’s pantry,” I added, “and Rivers and Gladys didn’t kill him, Blanton is the only one who could have.”
Tom nodded and turned towards Crispin. “Your thoughts, St George?”
I did the same, turned and looked at Crispin.
Earlier, in the bath, I had arrived at this same conclusion. Blanton had to be the guilty party, and Crispin knew it, and that was why he felt bad this afternoon.
Like Hutchison and Ogilvie, perhaps Crispin too felt a little protective of Ronnie Blanton. Perhaps he saw something of himself in the other man.
