He sighed. “Whenever you want, Darling.”
“Marvelous,” I said.
What I wanted wasto leave as soon as possible. What happened, was that Crispin informed me that nothing good would come from reviving Ronnie at the crack of dawn—by then it was nine o’clock—and that we should take our time over breakfast. As a result, it was after ten by the time we finally rolled up in front of the Essex House Mansions and I jumped out.
“Will you be coming up, or waiting here?”
“It’s a nice day,” Christopher said, “and I don’t have to change. We’ll just wait for you outside.”
I scurried in, past Evans who held the door for me, and I would have scurried all the way to the lift had I not heard his voice behind me. “Good morning, Miss Darling. Miss Darling…?”
“Yes, Evans?”
I skidded to a stop in the middle of the lobby.
“Gentleman to see you last night,” Evans said.
A gentleman? Really?
“Who? Why?” After a moment I added, “When?”
“The gentleman didn’t give a name,” Evans intoned, “or a reason. It was late. After you had gone out again to meet his lordship and Mr. Astley.”
“Well, what did the gentleman look like?”
Young, Evans said, and fair-haired.
So… Ronnie Blanton, perhaps? None of the others were what I would call fair—Dominic Rivers certainly wasn’t, although if the other three had been at Sutherland House, he was the obvious suspect. Except he wasn’t fair-haired by any stretch of the imagination.
Detective Sergeant Finchley was fair, but he had also been at Sutherland House. And then, of course, there were the young men of my acquaintance who were not involved in this particular murder case. My cousin Francis, for instance.
Although if it had been Francis, surely he would have announced himself. He might even have talked Evans into letting him into the flat.
“Had you ever seen him before? It wasn’t the gentleman who dropped off Miss Long the other morning, was it?”
After some cogitation, Evans said that he couldn’t be sure, but that it was possible it had been. Of course, it was also possible that it hadn’t, So that got us no further.
“Thank you for letting me know, Evans,” I said. “Next time, try to get him to leave a name.”
“I tried this time, Miss Darling,” Evans said, sounding wounded. “The gentleman wouldn’t oblige.”
“Then you did everything you could, Evans. I’ll be back down in a few minutes. Excuse me.” I dashed into the lift, pulled the grille shut behind me, and punched the button for our floor. The lift jerked and started its slow way upwards.
When I pulled the grille away half a minute later, I found myself face to face with an apparition of pink flounces and bright teeth. “Hullo, Pippa!”
“Florence.” I blinked. “Don’t you look cheerful?”
“Luncheon at the Ritz,” Flossie said. “Say, Pippa…”
“Isn’t it a bit early for luncheon? We just finished breakfast.”
Flossie’s eyes wandered up and down over my frame. Her pink flounces belonged to a day dress—and it was a bit early in the day for the way it looked, but I supposed it was warm enough that a case could be made for cap sleeves—while I was still rather obviously dressed in yesterday’s dinner gown. Flossie tittered. “Late night, Pippa?”
“I spent the night at Sutherland House,” I said, “with Crispin and Christopher.”
If I had thought that that rather bald statement would have put her off—and I admit it, I had hoped it would—I was wrong. Her eyes lit up. “Is your cousin here?”
“Christopher’s downstairs,” I said coldly, “in Crispin’s motorcar.”
