I nodded. “Well, you’re right. Considering what happened downstairs, it would undoubtedly have been better to preparehim. But we thought—Christopher and I—that it would be easier if he didn’t know. At least he wouldn’t have time to stew.”
In retrospect, stewing might have been better than what happened. Then again, there was no reason to think that stewing would have prevented it, either.
“He’ll be all right,” I added, optimistically. “He’ll sleep it off tonight, and as long as you and Christopher keep him away from Wolfgang tomorrow, I don’t think there’ll be a problem. Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert will be here then, too, and they’ll help.”
Constance nodded.
“And in the worst case scenario, he can take the Crossley and drive back to Beckwith Place. Crispin will understand.”
She opened her mouth, and I added, “You can stay or go with him. It’s your Crossley, and by now you have suffered through the first part of the engagement weekend anyway. It’s understandable if you want to leave before the second half. Especially if your fiancé is going.”
“You can go, too,” Constance pointed out.
“I could, although I don’t think Christopher would approve of that. He’ll want to be here to support Crispin. And I enjoy watching him squirm, you know. Besides, there’s Wolfgang. Now that I’m here, I don’t think I ought to leave him to the wolves.”
Constance nodded, and I added, “Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert will be coming down in the Bentley tomorrow. We can return to Beckwith Place with them.”
“I suppose we shall have to wait and see how things look tomorrow morning, then,” Constance said. “Who knows, Francis may be feeling better after a good sleep.”
He might. And if not, he could always leave early, before Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert made it here. That was if the hangover didn’t keep him in bed until the late hours of the morning, of course.
“I should turn in,” I said and pushed to my feet. “Will you be able to sleep, or should I ask someone for something?”
“I’ll be fine, Pippa.” She gave me a warm smile. “What about you?”
“Oh, I sleep like a log.” I headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Constance. For… a shooting party, wasn’t it?”
Constance wrinkled her nose. “It was.”
“I’ll sit that one out,” I said. “So will Christopher. He doesn’t like to shoot at things.” Much to Uncle Herbert’s chagrin.
“Francis doesn’t anymore, either,” Constance said.
No, of course not. “They can both keep us company, then.”
“And your German friend?”
I had no idea how Wolfgang felt about hunting, but I would guess, based on the Mensur scar on his cheek, that he wasn’t opposed to blood sports. “I would assume he’d hunt, but I have no idea whether that’s true or just my own perception of his character. He didn’t volunteer for the war effort, at any rate. I suppose we’ll find out.”
I pulled the door open and stepped through and into the hallway. “Sleep well, Constance. I’ll see you for breakfast.”
“Good night, Pippa. Be careful walking through the house.”
Of course. Although if the handsy Geoffrey was in the garden with Lady Violet, or perhaps holed up in his room with her now, he wasn’t lurking in the shadows looking for me, and I doubted I was in danger from any of the other gentlemen present. Even so, I kept a sharp eye out as I wandered down the hallway towards the back stairs.
Lady Euphemia and Lord Maurice had the suite on the eastern end of the manor house, Constance had told me, and Laetitia was next door to her mother. I assumed that would have been the Countess’s decision, and not Laetitia’s own, since I couldn’t imagine the latter wanting the former to cramp her styleat this point in her life. There was no light trickling out from below the doors of either Laetitia’s room, or those of her parents.
The light was likewise out in the room that Christopher and Francis shared. I sidled up to the door and put my ear to the crack for a moment as I passed by, and could hear loud breaths from Francis—I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was snoring, but it was something like it—and I also heard rustling as someone turned over in bed. It might have been Francis himself, or perhaps Christopher was unable to sleep with the noise, and was trying to get comfortable.
For a moment I thought about knocking, to see whether my best friend was awake and wanted to talk—we hadn’t had a chance to converse privately after the scene in the ballroom—but then I thought better of it. I didn’t want to risk waking Francis and having him go off on me again—or worse, go off looking for Wolfgang, or for more to drink—and besides, if Christopher really was asleep and was simply moving restlessly, I didn’t want to wake him. We’d have plenty of time to talk on the morrow, when everyone else was out shooting pheasants.
Crispin’s room was next door to his cousins, and the light was out there too. He must be asleep already, because when I sidled up to the door—not for long; I didn’t want Laetitia to suddenly come into the hallway and find me listening at the door to her fiancé’s room—there were no sounds whatsoever from within.
The room on the other side of the staircase was a different matter. There was flickering light coming from under the door—romantic candlelight as opposed to the glare of electricity—and the sound of laughter and of murmured voices wafted out from within. I didn’t recognize them, and furthermore had no idea who was staying there. Judging from what I did know, it might have been Geoffrey’s room, and he was in there with Lady Violet, or perhaps the room belonged to Bilge Fortescue and his wife.
The room across the hall was similarly dark—Geoffrey’s, if the couple was the Fortescues, or perhaps the Fortescues’ if the giggler was Lady Violet—and beyond that was another suite of two bedrooms on the far end of the house, all dark and, as far as I knew, empty. I assumed Uncle Harold would be bunking in one of them tomorrow, and that Uncle Herbert and Aunt Roz would end up in the other.
The staircase was around the corner from what was either Geoffrey’s or the Fortescues’ room, and I scurried up and into what was clearly the servants wing upstairs. Three small bedrooms and a lavatory were crammed together in one corner of the house. At this point, the reason for Geoffrey’s chosen room was obvious: he hadn’t been attempting to get away from his parents—or rather, that was of secondary benefit. What he had really wanted, was easy access to where the maids slept. All he had to do was step across the hallway downstairs and creep up the stairs, and here he was, with his pick of maids.
