“We didn’t want to mention it in front of Francis,” I said. “We didn’t think he would take it well.”
Aunt Roz eyed me. “And you didn’t think a prior warning might have been better than having him show up here and come face to face with the enemy?”
“He’s not the enemy,” I said irritably. “I’m sorry that Francis is upset. Truly. And I understand why he would be. But the War has been over for almost eight years now. And I’m a bit German myself. Francis doesn’t seem to have a problem with that.”
“You weren’t in the trenches shooting at him,” Aunt Roz said.
“Neither was Wolfgang. He’s too young.”
Aunt Roz gave me a beady look, and I repeated it, defensively. “He wasn’t! I believe he’s around twenty-six or so. Too young for conscription.”
“That’s not what I meant, Pippa,” Aunt Roz said, “and you know it. You being half German, and your male friend being all the way German are two very different things. Besides, you know as well as I do that Francis loves you.”
Of course I knew that, and very well, too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Perhaps we should have said something, and then Francis could have stayed home and not had to deal with Wolfgang. Although I don’t know how that might have worked, honestly, since Constance is Laetitia’s cousin and was expected to be here in her own right, not just as Francis’s fiancée. I don’t think St George would have minded if Francis hadn’t shown up—he doesn’t like Wolfgang, either; St George, I mean?—”
“You don’t say?” Aunt Roz said dryly, and I gave her a look, but decided to continue with my sentence instead of derailing myself to inquire what she had meant.
“—but I’m sure Laetitia would have been horribly offended had Constance not been here, and I can’t imagine that Francis would have let Constance make the trip on her own, Germans or no Germans?—”
“No, I can’t imagine so,” Aunt Roz agreed. “So Crispin doesn’t like your friend, does he? I can’t imagine why. He’s quite well-mannered, and seems to go out of his way to be pleasant.”
That had always been my impression, too. Of course, we were talking about Crispin here, who has no concept of going out of his way to be anything but horrible.
“They took against one another pretty thoroughly from the moment they met,” I said. “One might have expected them to get along like a house on fire—two handsome, wealthy, titled,arrogant, young gentlemen; Crispin has plenty of friends just like that, and he doesn’t seem to mind them at all—but they took one look at one another and started bristling like two tomcats in an alley…”
“Imagine that.” Aunt Roz glanced around the first floor landing. I think she may have been attempting to hide a smile, although she couldn’t quite manage. “Where is Constance’s room?”
“Down there.” I pointed. “Primrose.”
“Lovely. We’re in Columbine, down at the end.” She started walking towards Primrose.
“I’m in Wisteria upstairs,” I said. “Christopher and Francis share Bluebell.” I indicated the door.
Aunt Roz glanced at it in passing. “Quaint.”
“We just have Pippa’s room and Christopher’s room in the flat.”
Aunt Roz nodded. “At home, as well. But of course you know that.”
Of course I did. I had spent eleven years in a room at Beckwith Place. One with no name beyond Pippa’s room.
Aunt Roz stopped outside the door to Primrose and applied her knuckles to the wood. “Constance? It’s Roslyn, dear. Are you in there?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For a second,the déjà vu was stunning. It was as if a fist had reached into my chest and wrapped around my lungs, squeezing. I wasn’t even aware that I had been worried. Not until now, when—for the third time today—I stood outside a bedroom door after knocking, and I remembered what had been waiting inside the room the other two times I had done the same thing.
But then there were noises from inside, and a moment later, the door opened and Constance’s face peered out. “Oh!” She smiled. “Hullo, Roslyn. Pippa.”
“Hello, Constance,” I managed, and if my chest felt a bit tighter than it ought to, I think I was the only one who noticed.
Aunt Roz swept past Constance. I took a breath and followed, and Constance shut the door behind us, looking from Aunt Roz to me and back. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine,” Aunt Roz assured her, at the same time as I said, “Other than the two murders.”
My aunt and I glanced at one another, before we both seemingly decided that it was the better part of valor to simply let that statement lie.
“Yes,” I turned back to Constance. “All is well. There’s nothing new.”
