Crispin nodded.“Might as well wait until the morning.”
Yes, indeed.Francis could take us to Salisbury after breakfast, and we’d be in London by afternoon.
“It’s been lovely,” I told Duke Harold politely.“Thank you for inviting us.”
Christopher nodded.“Yes, thank you, Uncle Harold.”
His Grace inclined his head.“It’s always a pleasure, Christopher.”
The statement rather pointedly excluded me, and I’m sure we could all hear it.I was under no illusions, and I’m sure no one else was, either.But there was no point in commenting on it.Aside from the fact that I was in Uncle Harold’s home, and that I shouldn’t be rude to our host, any complaint would simply serve to make me look like a brat.
So I kept my mouth closed, and ignored Lady Laetitia’s smirk, and the Countess of Marsden’s ditto, not to mention the color in Crispin’s cheeks.Instead, I devoted myself to my plate.
“This is delicious.Cook has outdone herself.”
“Marvellous tripe,” Francis agreed blandly.
Uncle Harold cleared his throat, and Francis told him, “Sorry, Uncle Harold,” but without bothering to sound like he meant it.
“Never mind, Francis,” Uncle Harold said.
Francis nodded, and looked down at his plate.The corners of his lips were twitching.I could see Constance slanting a look at him along the table.
And it was around that point that the sound of a motorcar entered the courtyard and came to a stop.
“Are we expecting someone else?”Crispin wanted to know, looking around the table.We were all present, except for Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert, of course.Perhaps something had happened to the Bentley, and they had had to return to Sutherland Hall instead of going on to Beckwith Place?
His Grace didn’t answer.From the foyer, we could hear Tidwell’s measured steps as he crossed the marble in the direction of the door.
The hinges squeaked, and then Tidwell’s voice said, “Good afternoon, Constable.”
I arched my brows, and Christopher arched his right back.
There was the murmur of voices in the foyer, too faint to make out, and the sounds of… not quite a scuffle, but the shuffling of feet.
“One moment—” Tidwell’s voice protested, breathlessly, but whoever he was talking to quite obviously did not heed the warning, since, a moment later, his figure appeared in the door to the dining room.
One of the village bobbies, in full uniform.I recognized his face, in the vague sort of way that one recognizes someone one has seen about but doesn’t really know.I had no idea what his name was, but I knew that I had seen him before.
He stopped in the doorway to look around the table.Lady Laetitia, the Countess of Marsden, Constance.Me.
“Your Grace,” Tidwell intoned, elbowing the constable out of his way as he stepped across the threshold, “may I present Constable Daniels?—”
Daniels didn’t wait for the response.“Miss Darling,” he said instead.“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”
ChapterNine
For a moment,no one spoke.I waited for Uncle Harold to take the reins—he was the Duke of Sutherland, and we were in the dining room at Sutherland Hall—but His Grace must have been just as taken aback as the rest of us, because he uttered not a word.Nor did Crispin, for that matter.It was Tidwell who spoke up.“You can’t simply walk in on His Grace’s luncheon guests, Constable Daniels.”
Daniels flicked Uncle Harold a glance.“My apologies, Your Grace.”
Uncle Harold inclined his head.I would have expected a bit more outrage, to be honest, but perhaps he was simply too surprised, or too curious to see what would happen next, to interfere.
“Why?”
I wasn’t the one who asked.It was Francis who bristled on my behalf.“Why do you want to take Pippa away?”he added.
Constable Daniels turned his attention to him.And contemplated him for a moment in silence before he said, politely enough, “We have a few questions about a murder.”
