Page 103 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
“Masterfully done,” I said. “Tom wanted gin?”
He shook his head. “Tom wanted Wilkins. I wanted to give Wilkins an excuse that didn’t include the police.”
“So you don’t want the gin?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Uncle Herbert’s liquor cabinet,” Crispin said and headed for the door. “Come along, Darling. Let’s go make our report.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
We made our report,which essentially meant that Crispin knocked on the door to the study, stuck his head through, and said, “He’s coming. I told him to bring me a bottle of the most expensive gin the Arms can lay their hands on so he wouldn’t suspect anything.”
“I don’t know what you think he might suspect, Lord St George,” Tom said blandly, “but thank you for the help.”
“I told him I’d meet him when he gets here. So I suppose I should keep myself nearby, to intercept.”
“Of course you did.” Tom’s voice was resigned. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t snort. “Then yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind intercepting.”
I couldn’t see Crispin’s face, but I could hear the smirk. “Delighted to be of assistance, Detective Sergeant.”
He pulled the door shut and the smirk turned into a grin. I grinned back. “Well done, St George.”
“Thank you, Darling. Now…” He glanced around, “you were looking for Kit?”
“I wondered where he was,” I admitted. “You said you thought you knew.”
He nodded. “Follow me.”
He strode off down the hallway. I gave the study door a last, longing look before scurrying after, and caught up just as he pushed open the back door onto the terrasse.
“Out here?” I looked around. “I don’t see him.”
“Watch and learn, Darling.”
He headed across the flagstones and down the stairs with me trailing two steps behind. But once on the grass, instead of turning towards the crime scene and the driveway, he took a left, skirting the terrasse in the other direction.
Back here, below the scullery window, is the vegetable garden, and on the grass, a table and chairs under the overhanging branches of a large, old English Oak. Beyond that again is an arbor, and then there’s a part of the house where a lot of ivy grows around the window of Uncle Herbert’s study.
Crispin turned to me and put his finger to his mouth. I peered past him and saw Christopher sitting on the ground below the window, his back against the worn brick and his knees up. His eyes were closed—the better to concentrate on what was being said inside, no doubt—but he must have sensed our approach across the grass, because he jerked his head in our direction. It seemed to take a second—perhaps he hadn’t expected to see us together, or hadn’t expected to be found by anyone at all—and then his eyes widened.
He started to move—his face when he looked at Crispin was horrified, and I guess it’s never really a pleasant experience when you realize that someone you’ve listened to knows you’ve eavesdropped, although it wasn’t as if Crispin had said anything important during his scant few seconds inside the study—but the latter waved him back down, silently. Christopher settled back into his spot on the ground and turned to me. His expression was apologetic. He must have eavesdropped on my conversation with Tom and Sammy, too, I assumed. Or the part of it he had caught after walking out here.
It didn’t really matter to me—I hadn’t said anything important either, and I would have shared every detail I remembered with him later anyway if he wanted to know—so I just smiled and took the hand he extended, and sat down next to him. Crispin dropped down on the other side of me, silently, and we all started to pay attention to what was going on inside.
“—only time it happened,” Tom said, and I felt Christopher’s hand jerk in shock.
“Apparently not,” Uncle Herbert answered bitterly.
“When did you first learn?—?”
“This morning, believe it or not.” He made a sound that might have been a very ugly laugh. “Hughes told me.”
“Hughes?” Sammy echoed, and Tom provided the explanation: from Marsden Manor to Sutherland Hall to Beckwith Place. After it was concluded, Sammy asked, “How would the maid know?”
“Apparently the other maid told her,” Uncle Herbert said. “I’m more interested in howyouknow.”
It was Tom who answered, so the question must have been directed at him. (Really, it is so much more difficult to follow a conversation when you can’t see the people involved in it.)
“I know all sorts of things about all sorts of people,” Tom said blandly. “I had access to Simon Grimsby’s blackmail notes at Sutherland Hall, remember?”
