Page 21 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
Yes, much better to keep little Bess with us, as assurance of her mother’s return. Besides, the baby would probably be more comfortable here than in the infirmary, anyway.
“Christopher,” Aunt Roz said, “run out and fetch… No, on second thought we’ll just leave them all where they are. Can you carry her?”
Christopher gave Abigail a dubious look, but he nodded.
“Lift her, then, and let’s take her outside. Can either of you drive Crispin’s car?”
“He’d kill us,” Christopher said, as he headed for the sofa. I nodded.
Aunt Roz huffed exasperatedly. “He would not. He loves you both.”
He didn’t. And even if he did, at least in Christopher’s case, he loved the Hispano-Suiza more. But before I could say anything about it, she had gone on. “We’ll take the Bentley. Or perhaps we can find Wilkins. Harold won’t mind if we take the Crossley down to the village and back. Go on, Christopher.”
She nodded towards the door, and Christopher headed for it with Abigail in his arms. I was impressed, I have to say. I know Francis had lifted and carried her earlier, with no problem, but that’s Francis, isn’t it? He’s a fully grown man almost seven years older than Christopher. Of coursehewould be able to lift and carry eight or nine stone of dead weight. Christopher is both younger and slighter, and I was rather impressed that he managed it, without apparent effort, too.
Aunt Roz hurried ahead of him through the library and toward the hallway.
“Go on, Philippa,” Doctor White said, and nudged me into motion ahead of him. “You’re on baby duty, it seems?”
“I’m sure Aunt Roz will take her away from me shortly,” I said, “but for now, it seems I am. Anything we should know about taking care of a baby?”
“I’m sure Roslyn has it covered. She’s had several of her own, after all. It’s about time for grandchildren, isn’t it?”
He beamed at little Bess.
I smiled politely. It was all I could do when I didn’t know whether he was fishing for information or a confirmation or what. Anything I said would likely give an impression I didn’t want to give, so it was much safer just to keep my mouth shut. And by then we had reached the boot room, where Aunt Roz was holding the door open and giving Christopher instructions for how to navigate through the mess.
“Turn sideways… yes, that’s right. Be careful with the Wellies, there on your left. Don’t stumble. Now watch her head… I said watch it, Christopher?—”
“I’m watching,” Christopher grumbled. “I’m not going to bash her head against the door jamb, Mum. I’m not stupid.”
“Of course you’re not, dear. Just turn a little bit more… yes, that’s right?—”
Christopher rolled his eyes, but maneuvered the body—the unconscious body—through the doorway.
“After you, Philippa,” Doctor White said with a touch to my back. I made it through the door in time to see Christopher head down along the driveway towards the parked cars with Aunt Roz scurrying beside him.
Five minutes later, Uncle Harold’s Crossley made its sedate way towards the village with Wilkins at the wheel and Doctor White enthroned in the passenger seat next to him, while Christopher was in the back holding onto Abigail. I had offered to come along instead, in case a woman’s touch was needed, but the doctor had assured me that the nurse would manage and that he’d rather have two strong, young men capable of wrangling the body than my feminine touch.
“You stay here and mind the baby, Philippa,” he told me, with a pat on the shoulder.
So that was that. Off they went. The excitement was over, at least for now.
“Better give her to me,” Aunt Roz said, reaching for the baby, “or Harold will have a conniption.”
She tucked Bess onto her own hip with practiced ease, and turned toward the back of the house and the croquet lawn. “Let’s just go this way, shall we?”
Certainly. “Why would Uncle Harold care…?” I began, but she was already several feet away, and there was nothing I could do but follow.
CHAPTERSIX
The terrasse was mostly backto normal by the time I got there. Uncle Herbert was entertaining the Earl of Marsden and his son, and from the way they were chuckling, the subject must have been either hunting or women. Crispin had been gathered back in by Lady Laetitia, and between her, her mother, and his father, he was being kept on the straight and narrow with no opportunity for escape. He didn’t even glance my way when I stepped onto the terrasse, although that could have been for other reasons. Something was obviously going on with him, considering the way he had looked at me like he’d seen a ghost in the library earlier.
“Stupid idiot,” I grumbled as I dropped into the chair between Aunt Roz and Francis.
Aunt Roz glanced at me. “What’s that?”
“St George. I don’t know why he puts up with Lady Laetitia draping herself all over him like that.”
