Page 42 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
“That’s what we surmise happened. She hasn’t actually been awake to tell anyone anything. But she started with St George, then she came to see Christopher, and now here she is, where Francis lives.”
“So it’s not Crispin,” Laetitia said, and in her favor, she actually sounded relieved.
I flicked him a glance. “He says it isn’t.”
“But if she moved on…”
“That’s if she decided he isn’t the baby’s father. She could equally well have moved on because he denied her, and now she’s trying to drum up sympathy in other quarters, so she can have support for when she nails him to the wall.”
Crispin winced. “Thanks a lot, Darling.”
I smirked. “Just telling the truth the way I see it, St George.”
“But you said she came to see Christopher Astley after seeing St George,” Geoffrey said.
I nodded. “And she took one look at me and ran, without telling me anything at all.”
“So you don’t know that Mr. Astley isn’t the baby’s father.” Laetitia grasped hold of this idea in the manner of someone who’s looking for something—anything—solid in a storm.
Her brother chuckled, but before he could voice whatever inanity had come to his mind, I told her, “Iknow that Christopher isn’t, if he’s the Mr. Astley you’re referring to. But there’s no proof of that, any more than there’s proof for or against anyone else. And clearly some Mr. Astley or other is responsible.”
Laetitia opened her mouth, but before she could say anything else, there was the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway outside. A moment later, Aunt Roz swept through the door to the library, followed by Uncle Herbert. Christopher trailed behind them. I looked beyond him, in case Uncle Harold or the elder Marsdens had chosen to come along, too, but they must have decided to stay in the dining room, or wherever else they were gathered at this point.
“Francis!” Aunt Roz made for the sofa.
Francis opened his eyes to slits. “Mum?”
“What have you done to yourself, silly boy?”
She perched on the sofa next to him and pushed the hair out of his face.
“Got drunk,” Francis muttered.
Aunt Roz’s nose wrinkled. “So I smell.”
Uncle Herbert smothered a laugh.
“Constance wants to stay here with him,” I said. “She’s gone upstairs to change into her night clothes and to bring down a pair of blankets. I don’t see any reason why she can’t, personally. He’s in no condition to take advantage of anyone, and if he were going to, chances are he would have done it already.”
“I’m not sure the Marsdens will agree with that reasoning, Pippa,” Aunt Roz said, with a sideways look at Laetitia and Geoffrey, “although I suppose Constance is of age and can make her own decisions.”
I nodded. “That’s what I assumed.” And let’s be honest, it wasn’t as if Lady Laetitia or Lord Geoffrey had any claim to chastity. To demand that Constance behave like a lady while they carried on however they wanted seemed like the height of hypocrisy.
“Let’s just not mention anything about it to them,” I said. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them and all of that. And as you said, Constance is of age.”
Aunt Roz nodded. “We’ll just let you deal with it and go back to our guests. Sleep well, son.” She patted Francis on the shoulder before sweeping out of the library with Uncle Herbert right behind. He winked at me on his way past.
“We’ll go to Mummy and Daddy, as well,” Laetitia said and made to follow. The personal pronoun seemed to include Crispin, because she took him with her. “Come along, Geoffrey.”
She made her exit with both young men in attendance.
“Good God, Christopher,” I said, when I thought she must be far enough down the hallway that she wouldn’t be able to hear me, “please say it isn’t just me. I know I roll my eyes a little extra hard because it’s St George, but please tell me she really is as insufferable as I think she is. It can’t be just me, surely?”
“She’s a trial,” Christopher said. “So is he, of course, in his own way.”
“She’s already taken possession of him, you know. She acts as if it’s a done deal.”
Christopher nodded. “Perhaps it is.”
