Page 51 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
“What about Geoffrey?”
“Somewhere,” Crispin said. “Maybe he went to bed early, too, or maybe he roamed the house hoping to find a stray female.”
“He was out of luck, then. I locked my door, and Constance was with Francis in the library. Not that Geoffrey would try to seduce Constance, I imagine.”
“He’d seduce anything in a skirt,” Crispin said, which was rich considering the source.
Before I could say so, Sammy cleared his throat. “Who’s this, then?”
“Lord Geoffrey Marsden,” I said. “Only son of the Earl of Marsden and his countess. Cousin to the bride-to-be.”
“And what was his relationship to the deceased?” By now, he had pulled the standard issue notebook and pencil stub out of his pocket and was actually taking notes. Perhaps he could be taught after all.
“None that we know of,” I said. Although if Geoffrey had been roaming the house last night, hoping to come across an unattached female, and Abigail had showed up… well, who knew what might have happened?
Although how would Geoffrey know where to find a croquet mallet? We hadn’t played last night, so they weren’t easily accessible. As far as I knew—as far as everyone in the family knows—the croquet set is stored in the carriage house.
Then again, Geoffrey had been here a good part of the day yesterday. There was no reason to think he might not have explored the grounds closely enough to figure out where the sports equipment was kept.
Sammy made no inquiries about the croquet mallet, so I didn’t say anything about it. He asked a few more very basic questions and then he dismissed us to the house to change. And while he managed to give the impression that my pyjamas were entirely beneath his notice, he also managed to make it seem like I must be the loosest of loose women to be wandering around outside in them accompanied by two young men.
I flushed with irritation but kept my mouth shut. Hopefully, we’d only have to deal with Sammy for an hour or two more, before Tom got here and took over, and then I wouldn’t have to see Constable Entwistle again.
So I kept my head high as I stalked up the stairs to the terrasse and across the flagstones to the back door. Once we were inside and out of Sammy’s hearing, however, I said, “I suppose we should knock up the others. Cook will be arriving soon, too, I imagine.”
“I’ll get started on that,” Crispin offered, “while you two get changed. While your pyjamas are lovely, Darling, you clearly shocked poor Constable Entwistle down to his toes. I can only imagine how he’d react to Constance’s virginal frills or Laetitia’s lace and satin.”
“I’m sure Lady Laetitia would take it in her stride,” I said, since she wasn’t the shy and retiring type. “Constance, on the other hand…”
He sighed. “Yes, Darling, I’m aware.” He stopped outside the library door. “I’ll wake them up, shall I, and then work my way upstairs? Knock up Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert, then my father? Aunt Roz will want to deal with the Marsdens herself, don’t you think?”
“We’ll knock on Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert’s door on our way upstairs,” I said. “You concentrate on your father and Lady Laetitia. She would undoubtedly rather have you walk into her bedchamber than me or Aunt Roz. Although with everyone else around, I suppose it’s just as well if you don’t, actually. Best not to give anyone the opportunity to say you’ve compromised her.”
“I’m afraid that ship sailed months ago, Darling.”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “There’s no need to rub it in, St George.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Go on upstairs. I’ll get started on this.”
He twisted the knob, and when the door didn’t open, he applied his knuckles to the wood. “Constance? Francis? Open up.”
“Come on, Pippa,” Christopher said and took my elbow. “Let him deal with it. We’ll go get changed.”
I let him pull me away from the door and along the passage to the door beside the study and into the front of the house. From there, we climbed the stairs to the first floor, where Christopher lingered to knock up his parents and I headed up the second flight of stairs to the attic level where I got busy changing into proper attire for the day.
By the time I was dressed in a sprigged summer frock of my own—yellow and violet with a dropped waist, cap sleeves, and three ruffles on the skirt—Francis had made his way up to join Christopher, and was asking questions about what had happened. When Christopher mentioned Sammy Entwistle’s name, Francis’s face contorted in a snarl. “Sodding bastard.”
“I take it you’ve met again since you were children?” I inquired delicately.
He scowled. “You take that right. The tosser threw me in the village jail overnight to sober up a couple of months ago. Gave me a beat-down while he did it, too. Said I had ‘resisted arrest’ when I woke up the next morning with a black eye and bruises.”
“That’s not right,” Christopher said.
Francis shook his head. “Nought I could do about it, though. It was just the two of us, and I was drunk off my arse. And while I don’t remember putting up a fight, I suppose I might have done.”
“I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t,” I told him, leaning against the door jamb with my arms crossed over my chest, “if Sammy Entwistle tried to arrest you.”
Francis made a face. “You’re probably right about that. Now, do you mind, Pipsqueak? A bit of privacy, if you can? I’d like to change out of these clothes.”
