Page 71 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
“Darling. You two are…” Sammy looked from him to me and back, dubiously, “together?”
I wasn’t the only person who snorted derisively at that. Crispin did, and so did Francis. So, for that matter, did Uncle Harold.
“Certainly not,” Crispin said. “I don’t pass muster with Darling. Do I?”
“Not at all,” I agreed. “You’re a cad and a vile seducer, and I wouldn’t have you if you were giftwrapped with a ribbon around your neck.”
He gave me a mock bow, just as if I had paid him a genuine compliment. “Just so.”
I rolled my eyes. “I suppose you could be worse, St George. I’m not certain off-hand precisely how, but if you put your mind to it, I’m sure you could manage, being so uniquely gifted in that way.”
His smirk widened. “Thank you, Darling.”
Sammy snorted and turned back to the conversation. “Who of you slept alone last night?”
There was a beat, then— “What cheek,” Crispin drawled. “Do you really suppose all of us are comfortable with that line of questioning, Constable?”
“This is an official inquiry—” Sammy began stiffly, but before he could say anything further, Uncle Harold had butted in.
“That’s enough, St George. Don’t make this any more difficult than you already have.”
“Yes, Father.” Crispin didn’t quite roll his eyes, but I’m fairly certain I saw the intent and watched him squash it. I don’t know whether Uncle Harold noticed.
“I spent the night alone,” I told Sammy. “On the third floor, across from Christopher and Crispin, in a room of my own. I had a view of the lawn and if I had looked out the window at the right moment, I might have seen her.” Or seen the murder.
“But you didn’t?”
I shook my head. “Not until I woke up this morning. I was the first one to notice.”
Or at least the first one to say anything about it.
“And no one can vouch for your whereabouts between midnight and six this morning?”
“It was more like ten last night. But no.”
“Why did you retire early?” Sammy wanted to know.
The truth was that I had had enough of Geoffrey’s idiocy as well as Laetitia’s shenanigans, but I couldn’t really say that. So— “I’d had enough of St George for the evening,” I said.
The latter’s brow arched. “Is that so? I don’t recall being there with you when you made that decision.”
“You weren’t. You can annoy from a distance, too.”
“Of course.”
“So no,” I told Sammy. “From ten last night until this morning, I have no alibi. Not unless the boys heard me snore when they came upstairs.”
Crispin and Christopher both shook their heads. “Pippa—” Aunt Roz began.
“It’s the truth, Aunt Roz. I slept alone. He can’t prove that I went downstairs and killed Abigail, because I didn’t, but I slept alone.”
She nodded. Sammy looked around the assembly. “Who else has no alibi for the night?”
Geoffrey and Laetitia both raised their hands. Uncle Harold didn’t, I noticed, although he had certainly spent the night alone, too.
“Names?”
Geoffrey eyed Sammy down his nose. “I’m Lord Geoffrey Marsden, and this is my sister, Lady Laetitia.”
