Page 47 of Evil at the Essex House
“No one’s seen her since you dropped her off on the Strand two nights ago,” I told him bluntly. “This morning, her parents received a ransom note demanding fifty thousand American dollars for her safe return.”
“And naturally you thought of me.”
His tone was as dry as the Sahara.
“Pippa thought you might like to know,” Christopher told him, and it was Crispin’s turn to snort.
“Oh, I’m certain Philippa was acting purely out of the goodness of her heart. Weren’t you, Darling?”
“Don’t be absurd, St George,” I told him severely. “Of course I don’t suspect you of having had anything to do with it.”
He made a disbelieving sort of noise, and I added, “Back when we thought there was a chance she might have eloped or simply decided to waste her time in someone’s bed for a few days, yes. You were high on the list then. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” Crispin echoed.
“But neither of us thinks you’d commit abduction for money. Whatever else is wrong with you, you’re too much of a gentleman for that.”
“Charmed,” Crispin said, sounding anything but.
“Knock it off, Crispin,” Christopher told him. He must have gotten tired of the bickering. “This is a serious matter. They want fifty thousand dollars by eleven o’clock tomorrow night, or they’ll kill her.”
“Thatisserious.” Crispin waited a moment and then he added, “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Nothing at all,” I told him. “There’s nothing any of us can do. Just…”
“Yes?”
“You were telling the truth, weren’t you? When you said you dropped her off on the Strand?”
“Yes, Darling. I was. The last time I saw her she was standing on the corner waiting to cross the street. Besides, you were in my motorcar after that. You’d know if I hadn’t left her off. Unless you think I somehow managed to stuff her in the boot in the middle of the Strand?”
I sniffed. “Of course not. That would be impossible.”
“Quite.”
“Although we don’t know that she didn’t go into Charing Cross and meet you in Salisbury later that night.”
“If she had done,” Crispin said coolly, “she wouldn’t have ended up in Salisbury. I would have taken her to Waterloo instead. The Charing Cross trains run on the South Eastern line. Salisbury is on the South Western.”
Of course. I knew that. I just hadn’t been thinking straight.
“But if you’d like,” Crispin continued, “I’d be happy to put Tidwell or Mrs. Mason on the telephone, and they can assure you that she isn’t here. Or my father, if you prefer.”
“No, thank you,” I said with a grimace. “Nothing against Tidwell or Mrs. Mason, of course. Under no circumstances do I wish to talk to your father.”
I’m sure Uncle Harold has his own reasons for disliking me. I’m half German, I’m poor, his brother has had to take care of me since I was eleven years old because my own parents are dead and unable to do so; I honestly don’t know what Uncle Harold’s reasons may be, because he’s never admitted that he feels that way, not out loud. But as for me, I dislike him because he’s a right bastard to his son much of the time, and I don’t appreciate it. I’ve earned the right to torment Crispin. He has tormented me enough to deserve retaliation. But Uncle Harold has no business meting out punishment. Crispin is his son and heir and should be treated with love and care by his father.
The scion of the Sutherlands sighed. “Then what would you have me do, Darling?”
“Nothing,” Christopher said firmly. “It’s nothing to do with you, Crispin. We both know that you don’t have Flossie stashed away in your bed chamber at home.”
Christopher glared at me over the mouthpiece, expectantly. I made a face but said obediently, “Yes, St George. We know that.”
The latter huffed. “What do you want, then?”
“We don’t want anything,” Christopher told him. “Really, Crispin. Pippa asked if I thought we ought to tell you, and I said yes. You know Flossie, and you deserve to know what has happened to her. We didn’t ring up because we suspect you of having had anything to do with it, or because we think there’s anything you can do. It’s truly just because we thought you should know. Flossie is… the two of you… well, she isn’t?—”
“Don’t you dare, Kit.”
