Page 80 of Evil at the Essex House
He shook his head. “Different case entirely. Jewelry theft in Mayfair. Bristol PD is handling Hughes’s death.”
I nodded. “Sorry to interrupt. Carry on.”
He looked past me to the top of the staircase. “The elder Schlomskys are upstairs?”
“All the Schlomskys are upstairs,” Christopher said and pushed to his feet. He extended a hand to me. “Up you come, Pippa.”
I let him pull me up and then we both stepped against the wall so Tom could squeeze past on the narrow staircase. “Is there anything we can do to help?” I asked after him, but he shook his head.
“I’ll take care of it. The three of you may leave. I’ll need statements from all three of you tomorrow.”
Crispin opened his mouth, and Tom, without even having looked at him, said, “Yes, you too, St George. Your father will just have to lump it, I’m afraid.”
Crispin shut his mouth again, defeated. “I’ll let Tidwell know not to expect me.”
Yes, let us not bother Uncle Harold in the middle of the night, but it was perfectly fine to drag Tidwell out of slumber after a long day of butlering.
“You can kip with us,” Christopher told him. “Or go to Sutherland House, as you please.”
“Your father would probably prefer it if you spent the night at Sutherland House,” I added, “under the watchful eye of Rogers.” And far away from my supposedly distracting presence.
Crispin smirked. “Will you let me sleep in your bed again, Darling?”
“As long as I can stay on the Chesterfield,” I said.
“Then how can I resist? Between a cold and lonely bed in the ancestral pile, under the eagle eye of old Rogers, or a delightful few hours in sheets that smell of Chanel No 5, how could anyone make any other decision?”
“”It won’t make any difference to me,” I told him. “I won’t be sharing it with you either way. Although you must have me confused with one of your other conquests. I wear Shalimar.”
“Of course, Darling.” He smirked. “For the record…”
“No, you cannot count me among your conquests. It was a figure of speech only.”
“It’s settled, then,” Christopher said. “You’re coming to ours for what’s left of the night. Hopefully we won’t wake up to your father hammering on the door at the crack of dawn this time.”
Yes, indeed. Although in justice to Uncle Harold, I imagine it had been equally distressing for him.
“I know where to find you,” Tom said, waving us away. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll be by to get your statements tomorrow.”
I shot a glance at the door behind which the Schlomskys were no doubt listening. “You don’t want any help with them?”
“I’ve done this job for a long time, Miss Darling.” He winked at me. “I’m sure I can manage.”
As he’s all of twenty-seven, and had been at university until he was twenty-three, courtesy of the war and getting a late start, it hadn’t really been all that long. But since he was no doubt saying it for the benefit of the Schlomskys, I declined to make a case out of it.
“Of course you can. We’ll be off then. You wouldn’t like for us to give the Schlomskys a lift back to the Savoy once you’re done speaking to them?” And to give me a chance to hear the conversation he was about to have with them before he let them go?
“I brought a Tender,” Tom said, about the fleet of Crossleys the Metropolitan Police had invested in after the war. “I’ll take care of it. Off you go. Shoo.”
I stuck my lip out, but shooed. Crispin preceded me down the hallway to the front door, while Christopher lingered for long enough to exchange a few soft words with Tom before he followed. They may have been personal, or a warning about what Tom would see on the upper floor; I don’t know.
“After you.” Crispin held the front door open with a bow, and waited for me to pass through, for all the world like he was ushering me out of a ballroom in Mayfair, and not this rickety shack in a slum in South London.
“Thank you.” I entered the narrow street where, between Crispin’s H6 and Tom’s Tender, there wasn’t much room to walk at all. A young constable in uniform stood a few feet away at parade rest. He nodded when we came out, but didn’t speak.
“You made good time,” I added, when we had reached the Hispano-Suiza, and Crispin was opening the door for me.
“I got lucky.” He kept a hand under my elbow while I made my way into the backseat. “The roads were practically empty, and Gardiner and DS Finchley were unpacking the Tender when I drove into the Yard. It helped that they knew me. Cut down on the explanations.”
