Page 81 of Evil at the Essex House
“I imagine it did.” I didn’t think Tom had any particularly fond feelings for Crispin—not like he did for Christopher—but he knows him well enough to trust that if Crispin told him there was a dead body, Tom could take him at his word.
I made myself comfortable and turned to watch as Christopher exited the building with a nod to the constable, and then came towards us. “I don’t suppose anything interesting was said?”
“Everything I say is interesting,” Crispin informed me as he made himself comfortable behind the wheel, “but if you mean did Gardiner say anything interesting, then no. They stopped unloading the Tender, Finchley went home, and Gardiner snagged a constable and followed me here. I don’t know what they talked about, but nobody spoke to me, because we were in separate motorcars.”
Of course. “How much did you tell him?”
“The basic information,” Crispin said, as Christopher opened the other side of the motorcar. “Florence Schlomsky has been missing for a few days, and two days ago her parents got a ransom note in the mail. Tonight they dropped off the ransom. We followed the kidnapper and found the body. End of story.”
He turned the motor on. The noise was loud in the quiet street.
“Succinctly put,” I told him.
He smirked. “Thank you, Darling. Ready, Kit?”
Christopher nodded. “Let’s go, and stand not on the order of our going, or however the saying goes.”
I had my mouth open to quote the saying, but that was just as the H6 took off down the narrow street with a roar. Instead, I let the burst of air that hit my face blow the words away and rejoiced in getting away from the dank and depressing place where Florence had breathed her last.
When the knockon the door came the next morning, I went to open it with visions of His Grace, the Duke of Sutherland, dancing in my head. When I pulled the door open and it only revealed Detective Sergeant Tom Gardiner, I considered myself lucky and invited him in.
“Christopher and Crispin are still asleep. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll go knock them up.”
I scooped up the pillow and blanket from the Chesterfield and bade Tom sit. “I’ll only be a moment. Help yourself to anything you can find in the kitchen.”
I headed for the hallway to the bedrooms even as I was speaking, and pushed open the door to my own bedroom, which Crispin was occupying, with no concern for the sleeping lord. “Rise and shine, St George. We have company.”
He sat up straight in bed, looking confused and dazed and with his hair sticking out in every direction. I looked away as the blanket fell, leaving him bare to the waist. “It isn’t…” His voice was froggy, and he had to clear his throat and try again, “it isn’t my father, is it?”
I shook my head as I turned towards the wardrobe. “It’s Tom. Just give me a moment to find a frock and some unmentionables, and I’ll go change in Christopher’s room. The lav is all yours.”
“Thank you, Darling.” I heard the rustle as he threw off the bedclothes, and kept my eyes averted as he stalked through the room and out the door in what was surely nothing much at all. Once the lavatory door was safely latched behind him, I scurried down the hallway with my summer frock and shoes, and entered Christopher’s room with a brief knock. “Tom’s here. St George is in the lav.”
“Tom?” Christopher sat as upright as Crispin had at the news, but with rather more anticipation and less dread. His hair was sticking out every which way, too, and he was rubbing his eyes with his fists the way he had done when he was small. "Already?”
“It’s seven-thirty. Practically time for elevenses.” I pulled the pyjama top over my head and reached for my camisole. “I suppose he wants an early start, with a new crime scene to investigate and a fresh murder to solve.”
“No doubt,” Christopher nodded. “Better hurry up with that. Crispin will be here the moment he’s done in the washroom, just to see if he can catch you without your clothes on.”
“He wouldn’t be so gauche,” I said, even as I hurried to pull the frock over my head and smooth it down. “There. All safe.”
And none too soon, either, since the door opened just a few moments later, and Crispin stuck his head in. “Morning, Kit. Darling.”
He looked me over, but since I had managed to get the frock on just in time, there was nothing for him to see. He didn’t look disappointed, but I smirked anyway. “What do you need, St George?”
“I came to raid Kit’s closet,” Crispin said, and pushed the door open. “Don’t want to spend the day in black tie if I don’t have to. You don’t mind, do you, Kit?”
He walked in, wearing nothing but his trousers. I looked away, to where Christopher shook his head. “Knock yourself out. Just bring back whatever you borrow. You still have my flannel bags and pullover from the last time you rifled through my closet.”
“You’ll have to come down to Sutherland Hall and pick them up yourself,” Crispin said, as he pulled open the doors to the wardrobe. “Let’s see…”
“Excuse me,” I told them both, “I’m going to go splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I’ll see you both—and Tom—in the sitting room in a few minutes.”
It was the reminder Christopher needed—that Tom was waiting—to get him out of bed and moving. As I walked out of the room, he had gone to join Crispin in front of the wardrobe, both of them peering in at the clothes as if they expected some sort of outfit to jump out at them.
By the time I made it out of the bathroom and then my bedroom, after taking a couple of minutes to paint my lashes and lips, everyone was gathered in the sitting room. Tom was sitting in the chair with Christopher perched on the arm, while Crispin was leaning back on the Chesterfield, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. Everyone was smoking.
“Refreshments?” I inquired when I walked in. “Breakfast? It’s a bit early for alcohol, I suppose, but I could make a pot of tea or coffee?”
