Page 82 of Evil at the Essex House
“Later,” Tom said, with an air of authority. “Sit.”
He nodded to the sofa next to Crispin, and I arched my brows and sat down.
“You too, Kit.”
Christopher also arched his brows, but he slid off the arm of Tom’s chair and took a languid seat next to me.
“So,” Tom said.
There was silence. We sat there, side by side, and waited. It felt a bit like being called to the headmistress’s office—or on the carpet before Uncle Herbert—but I honestly wasn’t certain what crime I had committed, and I don’t think the other two were, either.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Miss Schlomsky?”
The question was directed at all of us, but I assumed—and so did he—that it was meant for Christopher. “That she had been kidnapped, do you mean? We tried. But by the time the ransom note came, and we realized that something was wrong, we couldn’t find you.”
“You must have known that she was missing before then?”
“We knew we couldn’t find her,” I said. “We knew that she hadn’t shown up at the Savoy to see her parents, and that she wasn’t in the flat. But it wasn’t until the ransom note was delivered that we realized that she wasn’t staying away of her own free will.”
Tom nodded. “Tell me everything.”
ChapterNineteen
We told him everything,starting with the telegram and Flossie’s reaction to it, and ending with the discovery of the body and Crispin going off to fetch the police. Along the way, Tom asked questions about anything that wasn’t clear, and by the time we got to the end of the recitation, he nodded. “Excellent, thank you.”
“Our turn,” I said. “Did the Schlomskys say anything last night?”
Tom’s lips twitched. “They said quite a few things.”
I huffed. “You know what I mean. Anything interesting?”
“They suspect you of being involved,” Tom said. “Or Mr. Hiram Schlomsky does. Mrs. Sarah Schlomsky seemed to believe your story about following the kidnappers to the house in Southwark.”
“Why wouldn’t Hiram believe us? It was the truth!”
“You have to admit it looked suspicious, Pippa,” the voice of reason—aka Christopher—said. “If he saw us—or saw you two, rather—on the church tower when he dropped off the ransom, it’s no wonder he thought you were involved.”
“Not to mention that when he walked into the shack in Southwark,” Crispin added, “and saw his daughter’s body, I was holding a tire iron and Kit an oversized torch.”
Ugh. Yes, when he put it like that, I suppose we did look somewhat suspicious.
“I had to promise him to test the tire iron for evidence,” Tom told us. “I’m going to have to take it with me, St George.”
Crispin waved a hand. “By all means. There’s nothing on it but my fingerprints and a bit of dirt and grease.”
Tom nodded. “I’m not concerned. While a tire iron is likely pretty close to the murder weapon, I don’t think either of you was wielding it.”
Good to know.
“Although while we’re on the subject,” Tom added, “I should also let you know that I stopped by Sutherland House this morning and spoke to Rogers. He assured me that there had been no young ladies in the house in the past week.”
He glanced at Crispin. The latter smirked. “No, I’ve been a good boy lately. Although what my usual habits have to do with any of this…”
“He’s talking about Flossie,” I said, “you prat. And where she was kept during the time she was gone.”
Tom nodded. “We also rang up Sutherland Hall, and Tidwell said the same thing. I hope he won’t feel the need to tell your father about the inquiry, St George, but I thought I ought to let you know, in case His Grace brings it up.”
“Much obliged,” Crispin told him, but didn’t sound like he was grateful. It’s hard to, when you’re speaking through gritted teeth. “Was that really necessary?”
