Page 11 of Peril in Piccadilly
“How do you know?” Crispin wanted to know.
Laetitia looked guilty. “It was at the Cummingses. I didn’t mention it because…”
Because Lady Violet Cummings had been an old flame of Crispin’s, and his current fiancée hadn’t wanted to bring her up.
Crispin didn’t say anything, but Christopher and I exchanged a look that said it all. “What happened?” he wanted to know.
Laetitia sniffed. “The same thing that happened to me. I was asleep. I had taken the ring off because I didn’t want anything to happen to it…”
That was certainly understandable. The Sutherland engagement ring is obscenely large and gaudy. One could easily take out someone’s eye with it. Laetitia could have taken out her own, had she been careless in her sleep. Had it been mine, I would have taken it off to go to bed, as well.
“It was on the makeup table,” Laetitia added, wretchedly, “along with the earrings and the string of pearls I wore last night.”
The earrings were also part of the Sutherland parure, and correspondingly ostentatious and gaudy. The diamonds were enormous, and would undoubtedly fetch a pretty penny for whoever had stolen them. And while long strands of pearls are everywhere these days, this strand was probably made from real pearls, instead of the kind of cheap costume jewelry that us non-titled girls have to settle for.
“What happened?” Crispin inquired, his voice soft and sympathetic. I don’t know what amount of effort it took—perhaps it required none at all. It seemed as if the loss of the Sutherland diamonds was of less consequence to him than his concern about his fiancée’s wellbeing.
Which would have made sense if he were in love with his fiancée, but since I knew that he wasn’t…
Laetitia sniffed. “I was asleep. I didn’t hear the door open. He was very quiet. It wasn’t until he was at the toilet table, and something—perhaps the pearls—knocked into something, perhaps a perfume bottle…”
She took a hitching breath and tried again. “I heard a click. When I turned to look, someone was standing beside my toilet table. I thought at first that it was Geoffrey, but of course…”
Yes, of course. There was no need to spell it out. Lord Geoffrey Marsden, Laetitia’s brother, was in prison, waiting for the next session of the Western Circuit of the Assizes, to be tried for his involvement in the death of the Honorable Cecily Fletcher. He hadn’t killed her—someone else had been responsible for that—but Geoffrey had played his part, and had to answer for it. Buying an abortifacient with the intent of administering it is still a crime, even if the unborn child was the only one he intended to kill.
So no, this hadn’t been Geoffrey. Although it was possible that the thief had looked like him.
Laetitia shuddered when I asked for details. “He was tall, dressed all in black. He had a scarf tied over his nose and mouth.”
“So you wouldn’t recognize him.”
She shook her head. “I only got a glimpse.”
“Did he run when he realized you were awake?”
I pictured the scene, like something out of a silent film: Laetitia sitting upright in bed, in a drippy negligee of the type I had seen her wear during other weekend parties, screaming her head off, while the servants appeared from all corners, dressed in their pyjamas and carrying meat cleavers and fireplace pokers with which to overcome the burglar.
“No,” Laetitia said, and her flush was obvious even in the low light before dawn. “I hid. Under the covers.”
I blinked. So did Christopher. Crispin might have done, too, although I couldn’t tell from looking at the back of his neck.
I had no idea what to say. On the one hand, it was rather cowardly on her part, wasn’t it? The thief was stealing her jewelry, including the Sutherland engagement ring. The least she could have done was put up a fuss, it seemed. I would have liked to think that I’d be out of bed and on the attack as soon as I saw him, screaming like a banshee the whole time.
On the other hand, she had been taken by surprise, and she had undoubtedly felt at a disadvantage, in bed in her night-things. Hiding might have been the safest course of action, and perhaps a natural inclination, at least for some. I had never found myself in that position, so what did I know? Perhaps I would have done the same thing.
“You must have been terrified,” Christopher said sympathetically.
Laetitia sniffled, and nodded.
“What happened then?” I wanted to know. My understanding only extended so far, and I’m at any rate less inclined to coddle people than Christopher is. “Did he realize that you had seen him?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I pulled the counterpane over my head and waited. I was afraid that he would come over to the bed and?—”
She made a hiccoughing little sob, and Crispin slanted her a look from behind the wheel, “—and touch me.”
There was silence in the motorcar for a moment while we all contemplated this confession, and yes, I’ll admit it, the thought of it sent a chill down my spine. Perhaps I ought to be a bit more empathetic to her actions. It must have been terrifying to lie there and wait for the blankets to be pulled away and then—God knows what else.
“And did he do?” Crispin asked. His voice was tightly controlled.
