Page 18 of Peril in Piccadilly
“Why would you pay for a Hackney,” Crispin wanted to know, “when the motorcar is right outside and I can easily take you and Kit home on my way?”
“I’m sure what Pippa meant,” Christopher said, supporting me carefully for the walk across the slippery marble floor of the foyer, “was that we’d be delighted for the lift. Thank you, Crispin, for being willing to go out of your way.”
“Of course, Kit. We’ll be right there.” He turned to Tom. “Let’s get these questions over with, Gardiner, so I can get my fiancée out of her night clothes and into something decent for the drive. And then we’ll get out of here.”
By that point, Christopher and I had reached the front door, which Thompson held open for us. “Miss Darling. Mr. Astley.”
“Thank you, Thompson,” Christopher said. “We’re just going to wait right here until the others come.”
“Of course, Mr. Astley.” Thompson inclined his head. “Good day to you, Mr. Astley. You as well, Miss Darling.”
He closed the door behind us. I gave it a disgruntled look.
“You just wanted to hear the names of the other burglary victims,” Christopher told me as he guided me slowly towards the Hispano-Suiza.
“And you just didn’t want to leave Tom,” I shot back.
He didn’t answer, and I blew out a breath. “I hate being kept out of things.”
“I know you do.” He smirked. “But all you have to do is wait for the others to come out, and then ask Crispin. He’ll tell you.”
“Laetitia won’t let him,” I said morosely.
“I’m not sure it’s up to her, Pippa.” He stopped beside the Hispano-Suiza and attempted to prop me against the wheel well for support. I snorted at him, and he added, “Why do you want to know, anyway?”
He pulled open the door and then moved the seat up before gesturing to me.
“No particular reason,” I said as I made my slow way into the backseat. “I just like to know things.”
“Of course you do.” He climbed in after me. “Unless you think you know who the burglar is, I doubt it matters.”
“Of course I don’t know who the burglar is. How would I know something like that? It’s just interesting to speculate, is all.”
“Of course it is.” He leaned back against the seat. “It’s been quite an eventful morning, hasn’t it?”
It certainly had. “An eventful evening yesterday, too. I’m ready for a nap, I think.”
“When we get home,” Christopher said. “Or you can put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep now, if you’d like.”
“With the way St George drives? I wouldn’t dare.”
Although I did put my head back and close my eyes while I waited for Crispin and his fiancée to come out of the house.
When they did, Laetitia was appropriately dressed in a day frock—black, of course, with white embroidery—and her effects were packed into a weekender bag that Crispin stowed in the boot of the motorcar. That done, he assisted Laetitia into the passenger seat and slid himself behind the wheel.
“Everything all right?”
“She’s tired and in pain,” Christopher answered, so Crispin must have looked at me, I supposed. I opened my eyes, in time to see Laetitia direct a gimlet stare at the side of his head.
“I’m fine.” I sat up. “Who are the other families that were burgled?”
Crispin arched a brow in the mirror. “Really? You couldn’t even wait until I started the motor?”
“You have the answer,” I said, “and I want to know. So spill.”
He sighed, but turned the key in the ignition. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you’ll catch more flies with honey, Darling?”
“Philippa,” I said. “And I believe you have told me that, actually. Repeatedly. If you would like me to coo at you?—”
