Page 26 of Peril in Piccadilly
He arched his brows, and I went on, since he truly wouldn’t be able to guess. “Rogers rang up from Sutherland House at half four this morning and told us that there had been a burglary at Marsden House. Laetitia’s engagement ring is gone.”
I couldn’t quite keep the glee out of my voice. Wolfgang was silent for a moment, probably placing the locations of Sutherland House and Marsden House, and the persons of Rogers and Laetitia, into their proper slots in his head. “Does that mean that the engagement is over,” he asked, “as well?”
Oh, if only.
I snorted derisively. “Hardly. The only way Crispin gets out of marrying Laetitia at this point, is if he drops dead, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try to wheel him to the altar then, too.”
Although that was perhaps a touch unkind of me. She really did seem to want him for himself at least as much as she wanted the chance to become the Duchess of Sutherland later.
Wolfgang nodded. He looked as if he were thinking deeply. “Why would… Rogers is part of the staff at your cousin’s Town house, I suppose?”
Crispin wasn’t my cousin, of course, unless Wolfgang was talking about Christopher. But— “The butler,” I confirmed, “yes.”
“Why would the butler contact you?”
“Oh.” Valid question. “Lord St George spent the night with us.”
Wolfgang’s facial countenance underwent a change. “With you and your cousin Christopher?”
I nodded.
“In your two-bed, one-bath flat?”
“Yes,” I said. It should be noted here that Wolfgang had never been to the flat. But I must have described it in enough detail that he knew what it consisted of. “He’s done before. One of us sleeps on the sofa in the sitting room.”
I couldn’t share a bed with Crispin, after all—that would be beyond inappropriate—and given Christopher’s sexual orientation, I suppose that the two of them sharing might be equally awkward. Not that there had ever been a question of it. Crispin usually ended up in my bed, while I slept on the sofa. The Chesterfield fits me better—he was taller and broader—and besides, I have never felt comfortable asking the future Duke of Sutherland to bunk down in our sitting room.
Of course, knowing what I knew now, Crispin had probably been delighted to end up in my bed, even without me in it. Although that concept brought up some concerns which I had no intention of dwelling on at the moment. I’d deal with them the next time I had to put him up overnight. Instead, I focused my attention back on Wolfgang, who looked contemplative.
“A burglary,” he said, in the tone of a man who was trying the concept on for size.
I nodded. “The Sutherland diamond ring is gone. And the matching earrings. And apparently the necklace Laetitia was wearing yesterday—I don’t know if you noticed it. I didn’t, although if she said she was wearing one, there’s no reason to think she would lie about it.”
“Unless she lied about the whole thing,” Wolfgang said, “because she wanted to make herself out to be a victim.”
I looked at him for a second, blankly, before I caught on to what he was implying. “You mean, no one was there, and Laetitia pawned the diamonds herself? Or plans to?”
Wolfgang lifted an elegant shoulder. “Who knows?”
I did, I suspected. “I doubt she would do that. Not only has she worked very hard to get her hands on that diamond ring,” and what it signified, “but it’s not as if she needs the money. Her father is the Earl of Marsden.”
Wolfgang shrugged, just as the waiter appeared with the teapot and cups, the cake, the little crustless sandwiches, the creamer and sugar pot. We sat in silence while he distributed it all across the table, and then he took a step back and asked whether there would be anything else.
Wolfgang shook his head, and the waiter withdrew. “I’ll pour,” I said, “shall I?”
That seemed acceptable—he probably felt it was my feminine duty. I rather thought the waiter ought to have done it, since we were paying customers. But I suited action to words: filled Wolfgang’s cup with the genial beverage, and then my own. While I did so, Wolfgang let his eyes wander around the room. I was just putting the pot back down when he said, “Isn’t that…?”
I positioned the hot teapot carefully on the trivet before I raised my eyes to his face, and then turned my attention in the direction he was looking, at the door to the lobby.
No one was there, or no one that shouldn’t be. The maître d’ was standing beside the door as usual, and was looking into the restaurant, but there was nothing noteworthy about that. I gave him a politely dismissive smile when he glanced at me, and then squinted past him into the lobby. “Who?” Or whom.
“Never mind,” Wolfgang said, hands busy with sugar and milk. “I must have been mistaken.”
“Did you see someone you knew?” I turned back to the door for a more thorough look. The maître d’ had turned away now, back to his podium, and was fiddling with what looked like paperwork, marking it with a fountain pen.
“I thought I saw your cousin,” Wolfgang said.
I flicked him another look, just as he pushed my teacup across the table at me.
