Page 33 of Peril in Piccadilly
I headed for it, with my heart knocking against my ribs. It seemed a bit early for a raid—barely gone eight—but stranger things have happened. “Yes, Evans?”
“Visitor for Mr. Astley, Miss Darling.”
“Mr. Astley isn’t here,” I said, and thought better of it. “Who is it, Evans?”
If it was Crispin, perhaps Wolfgang had been right and he truly had seen him in the Savoy lobby earlier.
“Mr. Gardiner, Miss Darling,” Evans said.
Uh-oh. Tom wouldn’t be happy when he got up here and I told him where Christopher had gone—or rather, when I told him that Christopher had departed to another drag ball, since I didn’t actually know his precise whereabouts.
On the other hand, he wouldn’t be happy about my sending him away without seeing him, either, now that he knew I was at home.
I sighed. “Send him up, Evans.”
“Yes, Miss Darling.”
Evans disappeared, and I put down the food so I could unlock the door and wait for Tom.
“Drink?” I inquired when he appeared a minute later. “Tea? Toast?”
“No, thank you, Pippa.” He gave me a distracted sort of look that didn’t seem to take in the fact that I was standing in front of him in my jim-jams. Instead, he scanned the sitting room and its total lack of Christopher. “Kit not here?”
“He’s gone out.”
I said it very blandly, with no inflection whatsoever. His eyes narrowed anyway. “Don’t tell me he went to a ball?”
“Why ask if you already know?”
He muttered something. It was undoubtedly a bad word, so I didn’t ask him to repeat it. “Where?” he asked.
“I have no idea. He doesn’t tell me these things, you know. Afraid I’m going to follow him there, no doubt.”
Tom didn’t answer, and I added, “You would know if there was going to be another raid tonight, wouldn’t you?”
“I do try to keep up. Although I’ve been busy today.”
He hesitated a moment before he added, “I thought Kit had stopped frequenting those.”
“Not at all,” I said. “He missed September’s ball because we were at Marsden Manor that weekend, but other than that, I don’t think he has ever made a decision that he wasn’t going to go back.”
Tom muttered something else, his jaw—very nice and strong—tight.
“Have a seat,” I added, when he kept standing in front of the Chesterfield. “Are you certain I can’t get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you, Pippa.” Although he did sit down, and put the Homburg on the small table next to him.
"You’re not on duty, are you?”
He shook his head. “Just not hungry. I grabbed a bite with Finch before we parted ways for the night.”
“At least you don’t have to work through the night on this one.”
He leaned back. “No, this is one of the cases we work between the urgent ones. Until someone dies in a more sinister manner than Lady Latimer’s butler, anyway.”
“Do you think that’s going to happen?”
“That depends,” Tom said, making himself comfortable. “Sooner or later, he’s going to burgle a house where someone is awake and sees him?—”
