Page 71 of Peril in Piccadilly
“Church,” I said firmly.
ChapterSixteen
St Mary Aldermarylooked gray and tired from the outside, the way that most of London does, especially under a heavy October sky. Inside, however, it was bright white, with tall, ornately carved ceilings, and lots of dark wood.
“Geoffrey Chaucer’s father was buried here,” I told Crispin as we made our way up the middle aisle, glancing into each pew as we passed to make sure Christopher wasn’t curled up on top of or underneath one. “Or so the story goes, anyway. I don’t think there’s any evidence of it anymore. If there was ever a crypt in this spot, I don’t think it exists anymore.”
“Good,” Crispin said.
Yes, indeed. There was no part of me that wanted to descend into the cold and damp of a crypt to look for Christopher’s potentially dead body. I fought back a shiver and added, “In a much happier event—or so I assume—John Milton married his second, or perhaps his third, wife in this church, as well.”
He nodded. “Lovely place for it.”
“Yes, it is. Or it might have been. It was the church before this one. I have no idea what it looked like.” I gazed up at the soaring arches of the ceiling, and added, “Probably not like this.”
Crispin grunted and turned his head to peer down the next pew.
“How does it feel?” I asked him.
He flicked me a distracted glance. “How does what feel?”
I gestured in a circular motion. “The church experience. It’s just about two months, isn’t it, until it’s your turn?”
He made a face. “Don’t remind me.”
I smirked. “Second thoughts, St George?”
“It wouldn’t matter if I did, would it now, Darling?”
No, of course it wouldn’t. Laetitia’s regrets might make a difference, but his wouldn’t. He’d only be able to escape the marriage if she let him escape.
I twisted the knife another quarter turn. “How is the wedding planning coming?”
“I leave that to Laetitia and her mother,” Crispin said.
“You’ll just show up when and where they tell you to, and wear what you’re told?”
“I’ll be wearing a morning suit, Darling, as is appropriate for a daytime wedding.” He sent me another look. “You’ve received an invitation, haven’t you?”
I snorted. “Of course I haven’t. Neither Laetitia nor her mother is likely to want me there. Nor your father, for that matter.”
“But you’ll be Christopher’s escort, won’t you?”
“I have no idea,” I said, and mentioned nothing about the fact that for all we knew, Christopher might not be with us two months from now. Christopher might not be with us tomorrow. It was much better, more calming, not to consider that as a possibility. “It depends on whether he asks me, and also whether Wolfgang is going. I don’t think Christopher’s received an invitation either. He hasn’t said anything about it.”
And we did get our post from the same place, namely Evans.
Crispin scowled. “They’d better not try to keep my cousin from attending my wedding.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” I said. “It would look very bad if they excluded your closest family. Besides, if I’m not invited to the reception, the church is open to everyone. I remember the notice in theTimessaid so. I’ll cheer you on from the spectator section.”
“Thanks ever so,” Crispin said and came to a stop in front of the altar. “I didn’t see anything, did you?”
I had seen plenty of things, but no Christopher. “I’ll go left and check the area around the organ and the west gallery,” I said. “Will you check the chancel and then go up the right gallery, and we’ll meet in the back?”
Crispin nodded and stepped forward. I made a ninety degree turn into the west gallery and over to the pipe organ.
There was no Christopher tucked behind the instrument, of course, nor was there anyone curled up anywhere in the west gallery. I checked the pews again from this angle, just in case I had missed something earlier, and wound up back in the narthex with nothing to show for it. Crispin arrived a few seconds later, hands in his pockets, and shook his head.
