Page 29 of Death at the Dower House
And there he was. Footsteps on the stairs and across the floor of the reception room, and then St George’s form in the doorway to the dining room.
Like Francis, he looked around the room before he entered. Unlike Francis, it was more wary than expectant. And when he didn’t find what he was looking for—whether it was Laetitia or Johanna—his shoulders sank a centimeter or two and he stepped through the doorway. “Good morning.”
“St George,” Peckham grunted. It was quite a rude greeting, especially to a guest in one’s home, but to give him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he was just terribly hung over and couldn’t muster anything more enthusiastic.
Crispin gave him an arched brow, but didn’t comment.
“St George.” Lord Geoffrey showed all his teeth in a bright grin. This time it was Crispin who grunted a noncommittal greeting. Perhaps he was still annoyed about having had to rescue me yesterday, or perhaps he was irritated with Lady Laetitia for some reason, and the feeling transferred to her brother.
He had spoken to both Christopher and Francis upstairs in their shared room, of course, so they just got short nods. Then there was only me left to greet. I got a flash of gray and a brief, “Darling.”
“St George,” I smiled sweetly. “You look rough.”
“Thanks ever so, Darling.”
He headed for the sideboard. Marsden eyed me across the table. So did Peckham.
“What?” I asked.
They both shook their heads and went back to breakfast.
I turned to Christopher. “There’s no newspaper again this morning, so the general strike is still ongoing. We might find it hard to get home after the weekend.”
“The roads are open,” Peckham pointed out, “and both St George and Mr. Astley—” He glanced at Francis, “brought cars.”
“Christopher and I share a flat in London,” I explained, since I hadn’t meant—obviously—the difficulty of getting back to Sutherland Hall from here. I wasn’t stupid, so I remembered that we had, in fact, got here by road.
Peckham stared at me, mouth open. Marsden looked from me to Christopher, and then to Crispin. And back at me. “I thought—”
“No,” Francis told him, with amusement in his voice. “You read that one wrong, old chap. Kit and Pippa live together. Crispin and Pippa—”
“—are just friends,” Crispin said, bringing his plate back to the table and putting it down next to Peckham, across from Francis. “Isn’t that right, Darling?”
Friends? Surely that was stretching the point a bit? “I don’t know, St George,” I said, squinting at him, “is it?”
For some reason, his cheeks flushed pink. “Well, of course, Darling, if you’d rather I—”
“For God’s sake, St George,” I cut him off, as Francis burst into laughter next to me, “if you would like to claim me as a friend, then I suppose we are friends. We’ve certainly known each other long enough. And it’s been explained to me—quite recently, in fact—that when I dropped down into the middle of the family, I accidentally took awayyourbest friend, and then I claimed him for my own, and if that’s the case, then I’m sorry, St George.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me. I added, “That was an apology, in case you didn’t recognize it. So yes, St George, if you’d like to be friends, then we’re friends.”
There was a moment of ringing silence, only interrupted by Francis’s sputtering. Christopher was almost preternaturally quiet, eyes on his plate, while Marsden and Peckham both looked from me to Crispin and back in silence.
Eventually he nodded. “Very well, Darling. Friends it is.”
“Friends,” I told him. “Shall we shake on it?”
“Better not. This jam is sticky.”
Of course.
“At any rate,” I told Peckham, “Christopher and I live in London. We may have to stay at Sutherland Hall until the strike blows over. I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world…”
At least we’d have our own private rooms there, unlike here. And no Geoffrey Marsden to contend with, not to mention Lady Laetitia and Johanna.
“Or you can come back to Beckwith Place with us,” Francis suggested. “Spend some time with Mum and Dad before you go home. We haven’t seen much of the two of you since you moved out.”
I supposed we could do that. I missed seeing Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert, too.
