Page 37 of Death at the Dower House
“I know Dawson said the village is close, but surely that’s very soon?”
“Maybe the village isveryclose.” He shifted his weight as the motorcar stopped outside the front doors and the engine fell silent.
I peered in that direction, but couldn’t see anything through the wood of the door. “I guess I should go and open the door for them.”
Christopher nodded. “Might as well. If we know they’re here, there’s no reason to wait until they knock.”
“No answer at the Hall?”
“It’s ringing on the other end,” Christopher said. “No one’s picked up thus far.”
I nodded, as the slamming of a motorcar door drifted in from outside. “I’ll get the door. Spare Dawson the trouble.”
“Please.” Christopher bent over the telephone table again, so he could speak into the mouthpiece of the phone. “Tidwell? This is Christopher Astley, phoning from the Dower House in Dorset. Is my mother around?”
Tidwell must have had plenty to say—probably an explanation for where Aunt Roz was and why he couldn’t immediately call her to the phone—because Christopher straightened again to listen. I could hear Tidwell’s voice as a faint quacking through the earpiece Christopher was holding to his ear.
The quacking faded as I got closer to the front door. I undid the lock and pulled the door open. And found myself face to face with a well-built young man in a tweed suit, with clear hazel eyes under the brim of a Homburg.
My mouth dropped open.
“Good afternoon, Miss Darling,” Detective Sergeant Thomas Gardiner of Scotland Yard said.
Ten
Over at the telephone table,the earpiece went clattering as Christopher swung around. The he scrambled for it again, while he bent to address the mouthpiece. “Listen, Tidwell. Detective Sergeant Gardiner just walked in. I’ll ring you back if I need to talk to my mother.”
He cradled the earpiece without listening to what, if anything, Tidwell had to say to this announcement. His cheeks were hot pink when he turned back to us. “Thomas.”
“Kit.” Tom Gardiner looked around the reception room before turning back to him. “I need to see Gilbert and Constance Peckham.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why just them? Surely we’re all suspects? We were all here, weren’t we?”
Tom looked just as confused as I felt. “Here? What’s happened here?”
“Johanna de Vos is dead,” I said, “although I get the impression that isn’t why you’ve come.”
He shook his head. “I have to notify the Peckham siblings that their mother is dead. And ask some questions.”
There was a pause while we all took some time to realign our expectations.
“Lady Peckham is dead?” Christopher said.
Tom nodded. “Johanna de Vos? That’s the ward, correct?”
“Was,” I said. “Not only was she an adult, and had been for years, but she was strangled overnight, and thus is no more. We thought you were the police.”
“Iamthe police.”
“The local police. Dawson called them.”
“The butler,” Christopher added, as if it mattered.
Tom glanced over his shoulder, at the door and the hypothetical police that wasn’t there yet. “I’ll talk to them when they get here. But given that Lady Peckham also passed last night, I’ll go out on a limb and say it’ll be Scotland Yard’s case.”
No doubt. When two people in the same household die in the same night, even if they’re miles apart when it happens, it makes sense to treat the cases as connected, at least until you’ve proven that they’re not.
“What happened to Lady Peckham?” I asked, but Tom shook his head.
