Page 66 of Death at the Dower House
“With your initials on it.”
“Yes. With my initials on it. The same handkerchief that Darling whipped out of my pocket last night before supper.”
“The one with both Laetitia’s and Johanna’s lipstick all over it,” I added. “I’m reserving judgment on the cufflink—I think it could be someone else’s—but there’s no question about the handkerchief.”
“And it was in bed with the body?”
Crispin and I both nodded. “But as he said, that’s easily explained,” I added. “He gave it to Johanna outside in the garden. She probably took it inside herself.”
“Then the cufflink would have fallen off along the way,” Christopher said, “wouldn’t it?”
“Most likely it would. If it was there in the first place, which isn’t likely. So the cufflink must have been planted.”
“Can you prove you weren’t wearing those cufflinks yesterday?” Christopher wanted to know, and Crispin shook his head.
“Not unless someone happened to notice my cuffs. You’re an observant sort, Darling. I don’t suppose…?”
“I may be observant,” I said, “but I’m not in the habit of staring at your hands, St George. You’d be better off asking Lady Laetitia. You kept your jacket on all night, I do know that much. You wore it through dinner, and when I danced with you, and in the garden with Johanna. I don’t see how anyone could have seen your cufflinks.”
“They matched my studs,” Crispin said. “As they are supposed to do. Did you happen to notice my studs, Darling?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t, St George. I’m not in the habit of staring at your shirtfront, either.”
Although I had been face to face with that shirtfront more than once over the course of the evening, and the onyx would have stood out against the white fabric much more so than the pearls he claimed he had worn. The fact that I hadn’t noticed his studs argued for the pearls over the onyx. It was hardly evidence, however.
“The handkerchief could have got into the Dowager’s Chamber with Johanna. But the cufflink must have been planted. And so was the note, obviously.”
“Note?” Christopher asked, while Crispin said, “Not necessarily, Darling.”
“A note inviting St George—or someone else, but the police found it in his pocket, so they’re making assumptions—to come find Johanna after everyone else was in bed.”
Christopher winced and I turned to Crispin. “What do you mean, not necessarily?”
“She could have slipped it in there herself, couldn’t she? She had plenty of opportunities.”
Yes. But— “Why would she bother, if you were right in front of her and she could just tell you—or to be polite, ask you—to meet her? Why put anything in writing?”
“Perhaps she didn’t want anyone to overhear?” Christopher suggested. “There wasn’t much privacy in the parlor last night. Plenty of other people around.”
“Privacy enough that Geoff Marsden could practically assault me on the sofa, and nobody noticed.”
“I noticed,” Crispin said.
“Yes, thank you, St George. Even if she hadn’t wanted to come out with the invitation in the parlor, she could have asked in the garden later.”
I twisted my voice into an approximation of Johanna’s breathy alto. “‘I slipped a note into your pocket earlier, St George. Read it and tell me what you think.’ Did she say anything like that?”
“She didn’t get a chance,” Crispin said. “She rushed at me, kissed me, told me she loved me and wanted to marry me. And I told her not on her life.” He shuddered.
“Bad luck, old chap,” Christopher told him, with little sympathy and a bracing slap on the shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Of course not,” I said briskly. “It’s not as if one can go through life avoiding saying such things just in case someone happens to be murdered. At any rate, if Johanna didn’t slip the note into your pocket, someone else did, and probably to make you look guilty. I suppose it really was from Johanna? It was signed with what looked like a J, but none of us know what Johanna’s handwriting looked like, do we, and…”
“Pendennis said Peckham had confirmed the handwriting,” Crispin said. “I would have expected my name instead of an initial, though. Or nothing at all, actually. Why compromise yourself that way when you’re arranging an assignation?”
He ought to know. However, he went on before I could say anything about it. “But we hadn’t actually progressed to informality...”
I arched my brows. “You were on kissing terms with this woman, but she didn’t call you by your first name? What on earth did she call you, then? Lord St George? My lord?”
