Page 16 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“Um…” he said.
“Not to worry.We weren’t responsible for any of them.Just like we’re not responsible for this one.”
Nor would I take responsibility for it in later iterations of this conversation.It was Constable Woodin who had found Lydia Morrison’s body, not me.I had simply suspected that it was there.
“And you can prove where you were last night,” Woodin said, “I suppose?”
The plethora of dead people in our past seemed to have put us on the suspect list.Or perhaps we had been on it all along.It wouldn’t be surprising, I suppose.The person finding the body is always a suspect.I should have been more suspicious of Aunt Charlotte right from the start, instead of focusing most of my attention on Crispin back in April.
“We were at Sutherland Hall in Wiltshire overnight,” Francis said.“I don’t suppose you’ll take our word for it, but you can ring them up—is Upper Slaughter on the exchange?—and inquire of the other guests or staff.”
“Wiltshire14,” I said helpfully.“The butler is Tidwell and the housekeeper is Mrs.Mason.The hall belongs to the Duke of Sutherland, but he doesn’t like me, so perhaps don’t inquire of him?—”
Christopher hid a smile.“Inquire of anyone you want, Constable Woodin.Cook handed us the picnic basket with her own hands this morning.She can tell you that we were all there then.”
“And earlier?”
Earlier?
“Are you suggesting that one or more of us left Wiltshire last night,” I wanted to know, “that we motored up here, killed Morrison, and motored back, only to go to breakfast this morning and make the trip all over again?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Woodin responded.“I merely asked whether anyone can prove that you didn’t do.”
I scowled at him.“Not in my case.I’m a spinster and I slept alone.”
“Same for me,” Constance said softly.
“Surely you don’t think we did that?”Francis wanted to know.“Would there even be time to drive here and back before breakfast?”
“I think,” I said judiciously, even as my heart began to speed up, “that I’m the only one of us who could have done it.Christopher and I both went up to bed early.You and Constance stayed in the drawing room.But St George knocked on Christopher’s door later?—”
I glanced at him; he nodded, “—so I doubt Christopher could have made it here and back after that.Nor you two, either.You stayed downstairs with the others too late, and we were up too early.I didn’t see anyone after I retired, and no one saw me, so I could have made my way down to the garage, taken out one of the motorcars, motored here, murdered Morrison, motored back, and been in the breakfast room when Christopher came down this morning.”
“Were you the first one there?”Woodin wanted to know, and I nodded.
“Of the guests, yes.Tidwell and Cook were up, of course.I’m sure the rest of the servants, as well.”
Francis grinned.“It’s looking bleak for you, Pipsqueak.”
“Don’t joke about that, Francis,” Christopher said.“Constable Woodin doesn’t know us.He might not realize that you’re not serious.”
The constable didn’t appear to find the conversation humorous at all, indeed.“Miss Darling?—”
“Pippa,” I said, “please.And I didn’t do it, Constable.I had no reason to want Morrison dead.Why would I drive four hours out of my way—twice!—to kill a woman I had never even met before?”
He couldn’t answer that, of course—because I wouldn’t do; nor would anyone else.I added, “It was my idea to motor up here.If I had wanted to murder Morrison, I wouldn’t have suggested coming here today.I would have kept my mouth shut, and motored up overnight, and slept in this morning, and pleaded a restless night over late breakfast.And you wouldn’t have known that Morrison was even dead, let alone that I had had anything to do with it.”
Constable Woodin eyed me, but more like someone who was thinking about something else rather than someone who was assessing my potential as a murderer.“I need to report this,” he said.
Francis nodded.“What do you want us to do?”
The constable glanced around, distractedly.“Wait, I suppose.It might take a while.I have to go to the constabulary in Stow-on-the-Wold.”
“There’s no constabulary in Upper Slaughter?”
He shook his head.“Nor in Lower Slaughter, either.Stow-on-the-Wold is the nearest constabulary to here.”
“How far away?”
