Page 52 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“Good afternoon, Tidwell,” Tom Gardiner’s voice said, and I slumped like a marionette with the strings cut.Christopher, on the other hand, stiffened as if someone had given him a jolt, and fastened his eyes on the entrance to the room.He was quivering like a Pointer.
Tom’s steps came closer, and Christopher forgot to breathe.I kicked him in the shin under the table.“For goodness’s sake, Christopher, show some decorum.”
“Says you,” my cousin told me rudely, but he did relax against the chair back, just in time for Tom to appear in the doorway and for Christopher to look at least a bit less like it was Christmas morning and like all his desires had been fulfilled at once.
Francis raised a hand.“Tommy!Over here!”
Everyone in the family—with the likely exception of Uncle Harold—knows and loves Tom.He and Francis attended Eton together for a few years.He was Cousin Robert’s contemporary and best friend, until Robbie died at the front, and in the time since Christopher and I came up to London, Tom has endeavored to keep Kit out of trouble.
He’s a good bloke.Christopher is head over heels in love with him, of course.Tom has some fondness for Christopher, too, although I’ve never been entirely certain whether it’s romantic in nature, or simply the result of Christopher being Robbie’s little brother.But Tom comes running whenever Christopher calls, or whenever he believes that Christopher needs help, and perhaps that says enough.
While Tom made his way into the room, Francis glanced at the clock ticking away on the mantel.“He must have broken the Meadowlands record on the way here.”
He must have done, indeed.Or at least it hadn’t taken him long at all to get from Whitehall to Wiltshire.He must have jumped into the first available motorcar the very moment his phone call with Christopher had concluded.
Now he gave Francis a nod in response to the latter’s greeting, but he didn’t join us.Instead, he approached Uncle Harold, who was holding court with the Earl and Countess of Marsden at a separate table.
“Your Grace.”He bowed politely, before turning to Maury and Effie.“My Lord.My Lady.”
“Detective Sergeant Gardiner.”Lady Euphemia inclined her head a bare inch.She remembered Tom, of course.They had both been at Beckwith Place for Francis’s and Constance’s engagement celebration in July, and Tom had also shown up at Laetitia’s engagement do at Marsden Manor in September.“To what do we owe the honor?”
The words were polite enough, although the tone relegated Tom’s presence from honored guest to unexpected gate crasher.Specifically, she addressed him the way she would one of the servants, or perhaps a constable from the village.Someone distinctly below her in importance.
He didn’t rise to the bait.I would have been tempted to do, so more power to him.
“Kit rang me up and informed me that someone had tried to frame Pippa for murder,” Tom said instead, calmly.“I thought I ought to take a look.”
Something about the response made Lady Euphemia’s spine lose its iron rigidity.I can’t imagine what she was thinking—perhaps that Tom was sweet on me, and that was why he had come all this way to make sure I was all right.And if so, I was no threat to her daughter’s designs on Crispin, which must have been relieving.Although what she thought I could do about Crispin’s and Laetitia’s nuptials at this point I don’t know.They were properly engaged, with a wedding date only a month hence, and the banns in the process of being read.
But at any rate, her reaction was too obvious to miss.Tom waited a moment for her to respond, and when she didn’t, he added, “I hope you don’t mind.”
The sentiment was undoubtedly addressed to Uncle Harold, as the head of the household, but it was Crispin who answered.“Don’t be daft, Gardiner.Nobody wants Philippa to be arrested for a crime she didn’t commit.”
The pregnant pause that greeted this pronouncement indicated clearly that although he might not feel that way, there were several people present who would be more than happy for me to be arrested for any reason whatsoever.The silence virtually reverberated with the (unspoken) sentiment.Crispin cleared his throat.“I’ll just go and have a word with Tidwell about a room for you.Excuse me.”
He inclined his head politely to his father and his future mother-in-law.To Laetitia he added, “I’ll be right back.”
She pouted, of course, prettily, but didn’t say anything that might stop him.Crispin put his hand on Tom’s shoulder.“Go and join Kit and Francis, there’s a good chap.”
He nudged Tom in our direction.The latter gave Uncle Harold another inclination of his head and another, “Your Grace,” before he followed the advice.By then, Crispin was halfway to the door.His expression was that of a man happy to make his escape.
I sniggered as he passed by our table, and then I reached for the teapot and an empty cup and saucer.“Cup of tea, Tom?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Philippa.”He sank down on the empty chair between Christopher and Francis.“Good afternoon, Astley.Miss Peckham.Kit.”
Their eyes snagged and held for a moment.Until Francis cleared his throat and broke the spell.“Good to see you, Tommy.”
“You, as well,” Tom told him.He seemed less perturbed by the interruption than Christopher, whose cheeks were flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears.“Thank you.”
He nodded politely at the cup of tea I placed in front of him.
“Don’t mention it.”I sat back.“Christopher said he rang you up, and you decided to drive to Wiltshire to make certain he—or we—were all right?”
“I wasn’t worried about Kit,” Tom said and lifted the cup and saucer for a sip.“Nobody accusedhimof murder.”
“We were in the infirmary together,” I told him, “so they may as well have done.If Doctor Meadows was murdered while we were there, it could have been either of us.”
He placed the cup and saucer back on the table and eyed me.“And was he murdered while you were there?”
