Page 53 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“Of course not,” Christopher said.“Aside from the fact that you should know us both better than that, we were together the entire time.Neither of us could have killed him without the other one seeing, and I assure you that we didn’t do it together.As far as we knew, he was still alive and well when we sat down to luncheon.”
“The first we heard that he wasn’t,” I added, “was when Constable Daniels arrived.”
“And that’s when you found out about the note accusing you.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded.“When we reached the constabulary, yes.He didn’t mention it on the drive.But he showed it to me once we were in the village.”
“What did it look like?”Tom wanted to know.
“Like a note.Like any note.Plain writing paper.Plain black ink.Spiky, uneven letters, as if someone had written them with his non-dominant hand.”
“No point in checking the grates for mutilated newsprint, then.”
“The classic cut-and-glued letters, do you mean?”I shook my head.“No, none.The note was hand-written, but not in a fist anyone would be likely to recognize.”
“We’d all produce something very like it,” Christopher added, “if we tried.”’
“Have you tried?”
Christopher and I glanced at one another, and then at Francis and Constance.Then we all shook our heads.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to make a parlor game of it,” Christopher said, looking around.“Tidwell?”
The butler materialized next to the table.“Master Christopher?”
“Note paper,” Christopher said.“Enough for everyone.And pen and ink.”
Tidwell nodded.“Of course, Master Christopher.”
He vanished as quickly and silently as he had appeared.A minute later he was back, to place a stack of notepaper and a pen and inkwell on the table.“Anything else, Master Christopher?”
“No,” Christopher said, “thank you, Tidwell.”
Tidwell faded away.Christopher took a breath and uncapped the inkwell.
ChapterThirteen
“You can’t be serious,”I said, as he dipped the pen in.
He flicked a glance my way.“Whyever not?Tell me what to write, Pippa.”
“Doctor Meadows is dead,” I quoted, “Philippa Darling did it.”
Christopher ran the nib of the pen across the paper.I watched the chicken scratch he produced with his left hand for a moment before I added, “That looks close enough to what I remember to pass for it.But it certainly wasn’t you who wrote the note, Christopher.We were together when it was delivered.There’s no need for you to prove that you didn’t.”
“In the interest of fairness,” Christopher said, with the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he did his best to get his non-dominant hand to cooperate, “we should all have to prove ourselves.”
After a moment, when he had finished the scrawl and laid the pen down, he added, “If we want everyone else to submit a sample, it won’t do for me to refuse, will it?”
Of course it did, when it couldn’t have been him.But I didn’t quibble, just watched as Tom picked up the pen and marked the sheet of paper with Christopher’s name and the date, before handing the pen and a blank sheet across the table to Francis.“Go ahead, Astley.”
Francis took the pen with a grimace and went to work.“For the record,” he said, eyes on his effort, “it wasn’t me, either.I haven’t left the Hall today.Or hadn’t, until Kit and I hared off into the village after Pippa and the constable.Connie can confirm.”
Constance nodded.“We were together from breakfast until luncheon.Neither of us left the grounds.”
“Do you happen to know if anyone else did?”Tom wanted to know, and Constance bit her lip as she thought about it.
“Christopher and Pippa, of course.Laetitia dragged Lord St George into the hedge maze after breakfast…”
