Page 73 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“He could have done it,” Christopher insisted.“He would have arrived in Upper Slaughter sometime between three and four in the morning, most likely.It wouldn’t have taken long to kill Morrison.She was asleep.All he had to do was hold the pillow over her face for a few minutes.He’d have been back here by the time breakfast was served.”
Which he had been.Groggy and in his dressing gown and slippers, but present.“And you think he would be doing all of this because he didn’t want to lose his spot in the succession?”
“If he’s Uncle Harold’s son, he’s next in line to be the Duke of Sutherland when Uncle Harold goes,” Christopher said.“If he’s Dad’s, he’s the youngest of four.Or three now.But still behind Dad, Francis, and me for the dukedom.”
“And you think he cares about that?”
He looked at me.“Don’t you?”
Did I?
He cared about it enough not to pursue a relationship with me even though he supposedly wanted one.He had told me himself that the reason he didn’t declare himself to the girl of his dreams—before I knew that the girl of his dreams was me—was that his father would disown him.
I had reflected at the time that yes, a Crispin deprived of all his creature comforts would be a miserable companion.He was used to a certain level of ease, and denuded of it, I imagined he would suffer, and no doubt make everyone around him suffer, as well.But I had encouraged him to declare himself anyway, because love was worth the loss of luxury, and I had assured him that if the girl loved him, she’d be happy to live with him anywhere, even if that was the proverbial Parisian garret.And instead of listening, he had made the choice to propose to Laetitia Marsden.
“You may have a point,” I said reluctantly.
Christopher nodded.“I don’t like it any better than you do, Pippa.I love Crispin.But it hangs together.”
It did.Or at least it did if one suspended disbelief here and there and didn’t look too hard at a few of the details.
“What about the anonymous note?”I queried.“Why would he try to frame me?If you’re to be believed, he loves me.And even if you’re wrong and he doesn’t, I thought we had worked things out after the engagement, and we were friends again.Or if not friends, at least friendly.Not enemies.”
When he had been among the group that had taken me off the German freighter last month, he had certainly seemed happy and relieved to find me alive and mostly well.
“I thought so, too,” Christopher said.“I can’t explain that.But otherwise, it makes sense.”
“But you can’t just disregard the things that don’t fit!”
I could hear my voice becoming shrill, and I took a couple of breaths and counted to ten before I tried again.“If he killed all those people—and I’m not saying that I believe you, Christopher.It may make sense on paper, but that doesn’t mean that I believe it—but if he did, chances are that he wrote the note, as well.Who else but the killer would know that Doctor Meadows was dead?”
“Someone else might have gone by and seen the body,” Christopher suggested.
“And that person happened to have in their pocket a piece of writing paper and a fountain pen?A piece of paper that matches what we use here at the Hall?Not to mention that instead of just letting the constables know what had happened, they decided it would be a good opportunity to frame me instead of trying to get help, the way any innocent person would do?”
Christopher made a face, as if to say he couldn’t argue with that, and I went on.“There’s simply no reason for Crispin to try to frame me.That seems like a vindictive little jab of the sort that Laetitia would take pleasure in.The only reason to do it, is to be petty and mean, because it’s not as if anyone would actually believe it.I had no motive, and I was with you when Doctor died.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Christopher said helplessly.“It’s not as if I want to believe it myself, Pippa.”
“Then don’t,” I told him.“I can’t believe that you think your cousin capable of murder, Christopher.And not just murder, but serial murder.Three of them, over as many days, plus Hughes.I’m surprised you’re not trying to hang Duke Henry’s and Grimsby’s murders on him, too.”
“You already tried that,” Christopher retorted, “back in April.”
“And you didn’t believe me then.What makes you think he wouldn’t have committed those crimes, if you think he committed these?”
“Aunt Charlotte confessed,” Christopher said.
“She might have been protecting him.God knows she doted on him.”
There was a moment’s pause while Christopher eyed me.“You’re not serious, are you, Pippa?”
“I don’t know,” I said.I had brought up the previous deaths in an effort to persuade Christopher to realize how mad his position was, but now I wasn’t certain what I thought.“I believed Aunt Charlotte’s note at the time.But if you want me to consider that he might be a murderer now, we ought to consider whether he was a murderer then, too.The reason Duke Henry and Grimsby were killed, is probably the same reason that Morrison and Hughes were.”
“The fact that Crispin isn’t Uncle Harold’s son,” Christopher nodded.“And it’s true that Aunt Charlotte couldn’t have killed them.But that doesn’t mean that she didn’t kill Grandfather and Grimsby back then.”
“But Crispin might have been part of it.They may have done it together.”
“Fine.”Christopher folded his arms across his chest.For some reason, this idea seemed to bother him a lot more than the possibility that Crispin was guilty of killing Hughes, Morrison, and Doctor Meadows.It must be the family connection.“Convince me.”
