Page 99 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“Did you speak to St George this morning?”I inquired of Francis, who shook his head.
“He came in here looking like death.His fiancée beckoned him over, and he went and did his duty?—”
“The obligatory peck on the cheek?”I nodded.“And then he left, did he?”
“Then he asked if Tommy would come with him, and they went off.I didn’t want to ask what it was about, but it was fairly obvious that something was wrong.I assumed they’d gone somewhere for a private chat, but now—” He shrugged.
“Now you tell us that Tidwell said they’ve gone to the village,” Christopher concluded as he put a plate of buttered toast in front of me, along with a steaming cup of coffee.
“That’s what he told me,” I agreed, and picked up a piece of toast.“Or at least he said that Crispin had done.I don’t know about Tom.Thank you, Christopher.”
“Don’t mention it.”He dropped back down on the chair next to me.“I don’t like this.”
I didn’t either.But instead of saying so, I told him, “I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” before I stuffed my mouth so full that I couldn’t blurt out all my concerns and deductions even if I wanted to.This was decidedly not the time or place for them.
The conversation devolved into small talk after that, about the weather and how we might be able to spend the day since we were, presumably, not allowed to leave yet.It was a bit cold and rainy for croquet—which is the Astley go-to whenever we have nothing else to do and when the weather cooperates—but there was always cards in the game room or a rousing game of hide-and-go-seek.When Christopher asked whether we weren’t a bit old for that, Francis informed him that that was part of the fun.I ate my toast and let the others talk.And then, because I turned out to be right, there was the sound of a motorcar outside the breakfast room window, and when we looked up, there was the blue streak of the Hispano-Suiza going by, oil leak and all.
“They’re back,” Francis said, unnecessarily.
I nodded.It must be a good sign, mustn’t it, that the H6 was coming back?Unless Crispin had trusted Tom with his precious, of course, while he himself languished in the Little Sutherland jail.
But no, there was more than one figure traversing the drive towards the Hall.More than two even.As they came closer, I recognized Tom’s Homburg as well as Constable Daniels’s uniform.And surely… yes, that was Crispin’s platinum hair that the light reflected off of.He must have forgotten to put on a hat before venturing out again.
“Is that…” Francis squinted through the window.“That’s the chap from yesterday, isn’t it?The one from Salisbury who came to fetch Alfie?”
The coroner, did he mean?I took my attention off Crispin for a closer look, but by then the chap in question had moved out of sight beyond the conservatory, and the drive was empty.
Tidwell must have seen them coming, because I could hear his footsteps proceed majestically across the foyer to the front door.
“Constable.Detective Sergeant.”
There was a pause, ever so slight but noticeable, before— “Your Grace.”
My eyes flew to Christopher’s.He was staring back at me with the same wild-eyed look I no doubt sported myself.Next to me, Francis muttered something that sounded like an expletive, while, across the morning room, Laetitia had lifted both hands to cover her mouth.Her eyes were shining.It might have been tears, but I doubted it.I would have bet everything I owned that those demure hands were hiding an indecent grin.The Sutherland diamond ring caught the light and reflected it directly into my eyes.I blinked.
Out in the foyer, there was the clearing of a throat, and then Crispin’s voice, still froggy, said, “Thank you, Tidwell.”
Epilogue
“It was Uncle Harold!”I hissed.
It was later that morning.We had left the breakfast room after the denouement, scattering in different directions.Constance and Francis had retired to the latter’s bedchamber.Christopher and I had been invited to join them, but it seemed rather odd to be sitting there in a huddle on the bed as if we were children, so after the bare minimum of conversation, of shock and awe and professed confusion, the two of us had excused ourselves and retreated to, of all places, the center of the garden maze.It was one of very few places in or around the Hall where we could be assured of some privacy to discuss the situation without being overheard.
Sutherland Hall was crawling with constables.Uncle Harold’s study was under siege, and so was the Duke’s Chamber, where Uncle Harold, I presumed, was lying dead in his bed.That would be the only reason why Tidwell would address Crispin with the duke’s title, because I could see no earthly reason why Uncle Harold would have abdicated the title while still alive.
“Either that,” Christopher nodded, “or Crispin killed him too.”
I squinted at him.“Why would he have done, Christopher?He would become duke when Uncle Harold croaked either way, and it didn’t look as if he was happy about it happening now.”
Christopher had to admit that no, it hadn’t looked like that at all.Crispin had been visibly shaken and near tears.
“I didn’t think Uncle Harold knew about Crispin,” I said, “or I would have suspected him sooner.Everything we speculated about Crispin would apply to Uncle Harold, too, if he knew.Surely he couldn’t have known all along?”
Although it would explain Uncle Harold’s attitude toward his son if he had known.He’d never been the loving father to Crispin that Uncle Herbert had been to Christopher, Francis, and Robbie—or for that matter to me, once I arrived from Germany.Uncle Harold had always been cold and exacting, someone who would rather raise his fist to his son in anger than embrace him in love.
“Who knows?”Christopher said.“He might have wondered at the time when Crispin was born, if the dates didn’t line up.He was able to count backwards as well as anyone.But then Crispin was so very obviously a Sutherland that he probably decided to forget about any suspicions he may have had, if he ever did have any in the first place.”
“He would have had no reason to think that his own brother was involved,” I agreed.“It wasn’t as if your father and Aunt Charlotte carried on an affair.It would have been a one-time thing, I assume.A last Hail Mary before giving up and admitting defeat.”
