Page 90 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place

“Tommy,” Francis said, and the relief was evident in his voice.

“Thomas,” Uncle Herbert added, genially. “You made it.”

“Detective Sergeant.” This was Laetitia, and she was fluttering her eyelashes. She did it when presented with any good-looking young man, which Tom definitely was, and it had, no doubt, the added benefit of possibly making Crispin jealous.

I rolled my eyes and stepped into the doorway behind him, as he made his way into the room.

“Gardiner,” Crispin said, while Constance simply smiled demurely. If Crispin was jealous of Laetitia’s fluttering, it was not evident in his voice.

Tom greeted them all before turning to Sammy, who was seated awkwardly on one of Aunt Roz’s spindliest chairs with his notebook open against his thigh. I wondered whose idea it had been, whether someone had done it deliberately—Crispin, perhaps; it was the sort of petty maliciousness he delighted in—or whether Sammy had simply chosen poorly when he found a seat. “Constable. I’m Detective Sergeant Thomas Gardiner with Scotland Yard.”

“Didn’t call in Scotland Yard,” Sammy grunted.

Tom nodded pleasantly. “I’m here off duty, as a friend of the family.”

Sammy eyed him. “You look familiar.”

“I’m not surprised.” Tom’s voice was nicely even, even as he added, pleasantly, “I remember you, too. I gave you a black eye once, when you tried to jump Robbie and me in the village one Christmas when we were visiting from Eton.”

“Swotty nancyboys,” Sammy muttered, and Tom’s eyes—usually a warm hazel—frosted over.

“Be that as it may—” And it hadn’t been, at least as far as I knew; Robbie hadn’t been inclined that way, and he and Tom had been friends, nothing more, “—I wanted to offer my assistance, should you need it. Murder investigations can be tricky when you’re not used to them.”

“Don’t need help,” Sammy said, offense clear in his tone, and Tom inclined his head courteously.

“In that case I’ll just sit back and watch.”As you do it all wrong, was implied.

Sammy flushed a beet red. “Listen here?—”

“You can’t refuse to let him be here,” I told him. “He was invited. He would have been here for the engagement party tonight in any case.”

Sammy muttered something, but there wasn’t much he could say to that, so he didn’t try. Instead, he kept his eyes on me as Tom wandered over to shake Francis’s hand and bend over Constance’s and wish them both well on their engagement. While that was going on,sotto voce, in the background, Sammy addressed me. “I have a few questions for you, Miss Darling.”

“Of course,” I said politely.

“You were supposed to share a room with Mister Christopher Astley.”

I nodded.

“The two of you occupy a flat together in London.”

“That’s correct.”

“But last night, he ended up sharing with his cousin instead.” He flicked a glance at Crispin, who looked amused.

“His other cousin,” I confirmed. “Yes.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m also Christopher’s cousin. On the distaff side.”

Sammy chewed this over for a moment before he decided that it didn’t matter and moved on. “You spent the night alone.”

“I did.”

“Did it upset you that your cousin chose to share with his other cousin instead of you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It’s not like we share a room under normal circumstances. Christopher has his own bedchamber and I have mine, just as we did during the twelve years we lived here at Beckwith Place. We were only sharing in the first place because the house is full and some of us had to double up. If Lady Laetitia hadn’t been here—” I gave her a look, “I assume I would have been in Constance’s room. As it was, it made more sense to put me with Christopher than with Francis or Crispin, although I don’t suppose either of them would have minded sharing, either.”