Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The other end of London Bridge was quiet on a Saturday night in August. There was some noise from the docks down the river, winches grinding and heavy loads dropping, but just below the bridge, where St Olave’s—or what was left of it—was waiting, it was dark and silent.

“The H6 is likely to draw attention,” Christopher said, looking at it, and I nodded. There are only so many blue Hispano-Suiza racing cars in London at any given time, and most of the constabulary, at least, recognize this one.

Crispin gave him a scowl. “Thanks a lot, Kit. Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you asked me to drive you here?”

“As if I could have kept you away,” Christopher sniffed. “As soon as you found out that?—”

“Yes, yes.” Crispin waved him off. “Never mind that. What do you want me to do with it?”

“I’m sure we can find somewhere to tuck it away,” I said, looking around. “And you along with it.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Christopher nodded. “That’s a good idea, Pippa. Someone should stay with the motorcar.”

Crispin had his lower lip stuck out petulantly. “Why does it have to be me?”

“It doesn’t,” I told him, “but whoever stays with the motorcar will have to follow the kidnappers and the ransom, and I assumed you would rather keep your precious out of my hands.”

He gave me a look down the length of his nose. “Indeed.”

“So you’ll do it?”

He made a face. “I suppose. I’d rather not have you take off in my motorcar, at any rate.”

“No,” Christopher agreed. “We can’t have Pippa go off alone. What if something happened?”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I said, “thank you very much.”

“Of course you are. But Mum and Dad would kill me if they knew I had left you to fend for yourself, and in Southwark of all places. So unless you want me to be killed the next time we visit Beckwith Place, I’m going to request that you stay with one of us, and the other stays with the Hispano-Suiza.”

“Fine,” I said. “It’s all set, then. You and I go inside the tower, while Crispin lies in wait in the shadows. And when the kidnappers pick up the ransom,” I told him, “you follow them.”

He didn’t say anything, and I added, coaxingly, the way I would have done with a recalcitrant five-year-old, “It’s a very important job. They may take you to the place where Flossie is kept.”

Which was true. It was an important job. And I wanted to do it myself, but I knew that the chances of me being allowed to go off by myself in the Hispano-Suiza, trailing a kidnapper, were below nil. I accepted it with as much grace as I could.

“But don’t go inside,” Christopher added, for Crispin’s benefit. “Not alone. Come back for us first. Mum and Dad would kill me if anything happened to either of you.”

Crispin nodded, but he still looked unhappy.

“Or you can stay here and protect Pippa,” Christopher added, “and I’ll follow the kidnappers.”

There was a moment’s pause. Crispin looked at his beloved, and then at me, and then back at the beloved again. Indecision was writ all over his face. I was about to make a snide comment about my value or desirability vis-à-vis the automobile when Christopher went on.

“I’m capable of handling your motorcar, you know, and I’m also capable of protecting Pippa should she need it?—”

I opened my mouth to tell him that no one needed to protect me, but I shut it again when he went on, “but if you don’t trust me?—”

“Of course I trust you, Kit.” Crispin’s voice was irritated.

“It’s settled, then.” Christopher sounded cheerful. “You’ll stay with Pippa and I’ll stay with the Hispano-Suiza. Well done, Crispin. I know it must have been a difficult decision for you, your love for the motorcar at war with your?—”

“Enough,” Crispin growled. “Knock it off, Kit, or I’ll change my mind.”

“Too late,” Christopher told him brightly. “You get Pippa and I get the motorcar.”

“Nobody gets Pippa,” I said irritably. “Pippa doesn’t need either of you. Pippa can take care of herself.”

“Of course you can, Darling,” Crispin said. “Just open your mouth, and that sharp tongue will leave them bleeding out on the floor in no time.”

“Oh, poor baby,” I cooed. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“I don’t have feelings,” Crispin said, with an air of someone who thought they were beneath him. “Certainly none you are capable of affecting.”

“Off you go, then,” Christopher said. “Into the tower with you.”

“Not so fast,” I told him. “We have lots of time before it’s eleven. Shouldn’t we find a safe spot for you and the motorcar, and then St George and I will make our way into what’s left of the church once we know you’re safe and situated? I don’t suppose it’s likely that anyone’s watching already, but just in case someone is, shouldn’t we be approaching on foot?”

“Here’s a likely spot,” Crispin said, pointing the nose of the H6 into a dark area between two buildings: one the dark red brick of Denmark House, and the other the tall, yellow brick of a wharf warehouse on the waterfront. “Tuck in here, nose out, and you’ll be able to see everyone who comes and goes.”

He suited action to words and then turned the motor off. Silence descended, only broken by the winches and calls from the wharfs.

“Time?” Christopher asked.

Crispin pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and flicked it open. “Just after ten.”

“You two should go,” Christopher said. “Just in case they—or he, or she—come early.”

“The kidnappers, or the Schlomskys?” I scooted towards the side of the seat.

“They could be one and the same,” Christopher said, but he reached for his door handle and wrenched it down. “Come along.” He reached a hand into the back and pulled me out, similar to the way one pulled a cork from a bottle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crispin wanted to know, as he extricated himself from his own side of the motorcar. “The parents?”

“Pippa will explain.” Christopher shut the door after me and then proceeded to tug me after him around the car to where Crispin was holding open the driver’s side door. Christopher let go of my hand and slid behind the wheel. “Ah!” He looked around, delighted.

“If you break anything, I’ll break your kneecaps,” Crispin informed him, as he shut the door.

Christopher grinned up at him. “If I break anything, I’ll pay for it, Crispin.”

“You know what you’re doing?”

Christopher nodded. “Clutch. Hand brake. Steering wheel.” He pointed to them. “Lights, but it might be better if I do without those. Less chance of being seen.”

“More chance of getting fined,” I said.

“I really don’t think the constabulary is going to be patrolling for speed demons in Southwark at eleven on a Saturday night, do you?”

“I have no idea,” I said, putting my nose in the air. “I don’t break the law. St George would be the one to ask.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be moving beyond a crawl,” Crispin told Christopher. “Whoever picks up the money won’t want to risk being stopped by going too fast away from here, and you’ll be dawdling along behind. So I don’t think you’ll have to worry.”

“That’s a good point.” Christopher flicked his fingers at us. “Off you go, then, children. To the tower.”

He added an evil laugh. I rolled my eyes and tucked my hand through Crispin’s elbow. “Come along, St George. And attempt to look amorous.”

There was a beat of silence. Then?—

“Why?” Crispin wanted to know, apprehensively.

“We have to try to look natural in case anyone’s watching. That was the idea we came up with.”

“Just two lovebirds looking for a spot of privacy for some slap and tickle,” Christopher said cheerfully. “Don’t say I never gave you anything, Crispin.”

“Yes,” Crispin said, sounding murderous, “I’ll definitely remember this.”

I sniffed. “So sorry to put you out, St George. Just close your eyes and think of Lady Laetitia.”

“While you close yours and imagine the handsome Count, I assume?”

He slapped a hand over mine on his arm, and pulled me alongside him towards the remains of the church. Behind us, everything was quiet as Christopher settled into the H6.

“Stop manhandling me, you brute,” I told him, and dragged my feet as best I could to slow him down. “The last thing I need is bruises.”

He scoffed. “You’re the one holding on to me, Darling. If anyone’s going to end up with bruises, I’m the one.”

I scoffed back. “Don’t be ridiculous, St George. I’m only holding on so tight because you’re dragging me along too fast for me to keep up. Eager, are you?”

That, as I had surmised, slowed him down. And while it was hard to tell in the dark, I think his cheekbones might have darkened a bit, too.

“That’s preposterous, Darling.”

I sniggered. “Oh, is it?”

He shot me a look. “It’s not as if anything is actually going to happen, is it?”

It didn’t sound like a question, more like a challenge, and I snorted. “Of course not.”

“So what would I be eager for, precisely? The pleasure of your company?”

I smirked. “Now, now, St George. Don’t you like me?”

He made a little noise that might have been irritation or perhaps exasperation. Or perhaps it was simple amusement. “About as much as you like me, Darling.”

The church tower loomed ahead, and I pointed to it. “In there.”

Crispin glanced around, surreptitiously, before he ducked through the door and pulled me in after him. I giggled a little, since—if someone were in hearing distance—they might expect that.

Of course, if someone was in hearing distance, they would have heard the rest of the conversation, too.

Then again, everyone was forever accusing us of flirting, so maybe it wouldn’t matter.

“Over there,” I pointed, before my eyes had adjusted to the gloom inside the windowless tower. “Stairs going up.”

He pulled me after him across the floor until we practically ran into the bottom step. The floor was more uneven than I had realized when I’d been able to see it. “Oops.” Crispin sniggered and regained his balance by holding on to me. “Up you go, Darling.”

I started up, and heard him stumble along behind me. After a few steps, the gloom lifted as the ambient light from above bled down the stairs. By the time we reached the top, I felt like I could breathe again.

I could also look around the platform and see that we were alone. The kidnappers had not decided to take a leaf out of our book, it seemed, and hide themselves at the top of the tower until the ransom was paid. It had crossed my mind that they might. I might have, had it been me. But we were alone on the tower, peering past the balustrade at the bricks of Tower Bridge in one direction, and the lights of the north embankment on the other.

“Nice,” Crispin commented, for once not sounding like he was being snide or sarcastic or anything else.

I nodded. It was nice. Romantic, even. The moon was a waxing crescent, a thin scythe low in the sky, and the lighted windows across the Thames reflected in the ripples of water. In the dark, we couldn’t tell that the river was murky and disgusting. The scene looked beautiful and peaceful as I leaned on the balustrade and enjoyed the view.

Of course, that was only until Crispin came up behind me and slid an arm around me to prop himself against the balustrade, in a way that left me boxed in, with his body on one side of me and his arm on the other.

I stiffened—who wouldn’t?—and he leaned closer and put his mouth close to my ear. “Relax, Darling. We want to look authentic, don’t we? In case someone’s watching.”

“No one is watching us from this direction,” I pointed out. There was nothing down below but wharfs and warehouses and the water. It was the other side of the church tower, with the street, and the train station, not to mention the bridge, where there would be people possibly watching.

Where Hiram Schlomsky would arrive to drop off the ransom, and where the kidnappers, presumably, would arrive to pick it up.

“But a pair of turtledoves,” Crispin said smoothly, “would be looking this way, admiring the ripples on the water. Romantic, isn’t it?”

His arm tightened on my waist, and his breath tickled the hair at my ear. I shivered and nudged him back a step with my elbow. “Stop breathing on me.”

“That’s going to be difficult when I’m supposed to look like I’m making love to you, Darling.” His voice was amused.

I rolled my eyes. “There’s nobody up here. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Perhaps I enjoy pretending.”

Perhaps he did. Or perhaps he just liked to see how far he could push me before I snapped. If that was the case, I had better nip this in the bud before it went any further.

“I mean it, St George,” I said, “you had better not think you can take advantage of the situation to?—”

He rolled his eyes. “We have an hour to kill before anything is likely to happen downstairs, Darling. How do you suggest we spend the time?”

“Not by you breathing on me and making suggestive remarks,” I said.

He huffed. “What’s it going to be, then? A game of pinochle, perhaps? Did you bring a deck of cards?”

“Of course I didn’t,” I said. “I was on a date when you picked me up, wasn’t I?”

“Of course you were.” His tone was sour. “And I’m sure His Highness kept you well occupied, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did,” I said pleasantly. “He told me all about his bragging scar and where he got it, for one thing. They’re a sign of bravery, you know.”

My tone indicated, as best I could, that he wouldn’t know bravery if he fell over it.

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Skirmish in the trenches? Saving fair maidens from fleeing bandits? Jealous husband?”

I snorted. “Hardly. Just a standard Mensur duel at Heidelberg.”

“Probably leaned into it,” Crispin said, “just so he could brag about having it later.”

Quite so. “He’s not such a bad bloke, you know.”

“I’m certain he’s perfectly lovely,” Crispin said, “and we’d be fast friends and drinking companions in other circumstances. But as it is…”

“Which circumstances are those?”

He glanced at me, and I continued. “Under which circumstances would you be fast friends and drinking companions? Or rather, which are the circumstances under which you can’t?”

“He’s either trying to get under your skirt, or trying to take you back to Germany with him,” Crispin said. “You can’t imagine that any of us are all right with that.”

“He’s made no move to get under my skirt. And he hasn’t proposed, either.”

He had suggested that I pay Germany a visit, and that I stay with him at Schloss Natterdorff when I did, but it would perhaps be better if I didn’t mention that right now.

“Biding his time,” Crispin said. “Besides, it’s hard to get under someone’s skirt in the Savoy dining room.”

“I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t be insulting, Darling.” He grinned. “I’m far too well bred to try that sort of thing in that sort of setting. That’s what grotty nightclubs in Soho are for.”

Of course. “And if it hadn’t been for this little excursion, I suppose that’s where you’d be tonight?”

“I’d be in Wiltshire,” Crispin said. “I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed, Darling—you rarely think about me when I’m not right in front of you, do you?” He flicked me a look, “—but I haven’t actually been spending much time in London over the past few months. Father has had me nursing my broken heart at Sutherland instead.”

I snorted. “Your father doesn’t care about your broken heart.”

Although Crispin might be right about the rest of it. Now that I thought back, he really hadn’t been in London much over the summer. Uncle Harold had kept a tight rein on him immediately after Duke Henry’s and Lady Charlotte’s deaths the last weekend in April. It wouldn’t do for the scion of the Sutherlands to appear on the front cover of the Tatler or the Daily Yell before his mother and grandfather were even in the ground, of course.

After that, there had been his birthday in June, which had culminated in us driving around London in drag, with a dead body in the back of the Hispano-Suiza. But no tabloid reporters had caught us that night, luckily. And he had driven up for the inquest, of course, the week after, but there hadn’t been any carousing on that occasion. Supper with Christopher and me and back to the inquest the following day. And that was it, as far as I knew. We were now into August. Had he truly only been in London two or three times in the past three months?

“See,” he told me, because of course he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “You’ve misjudged me, Darling. I’m not the philandering playboy you think I am. I spend all my time in my bower in Sutherland, pining.”

“Only because your father keeps you under lock and key,” I answered with a snort. “I should start calling you Rapunzel.”

He shook his head. “Rapunzel didn’t pine, Darling. It was the prince who pined, after the evil stepmother took Rapunzel away and cut her hair and hid her in the desert.”

“Good for him,” I said. “You, on the other hand, would probably just go off and find yourself another princess. You’re not a playboy, you’re a cad. Ready to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble. It’s no wonder your lady-love doesn’t want you. She could never trust that you would stick around if things got tough.”

“Which is precisely why I won’t declare myself,” Crispin said. “I’m not cut out for garret living. I like my creature comforts, and if I don’t get them, I’m difficult. I’d rather not inflict myself on someone I care about under those circumstances.”

“So you’ll marry Laetitia Marsden instead, and inflict yourself on her.”

He shrugged. “She wants me. She can put up with the difficulty in exchange for the title and money.”

And with her, he wouldn’t have to live in squalor on the Continent. As he had expressed once, his father would be only too happy to give him to Lady Laetitia. It was only if he wanted to marry the girl he said he was in love with, that he’d be disinherited.

“Your father’s a bastard,” I said.

His lips twitched. “Good thing my grandfather didn’t hear you say that.”

I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t meant it that way, which he knew perfectly well. “Have you seen her lately? Or has your father truly kept you secluded from everyone and everything?”

He shot me a look. “Laetitia? Or, as you call her, my lady-love?”

I shrugged. “Either? Both?”

“The Earl and Countess invited Father and me to spend the weekend at Marsden last week. I saw Laetitia then. As for?—”

“Are you engaged?”

I hadn’t noticed a new ring on his finger at any time this evening, but he might have put one on Laetitia and refused to wear one himself. I wouldn’t put it past him.

He shook his head. “Of course not. I would have let Kit and you know if anything momentous had happened.”

“That would be momentous, would it? Getting engaged to Lady Laetitia?” I turned my back on the view and folded my arms over my chest to look at him.

“Getting engaged at all would be momentous,” Crispin said, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets. “Father would send notices to all the newspapers, and the church would read the banns for three weeks. There’d be sobbing and gnashing of teeth all over London, as the Bright Young Set learned that I was off the matrimonial market. You couldn’t avoid hearing about it, if that were the case.”

I harrumphed. “I really don’t know why we put up with you and your self-esteem issues, St George.”

“Kit loves me,” Crispin said.

“I suppose he must. So Laetitia is still going out of her way to try to tie you down.”

He hummed agreement.

“What about the girl you say you’re in love with? Have you seen her lately?”

There was a moment of silence while Crispin endeavored to look at me, probably to try to ascertain whether I was being mocking or serious or something else. It can’t have been easy, in the darkness of the tower and with the lights behind me. Eventually he decided that I must be asking in truth, because he said, cautiously, “We cross paths once in a while. When one of us doesn’t go out of our way to avoid the other.”

“She avoids you?”

“She doesn’t much approve of me,” Crispin said. “Thinks I’m a cad and a philanderer and all those other things you accused me of earlier.”

Good for her.

“Are you certain you shouldn’t damn the torpedoes and propose, and introduce her to the family? Your father may not be happy, but I think the rest of us would like to make her acquaintance. Any girl who doesn’t fall flat for your charms seems worth knowing.”

“You would say that,” Crispin grumbled. “No. I told you. I’m not putting her through squalor on the Continent.”

“Squalor on the Continent might not be so bad. My mother seemed happy.” In her flat in Heidelberg with her carpenter husband and child. “Of course, that presupposes that this girl likes you enough to want to marry you…”

“Which God knows she doesn’t,” Crispin said, and then stopped, mouth open. He looked like a goldfish, and I opened my own mouth to comment on it, but he shook his head. “Listen.”

I listened, and heard, for the first time, the sound of a motor coming towards the tower. When I looked in that direction, there were the reflections of moving lights in the brick of Tower Bridge.

“Surely it isn’t eleven yet?” We couldn’t have stood here for a whole hour bickering, could we?

Crispin shook his head. “Shhh. Let’s go take a look.”

He turned his back to me and moved towards the other side of the clocktower. I left the balustrade and the view over the Thames, and followed. “Stay back from the edge. You don’t want him, or them, to look up and see you.”

He flicked me a look over his shoulder. “You’re the one who needs to stay back, Darling. I’m in black and white. I’ll blend with the shadows. You’re the one who’ll light up like a bonfire when those headlamps hit you.”

I grimaced. He was right about that, wasn’t he?

“Really,” he told me, “you knew you were going adventuring after your supper date. You might have worn something sleek and black for His Highness.”

“You must have me confused with Lady Laetitia,” I said sourly. “She’s the one who wears nothing but black. I like bright colors.”

“You certainly do.” He turned back to the street. “Looks like a Hackney.”

I peered over the parapet and saw what looked like a black Austin Twelve come rolling slowly across the cobblestones towards us, past the place where Christopher and the Hispano-Suiza were tucked away.

I nodded. “Looks very much like one. Perhaps Papa Schlomsky is early.” Sitting around at the Savoy waiting for it to be time to go drop off the ransom couldn’t be easy. And it might have been difficult to estimate the time it would take to get here, too, for that matter.

“Or the kidnappers are,” Crispin said, as the Austin passed out of sight below the tower.

“Did it stop?”

He shook his head. “It’s moving past, going under the bridge now.”

“Just doing an initial recce, then?”

“Seems so,” Crispin said. “Come on. Let’s get into position while they’re out of sight.”

He headed for a corner of the tower, just beside the opening onto Tooley Street, and melted into the shadows. All I could see of him was the slightly paler triangle of his starched shirt, and the pale hair and skin above. If I hadn’t known that he was there, I might not have noticed even that.

I tucked myself into the corner opposite and proceeded to wait.

“Here they come again,” Crispin said softly. “Hackney cab on its way back.”

“The same one?”

“Who can tell? They all look the same, don’t they? It’s coming from the direction where the other one disappeared, so I assume so.”

He watched it as it came closer. The headlights hit the tower and lit up the area around us for a second—I squeezed myself into the corner, out of the way, so none of my sparkling salmon beads would catch the light and reflect it back like a mirror—before the wheels turned to follow the curve of the bridge and the motorcar rattled across the cobbles away from us.

We stood in silence until the sound of the motor had faded away down Tooley Street.

“Could be the kidnappers,” I said, breathing again, “making sure that there aren’t coppers crawling all over the ransom drop.”

Crispin nodded. At least I think he did. I could hear movement from the opposite corner, and then a scrape as he moved forward, far enough to see the time.

“Fifteen minutes to go.”