Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

“That’s strange,” Christopher mused later, after I had gone over everything that had happened.

I glanced at him across the tea service. “Which part?”

He placed his cup and saucer on the table and sat back against the Chesterfield and crossed one leg over the other, languidly. “All of it, I suppose. Strange that they wouldn’t let her know they were coming in the first place, but stranger still that she wouldn’t immediately run to meet them, if she hadn’t seen them in almost a year.”

I nodded. Although— “I don’t know that I think it’s all that strange that they didn’t give her advance notice that they were coming. They said they wanted to surprise her. And they did let her know at least a day in advance. They arrived in Southampton two days ago. If they had truly wanted to take her off guard, they could have appeared downstairs with no warning the way Uncle Harold did two months ago.”

“Uncle Harold was trying to catch you and Crispin in flagrante delicto ,” Christopher said with a twitch of his lips, “so he’d hardly give you advance notice that he was coming.”

I made a face. “Well, perhaps that was what the Schlomskys were trying to do, too. See what their daughter was up to in their absence.”

“But they didn’t,” Christopher said. “They did give her notice. Enough to know that they were coming, at least. Enough to get rid of anything incriminating. And if they were suspicious, wouldn’t they have acted differently, instead of being surprised by everything they saw?”

Perhaps so. The Schlomsky parents seemed to have expected to find a much subdued Flossie compared to what we—Christopher and I, and Crispin—were used to seeing. If they had been suspicious of their daughter’s behavior here in London, they wouldn’t simultaneously have been surprised by it.

“What’s strange to me,” I said, “is that Flossie didn’t show up at the Savoy, either last night or this morning. If they were my parents and I hadn’t seen them for the best part of a year…”

Christopher nodded. “Perhaps she was worried about her parents’ reaction to… shall we say ‘the new Flossie’?”

“I suppose she might have been. They did seem quite surprised about everything I said.”

“And they expected there to be a maid,” Christopher said, half question and half statement, “and there wasn’t one.”

I nodded. “That’s what they said. Have you seen a maid around, Christopher?”

He shook his head. “It’s a service flat, so no need for a maid, really.”

Not really.

“Flossie was here before us. Perhaps she got rid of the maid before we took the flat. The senior Schlomskys were adamant that they wouldn’t have sent her across to England without one. So there must have been a maid at some point.”

Christopher nodded. “What else?”

“Her mother looked appalled at the state of Flossie’s second bedroom, which is essentially her closet, but I was appalled, too. So many clothes, Christopher! You would have been in heaven, or at least you would have been if any of them had fit you. But?—”

He nodded. “I know, Pippa. Flossie and I look nothing alike. Her frocks would come to mid-thigh on me.”

Yes, they would. And in every other respect, they’d hang off him. He’s much slimmer around the hips than Flossie.

“Apparently she didn’t dress like that in Toledo. Or she was much less interested in clothes, or something like that.”

“Are we certain it’s the same girl?” Christopher wanted to know.

I huffed. “How many Florence Schlomskys do you suppose there are in London? Besides, I described her, and her parents said yes, that sounded like their daughter.”

Christopher nodded.

“They said she came to London for her health.”

“That has to be a joke,” Christopher said. “Who comes to England for their health? The weather is hardly ever sunny here.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What’s wrong with her health?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “The conversation moved on to something else, and I forgot to ask. But whenever we’ve seen her, she’s always looked blooming, hasn’t she? Perhaps she was languishing under her parents’ thumbs at home, and getting out on her own made all the difference.”

Christopher nodded. “It’s amazing what a bit of independence can do.”

Yes, it was. “Perhaps that’s why she didn’t rush to meet her parents when they arrived. Perhaps there’s resentment there. She left home because she was unhappy, and she ditched the maid because her parents had sent the maid along to spy on her, or to keep her in line or something of that nature, and now she has built her own life here in London, and she didn’t like her parents showing up to upset it.”

“Might be,” Christopher agreed. “It makes as much sense as anything else.”

It did. “She can’t hope to avoid them forever, though. I mean, she should have known they’d turn up sooner or later, shouldn’t she? Here, I mean. At the Essex House Mansions. Once the telegram arrived, and she knew they were in England, she must have known that they’d come here. Surely they’re the ones paying for the flat, so they’d know where to find it.”

“One would assume so,” Christopher agreed. “I can’t imagine why she didn’t just face the music—and her parents—right away. If it were me, and I didn’t want my parents to see where, or how, I lived, I would have gone to them first, before they could come and find me.”

I nodded. So would I have. “You don’t suppose anything has happened to her, do you?”

“I can’t imagine what,” Christopher said. “She was alive and well last night, you said.”

“That’s what Crispin told me.” I shrugged. “He mentioned that she seemed distracted—although she did try to have her way with him in the lift, as usual, so I don’t know how distracted she could have been—but it was probably just about her parents being in London, you know? I didn’t get the impression that he thought anything of it one way or the other.”

Christopher nodded. “If something had been wrong, I’m sure he would have noticed. He’s not stupid. Or unobservant, really.”

No, he wasn’t. “Evans said they went off together.”

“Flossie and Crispin?”

I nodded. “It makes sense, if they were both going to the Savoy.”

“Indeed,” Christopher nodded. “But if he took her to the Savoy, why didn’t her parents see her there? Do we know that they’re telling the truth?”

We didn’t. “Perhaps he dropped her somewhere else along the way.”

“Why would he do that if they were both going to the Savoy?”

I had no idea, and said so. “We could phone him and ask. She might have said something to him that he didn’t bother to convey to me. It’s not as if we knew it would turn out to be important.”

Christopher lifted a shoulder in semi-agreement. “It can’t hurt to ring up the Hall, I suppose. If nothing else, I can assure Crispin that you haven’t heard from Natterdorff again since yesterday.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t imagine why you think he would be interested, Christopher.”

“Of course you can’t,” Christopher said, and went on without giving me an explanation. “On our way out, we can knock on Flossie’s door again, and see if she’s come back.”

“Or we could simply ask Evans on our way through the lobby.”

“We can do that, too,” Christopher said and pushed to his feet.

There was no answer when we knocked on Flossie’s door, and no indication that she had returned home in the time I had been inside our own flat with Christopher. Her parents were gone by now, too, clearly, and the flat was empty. When I reached out my hand to try the knob, Christopher hissed at me. I rolled my eyes but did it anyway. It didn’t turn and the door didn’t budge, and when I put my ear to it, there were no sounds from inside the flat.

“No, Mr. Astley,” Evans said a minute later, after we had taken the lift down to the lobby and Christopher had inquired as to whether Flossie had come back home.

“No correspondence?” I asked. “No visitors?”

“No, Miss Darling,” Evans said. And changed it to, “Not aside from her parents.”

“Do inform us when she comes back, will you, Evans?” Christopher took my arm and headed for the outside.

“Of course, Mr. Astley,” Evans said, and swung the door open.

“Useless,” I said to Christopher as we walked up the pavement towards the call box on the corner. “Utterly useless. And you know, Christopher, I suspect he wouldn’t tell us even if he did know something.”

He glanced down at me. “Likely not, Pippa. Flossie’s doings are none of our concern, are they, any more than our doings are any of Flossie’s concern. If I found out that Evans was telling Flossie—or anyone else, for that matter—what I get up to every month, I would have his hide, and so would you.”

“Yes,” I said, “of course, but?—”

He shook his head. “No buts, Pippa. Goose, gander, and all of that. If you don’t want him to give away your secrets, or mine, you can’t expect him to give away other people’s secrets to us.”

I grumbled. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m just trying to help, though, Christopher. If something’s wrong…”

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Christopher said and came to a stop outside the call box. “We’ll ask Crispin what happened. Perhaps he took Flossie to the Savoy and it’s the elder Schlomskys who are lying.”

“Why would they do that?”

Christopher pulled open the door to the red box. “Why does anyone do anything? I assume you want inside with me?”

Of course I wanted inside with him. The London public call boxes are narrow, but we’re both young and slender. We’d make it work. I stepped inside, and Christopher followed. The door closed, and we maneuvered around one another, arms and hips brushing, as we got into position in front of the telephone. “Would you like to do the honors?” Christopher inquired.

I shook my head. “No, thank you. I don’t imagine Uncle Harold would like it much if I were the one to ring up Crispin. You know how little he likes me.”

“It’s not as if Uncle Harold would answer his own telephone,” Christopher said, “It would be Tidwell, or perhaps Mrs. Mason, and it would make Crispin’s evening.”

“St George doesn’t need any more pandering to his insecurities. He’s already egocentric enough.”

Christopher shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He fed the telephone the appropriate coins and dealt with the exchange. Time passed, then… “Tidwell? Christopher Astley. Is my cousin in?”

Tidwell, Sutherland Hall’s butler, took himself off to hunt down his lordship somewhere in the vast hall, and we waited. Christopher repositioned the earpiece between us so I could hear, too. Several minutes passed, before?—

“Kit? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Christopher said, and amended it to, “Nothing you need worry about.”

“Then why are you interrupting my pining and plotting?”

Plotting?

“What are you plotting, St George?” I wanted to know. “Is it murder? Is it Lady Laetitia? Oh, please say it is! I’ll help you dispose of the body!”

A moment of silence hung in the air before he said, cautiously, “Darling?”

“Of course.”

It took less than a second for my brain to catch up to my mouth, but by then it was too late. Christopher chuckled, and I made a face. “Drat.”

Crispin smirked. I could hear it all the way from Wiltshire. “Good evening, Darling.”

“Yes,” I said, “you too, St George. Damn you.”

“Now, now, Darling. We both knew it was only a matter of time before you accepted my pet-name for you. Two years is long enough, don’t you think?”

That statement truly didn’t deserve a response, so I didn’t give it one. Instead I stuck my nose in the air—Christopher saw it, even if Crispin didn’t—and told him, “Never mind that, St George. We have a question for you.”

“Do you, really?”

“Don’t play coy,” I said severely, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Does it not? What behavior do you think suits me, Darling?”

“Stop flirting,” Christopher ordered, and I sniffed. “Serious question, Crispin.”

“Of course, old bean.”

“Evans said you left with Flossie Schlomsky yesterday evening, after we spoke.”

“Yes,” Crispin said, after a moment. “I told Philippa that. Didn’t I, Darling?”

“You told me that you’d seen her,” I said, “not that you’d gone off together.”

“Does it matter? We were going the same way, so I offered her a lift. What of it?”

“You were going to the Savoy,” Christopher said, and Crispin hummed in agreement. “Where was she going?”

“The Savoy, as well. She told me her parents were staying there, from America.”

“So you took her to the Savoy?”

“No,” Crispin said. “She asked to be left off down the road a bit. Didn’t want to risk her parents seeing her arrive in my motorcar, she said.”

He sounded disgruntled. Especially when he added, after a second’s pause, “Or perhaps it was my company she said her parents would object to.”

“Difficult to blame them for that,” I told him sweetly. “Most mothers wouldn’t want their daughters going about in your company, you know. You’re a terrible cad.”

“By all means, Darling,” Crispin said coolly. “It’s a good thing Lady Euphemia Marsden feels differently, isn’t it?”

I made a face. “Touché, St George. You win that round.”

His voice brightened. “Do I, really? Good of you to concede, Darling.”

“Don’t expect it to happen again,” I warned him. “Seriously, though… Flossie didn’t want to be seen in your company—or in your motorcar—in front of her parents?”

“That’s what she said,” Crispin confirmed. “It was a surprise, I’ll admit. It’s not as if I’m interested in Flossie Schlomsky, so it didn’t matter to me on a personal level, but it did come as a bit of a shock.”

I could well imagine. Given Flossie’s flat-out pursuit of him before, having her suddenly treat him like persona non grata must have… well, grated.

The thing is, one can’t really hope to find a more eligible bachelor in England these days than the Viscount St George. Crispin has a title and a fortune, not to mention good looks and nice manners. He would have charmed the bloomers right off of Mrs. Schlomsky given half a chance. If the Schlomskys wanted a son-in-law from the British aristocracy, they couldn’t have wished for better than St George. (Personality aside, of course.) So it made no sense why Flossie would have wanted to distance herself from him, especially when it would have been so easy not to.

But mine was not to reason why, so I left that whole wrinkle alone and went back to what we did know.

“So you set her down on the Strand.”

“As I said, Darling. Across the street from the Eleanor Cross, to be specific. It’s a five-minute walk to the Savoy, if that. And plenty of people out and about.”

“I wasn’t disparaging your behavior,” I said mildly. “If the lady wanted out of the motorcar, of course you set her down. And proceeded directly to the Savoy to ruin my dinner date, I presume?”

“Of course, Darling.”

“Did you see her again?” Christopher wanted to know.

“Florence, do you mean? No, I didn’t.”

“For how long did you loiter outside the entrance to the hotel before you tried to run me down? You would have seen her go in, wouldn’t you?”

“Not long, Darling,” Crispin said, blandly, with no evidence of a guilty conscience in his tone, “but certainly longer than five minutes. I imagine I would have done, had she used the Savoy Court entrance.”

“How do you know that she didn’t?”

“Because I didn’t see her,” Crispin said. “There are lots of ways into the Savoy, Darling. Savoy Hill, Savoy Street, Savoy Place, Carting Lane… Perhaps she used one of those.”

She must have done, if he hadn’t seen her. “So you put her down across from Charing Cross, and that was the last time you saw her.”

“That’s correct. I drove to the Savoy, without once looking in the rearview mirror, because between you, me and Kit, I couldn’t care less about Florence Schlomsky and what she was doing—and there I proceeded to lurk outside in the lane until you came out with His Highness and I could carry out my plan of sweeping you off your feet.”

“Is that what you’d call it?”

“My apologies, Darling.” The tone of voice was accompanied by a mock bow. I knew it as well as if I’d been able to see it with my own eyes. “Did I say ‘sweep’? I meant ‘knock.’ I lay in wait until you appeared, and then I attempted to take you out at the knees.”

“Of course you did, you?—”

“Stop,” Christopher said and pulled the earpiece away from me. “If you can’t behave yourself, I’m not letting you listen.”

“I’m behaving myself perfectly well. He’s the one?—”

I dragged the earpiece back towards myself as Christopher leaned in to speak into the mouthpiece. “Listen, Crispin. The elder Schlomskys came to the flat this afternoon. Flossie didn’t show up at the Savoy, not last night nor this morning. Are you certain you didn’t bring her to Wiltshire with you?”

“Of course I’m certain, Kit,” Crispin’s voice said. “I think I would know if I’d had Florence Schlomsky in the boot of my motorcar, don’t you? Darling can attest that there was no one else in the H6 when I took her home last evening.”

I nodded. I hadn’t checked the boot, admittedly, but I was inclined to believe Crispin when he said that Flossie hadn’t been in it.

Christopher didn’t respond, and Crispin continued, “I set her down at Charing Cross. The last thing I saw as I drove away was her waiting to cross the street.”

“She didn’t go into the Underground, did she?”

“No,” Crispin said. “There’d be no point in her taking the Tube, Kit. Charing Cross is the closest stop to the Savoy. She might flag down a cab if she didn’t want to walk, I suppose, but it’s only a handful of blocks, and hardly worth the fare. I don’t see why she’d bother.”

I didn’t, either. “And you have no idea where she is?”

He sighed. “Why would I? If she were going anywhere but to the Savoy, she didn’t mention it to me.”

So that was that, then. “Thank you,” I said.

“Anytime, Darling. Kit. Anything else?”

“I think that’s it,” Christopher said. “Get in touch if you think of anything else, would you, old chap? Or if you hear from her?”

“I hardly think I’m likely to receive a missive from Florence Schlomsky,” Crispin told him, “but if it’ll help, of course I will.”

“Thanks, old bean. Pippa?”

“Yes, St George,” I said grudgingly. “Thank you.”

“Delighted to be of service, Darling. Do let me know when Miss Schlomsky turns up, won’t you?”

“Of course. We’ll be sure to give you a ring.”

“Much obliged, Darling. Sweet dreams. Kit?” His voice became businesslike. “A word?”

“Of course, Crispin.”

He nudged me out of the box. I went, but grudgingly, and only because it was obvious that nothing more would be said until I was out of range of hearing.