Chapter Fifteen #2
Solomon listened to the details, occasionally asking questions.
And was forced to agree. “He could have done it. It all adds up against him, and yet still we have no proof that he did anything to any of these women. Would he not guess that if his wife died in such a similar way, people might remember about Sophie?”
“If he got away with murdering Sophie,” Constance countered, “why would he not use the same method on Caterina? What we don’t know is why he would have killed Sophie.
According to her mother, there was no hint of infidelity on either side.
She would have brought him a very decent dowry, and Worthington, a senior figure in the banking world, would have made an extremely useful father-in-law.
We need to dig deeper… Ah, that sounds like Janey. ”
Janey had entered with her key, calling cheerfully to Hat. “Guv’nors in?” she demanded, and a second later all but burst into Constance’s office with Lenny in tow.
“Wotcher!” she greeted them. “Got reams of stuff for you from the theatre.”
“Pull up a chair,” Solomon invited Lenny as Janey threw herself into the one next to him.
Janey extracted a notebook from her bag—one Constance had given her for becoming an assistant rather than a mere receptionist in the firm—and leafed through several pages of notes, talking all the time.
“Lenny spoke to the porter and a couple of the singers. I went round the stagehands, the dressers, and the understudy. And it’s quite interesting.
I ain’t put it all into order yet, but you’ll see her nibs was very busy during the time that interests you.
The days she came early to the theatre, she didn’t tend to stay there long.
Got the porter to call her cabs, and he’s got long ears.
” Janey grinned and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I persuaded him to tell me where she went, me being so trustworthy and caring.”
“Baggage,” Solomon said appreciatively. “So where did she go?”
“The street names are in the book. Same street twice, and it wasn’t a direction the porter had ever heard before. He knew the other address, though.”
Constance raised her eyes from the book to meet Solomon’s gaze. “She’d found another place to meet Darrow, cutting out the disapproving Marianne Locke. She was going to run away with him.”
“We don’t know that,” Solomon protested, although he had to admit it was a likely possibility. “She could have had another lover we haven’t heard of, or she could just have needed the advice of a trusted friend.”
“True,” she agreed, but he could sense the excitement in her, as though they were nearing the conclusion and proof awaited only a step or two away. She returned her attention to the book. “This is good work. Well done, both of you. Let me copy it all into the overall schedule and see where we are…”
Her voice trailed off, her pen still while she gazed at Janey’s notes, then referred briefly to her own.
“Same street,” she said in triumph. “Look, Solomon—according to the stage doorman, Caterina ordered a hackney to take her to Theobalds Street twice, on Wednesday the twenty-ninth of June and Friday the first of July. And according to Mary Webb, she waited hours for her mistress outside a house in the same street on Tuesday the twenty-eighth of June.”
“Three times in one week,” Solomon said, frowning. “But she never saw Darrow so often.”
“Mary never saw Darrow go into the house. I’m sure she would have told me.”
“Would she have noticed?” Solomon said. “Waiting so long, she probably fell asleep. Or Darrow could easily have slipped in while the coachman walked his horses. Only…why would she change her habits?”
“Because she no longer cared about being found out. She was planning her escape.”
“Why?” Solomon demanded. “We only have Darrow’s word that she had agreed to go away with him, and we already know he is a liar.”
“So is Montague, at least by omission. And you saw him attack Darrow at the funeral. There is anger in him, Solomon, however controlled. I felt it this morning.”
“But there’s no evidence,” Lenny pointed out mildly, “against either of them.”
“Lenny’s right,” Janey said.
Solomon sighed. “He is. Well, let’s see if Darrow could have met Caterina at Theobalds Street on those days.
He practices in the mornings, so it does leave his afternoons free in theory.
That is for tomorrow. As is a visit to Theobalds Street.
And we need to know if they had got as far as booking their passage to Italy or anywhere else in Europe.
If Montague knew about that, then it really does give him a strong motive, so we should try to make a schedule of his movements, too.
Could he have followed his wife? Inquired at the docks, or the Channel ports? ”
The others nodded in agreement.
“What about your other suspect?” Janey asked. “This Mr. Kellar?”
Constance narrowed her eyes. “I would love to know his movements, too, but somehow, I don’t believe our chances of learning them are very high.”
*
Juliet had changed into her newest gown.
She had made it herself from some gorgeous scarlet silk that had come her way some years ago—most likely stolen, or at least with no duty paid.
She could pretend it was her variation of the loose tea gowns that had lately come into fashion, though such garments were generally worn at home, not to go out and dine in public.
Not that she was actually going to go to meet Sebastian. Probably. She was merely testing out how she would look if she did go. She refused to apologize for what she was or what she had been, so if she went, he would see her in all her glory.
Well, at least, all her eccentricities. She had scrubbed the paint from her face and had not replaced it.
Without it, she felt naked, vulnerable. But perhaps she looked better, too.
Peering more closely into the glass, she noticed that her skin had improved in recent months.
Less red and mottled. And her eyes were clearer.
That, no doubt, was due to eating better, since she had a proper kitchen in the flat. And to a lot less gin.
There was nothing she could do about the plumpness and sagging of age.
How much did he know and guess about her life?
He had invited her to be seen with him in public—admittedly not by the kind of society he came from, but she had nosed around the eating house already and knew it to be a respectable place. The question was, how much harm would she do by going there? Harm to her own peace, harm to his life.
No, she would not go. It was not fair on either of them. If she stayed away, he would not ask her again. She knew that with certainty. He would take the hint, as he had when he left for America thirty years before. And peace would return.
If she went, God knew where it would lead. Nowhere good. She was no friend for the likes of him. He was still ambitious, on the verge of a prestigious promotion, according to Connie.
Which was another thing, of course. Constance and Solomon did not trust him.
They appeared to suspect him of involvement in the opera singer’s death.
And Juliet could not put it past him. There would be a reason, of course, though she doubted it was one of simple ambition.
Why then would he have invited Juliet to be seen in his company?
I would be death to his ambitions. But I could help Connie rule him out of their investigation…
And if she found he was guilty?
Well, Juliet was a pragmatist herself. It would depend on his reasons whether or not she would betray him.
It would be no betrayal. He has been nothing to me for thirty years. Connie is my life.
She stared at the bright, striking woman in her looking glass, and let her shoulders straighten.
She had let her daughter down often enough, but Constance herself admitted that it was Juliet who’d made everything possible for her.
She had taught the child to read and write and count, had drilled into her the various ways to stay safe from the scum of the streets and brothels.
And if she had put certain matters off just a little too long and failed to stop her entering into prostitution—well, Connie had found her own unique way to both embrace it and rise above it.
With a good and responsible man who loved her.
Oh yes, Constance was her pride and joy. And for her, Juliet would brave anyone or anything. Even Sebastian Kellar.
The question was, should she?
And was she using Constance as a mere excuse to go?
I could carry it off. At the very least, he’ll know what and who I am. He will run a mile, and that will churn me up all over again. But that was always inevitable, and this way, I could help Connie. And when he does run… Well, I won’t take to the gin again.
She turned abruptly and seized the red-and-cream hat, which she set on her head at a jaunty angle. She would go—and decide when she got there whether or not to stay.
Perhaps stupidly, she never doubted that he would be there. And he was, rising to meet her as soon as he saw her. She attracted a few glances and longer stares as she made her way toward him, but Sebastian bowed to her and held her chair, as though she were still a lady.
“What a striking ensemble,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You look lovely.”
She laughed. “I know how I look, and lovely doesn’t cover it.”
“I had just made up my mind you wouldn’t come.”
“Well, you weren’t completely wrong. I probably won’t stay.”
“Then why come at all?”
“Curiosity, of course. I’ve never eaten here before.”
His lips twitched, reminding her unbearably of the secret humor they had once shared and thrived on. “Allow me to order. And they do a decent claret, too.”
He already had a glass at his elbow and now poured some from the bottle into the other glass. The table had been set for two.
“Very well,” she said graciously. “If you tell me why you invited me.”