Chapter Six #3
Dare Hall, where the widowed Adelaide Jenkins lived, was older and smaller than Channing House, but it looked golden and pretty in the sunshine. There was no grand driveway, just a gravel track to the front door.
Solomon pulled the bell, and they heard it jangle within. A few moments later, the front door was opened by a smart maidservant.
Constance presented their card. “Is Mrs. Jenkins at home?”
“No, ma’am,” the girl said, without glancing at the card. “I’m afraid not. She went into Channing, to church, and won’t be back for at least another hour.”
Rats. Constance had forgotten it was Sunday. The Harveys had not mentioned attending church—and who could blame them?
“Ah. We had hoped to talk to her about the sad death of Mr. Percival Harvey.”
Instantly, the maid’s eyes widened with delicious shock. “I just heard from Cook. What a terrible thing!”
“It is indeed,” Solomon said. “We are helping his parents find out what happened to him, retracing his last journey, and such like. Did you by any chance see him since his return to Channing on Thursday?”
Her face went blank. “Oh, no, sir. Would you like to leave a message for Mrs. Jenkins? Or shall I just give her your card?”
“You might tell her we are staying at Channing House if she wishes to speak with us. But we’ll probably call again this afternoon.”
The girl was clearly anxious to close the door, so they stepped back and turned away.
“The stables?” Constance murmured.
“Of course.”
They retraced their steps until the gravel path parted, with one branch leading around the side of the house and up a slight incline to an old stone stable building.
A groom was brushing down a fine-looking mare, while a pony watched from the nearby grass.
A couple of carriage horses were happily munching grass on the other side of a fence.
The groom paused in his work and touched his cap to Constance and Solomon. “Morning, sir, madam. Can I help you?”
“Possibly,” Solomon said. “We are staying with Mr. Harvey at Channing House, helping him make sense of his son’s murder.”
The groom, a youngish man with rippling muscles visible beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves, scowled. “Ain’t no sense in something like that, sir.”
“I see what you mean. But the law needs to take its course, and Mr. and Mrs. Harvey need to know what happened to their son.”
“Suppose they do,” the groom allowed.
“Did you happen to see Mr. Percival Harvey on Thursday?”
“No, sir.”
“Then he did not leave a horse here?”
“What would he do that for?” the groom demanded, but for the first time, his eyes dropped.
As though she didn’t notice, Constance said brightly, “The mare is a beautiful animal. Is she Mrs. Jenkins’s riding horse?”
“That she is. Sweet-natured beast, and fast, too.” He indicated the pony. “And this little monster is Mr. Clarence’s. I’m teaching the lad to ride.”
Constance smiled at the pride in his voice, which was at least natural. “And these will be carriage horses in the paddock, there? Are these all the horses you have here?”
The groom grunted, his eyes sliding away from hers to Solomon, who was strolling up to the stable door. The groom grabbed the mare’s halter and began leading her in the same direction. Constance walked beside him, which made him pause, just as an equine snort came from the stable.
“What horse is that, then?” Constance asked amiably.
“No idea,” said the groom.
Solomon ambled inside. The groom did not. He waited, holding on the mare and chewing his lip.
“I don’t know where he come from,” he said in a rush to Constance. “He just appeared, and he were hungry and needed a bit of care. So I give him it.”
Solomon emerged from the stable. “Not a thoroughbred by any means. He looks a bit old and overworked to me. As if he’s used on staging routes.”
The groom nodded. “Possible. I’ll ask at the Duke’s Arms.”
“When did you find him?” Constance asked.
“Friday morning, he was in the paddock.”
So it could have been Percy’s horse, acquired on the journey from London, and let loose before—or after?—Percy was shot. “With his saddle and bridle?”
The groom nodded with more reluctance. “I’ve got them too, all cleaned and polished. I thought someone would turn up looking for him, but no one ever did.”
“Did you ask Mrs. Jenkins about him?” Solomon asked.
Again, the groom looked away. “Not yet.”
Why not? Because Mrs. Jenkins already knew Percy was here?
“Did Mrs. Jenkins walk to church this morning?” Constance asked.
“No, she took the gig and old Fergus. He likes the outings, and it’s about all he’s up to nowadays.”
Solomon thanked him, and they walked back toward the road.
“He cares for his horses,” Solomon remarked.
“You think he feels sorry for that stray horse in his stable and is looking after it at Mrs. Jenkins’s expense?”
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it? It certainly doesn’t look like the mount of a wealthy man. But Percy could still have ridden into Channing on it.”
“And abandoned it in the field while he called on Mrs. Jenkins,” Constance said consideringly.
“Also a possibility. I look forward to speaking to her. Shall we walk into town?”