Chapter Seven
The town of Channing was quiet when Constance and Solomon arrived, no doubt because everyone was in the church on the other side of the main square from the Duke’s Arms.
The inn itself was busy, however, with many vehicles parked in the courtyard, and the buzz of conversation seeping from within.
Constance and Solomon began at the stables, where they inquired about missing horses.
The harassed ostler, feeding and watering many visiting animals, merely answered in the negative and went about his duties.
“Did Mr. Percival Harvey return a hired horse here on Thursday?” Solomon asked bluntly.
“Never saw him. Nor his horse.”
They repaired to the coffee room.
There, the first person Constance noticed was her brother-in-law, squeezing between the tables to reach them, casually handsome in a good brown coat and collarless shirt with a paisley kerchief knotted about his throat. When he reached them, he smelled of horse.
“David,” Solomon said in complete surprise.
“What’s wrong?” Constance demanded with sudden foreboding.
And now David was the one who looked surprised. “Nothing. I was just given a name by someone we spoke to the other night, and I didn’t know how urgently you might need it. I was just about to go up to Channing House when you walked in the door. Shall we sit down? There’s a table in the corner…”
Solomon was silent as they crossed the room and sat at the vacant table, barely taking his eyes off his brother, as though both flabbergasted and ridiculously pleased that David had made this effort.
Constance ached for that uncertainty in him.
Once, they had relied as each other utterly, but twenty years apart had taken its toll on fraternal closeness and expectation.
“Who gave you what name?” Constance asked briskly, and then had to wait for the answer while they gave their orders to the maid. Solomon and Constance ordered coffee, and David a meal of steak-and-kidney pie with vegetables.
Then David leaned forward confidingly. “Ellie May. She was waiting for me near the house, with the name of the man who’d been with”—he glanced quickly about him—“your friend when he picked her up in Orrie’s Den.”
“Who?” Solomon asked.
“A character called Henry Hope, of whom she seemed extremely fearful. It was he who was following us down that alley, which was presumably why she didn’t tell us at the time.”
Solomon frowned. “And she sought you out just to tell you this?”
“Well, she sought you out and found me. I didn’t correct her. And I suspect she only did it for the money. She’s desperate.” David transferred his gaze to Constance. “I gave her your name. Seemed to me she’d take any opportunity that earned her a few hours off the streets.”
Constance nodded. “I’ll find her.”
“You know young Harvey is dead?” Solomon said.
David nodded. “I heard people talking about murder. There’s something else—someone else in Channing, who mistook me for you.”
Solomon’s eyebrows flew up. “Here? Who?”
David lifted his gaze, and after a moment, Constance followed it. A beautiful woman stood just inside the doorway, holding the hand of a small boy who was perhaps four or five years old. She was gazing around the busy room, as though searching for a free table.
The child tugged at her hand, saying in a disappointed tone, “Is it too busy, Mama?”
David rose to his feet, catching the woman’s attention. “Perhaps you’d care to join us, ma’am? As you see, I’ve found my brother and his wife.”
The woman’s brilliant brown eyes widened.
Beside Constance, Solomon had gone very still.
Constance flicked a glance at him and could not read him.
That was rare now. But his posture had tensed.
A ripple seemed to run up his arm to the shoulder that was touching hers.
Recognition, and something more—pleasure? Dismay?
Constance acted on instinct. “Please do sit down. I’m Constance Grey.”
The lady inclined her head, graceful, almost regal. “Adelaide Jenkins. This is my son, Clarence.”
Only then did Solomon rise somewhat belatedly to his feet. Young Clarence grinned, clearly delighted not to be deprived of his promised treat, and climbed onto the chair next to David. Which left the chair next to Solomon for Adelaide.
She took it, gazing at him as though she could never get enough of him. “Solomon. How are you?
A frisson stole up Constance’s spine, ominous, almost frightening, because she had never encountered any woman from Solomon’s past before. And not only was this woman lovely, her son’s childish features surely bore a startling resemblance to Solomon’s.
*
The appearance of Adelaide Arbuthnott had utterly thrown Solomon. It had never entered his head that she was Adelaide Jenkins. Indeed, she had not entered his head for years, except as a vague regret of his past, so that to discover she was their major suspect in Percy Harvey’s murder stunned him.
Beside him, Constance had gone very still. She must be just as surprised as he by the fact that he was acquainted with the scandalous widow. Mrs. Harvey’s remark that Adelaide “is not one of us” began to mean something. Something he did not like.
But of course, she had already encountered David. She was not as blindsided as he.
She turned to Constance. “Your husband did me a great service in Jamaica some years ago. I am very glad to see him again, and to meet you, Mrs. Grey.”
She sounded confident, gracious, though the faintest tremor in her voice betrayed uncertainty.
She wasn’t sure what, if anything, Solomon had told his wife about her.
In fact, he couldn’t remember ever mentioning her, and now he didn’t know why, because she had never been the sort of woman one overlooked.
She appeared to be very well, he thought dispassionately. The years had been kind to her, apart, perhaps, from the wary cynicism, even suspicion, in her eyes when she had noticed David at the table. Had she imagined that David was Solomon and trying to pretend he did not know her?
Whatever, he had to pull himself together and remember why they wanted to speak to her in the first place.
“The pleasure is mine,” Constance said lightly. “In fact, we called at Dare Hall only a little while ago, so we are doubly glad to run into you here.”
“Oh?” Adelaide glanced from her to Solomon. “Then you knew I was in Buckinghamshire?”
Solomon was spared answering by the maid who came to take the newcomer’s order.
“Tea and cakes, please!” Clarence said eagerly, causing everyone to laugh, including the waitress, though she looked inquiringly at the boy’s mother.
Adelaide nodded, still smiling. Obviously, she doted on the child. “If you please.” She turned her gaze back to Solomon. “So what brings you to this part of the world? Mr. Grey, your brother, seemed to think you were staying at Channing House with the Harveys.”
A shadow passed over her face.
Solomon said, “We are. I gather you have heard of the death of their son?”
“Indeed. I was hoping it was foolish gossip, but so many people are talking about it…”
“Oh, it’s true,” Constance said. “Mr. Percival Harvey…” She trailed off, her gaze flickering to Clarence. “Well, he has died. That is really why we are here. Mr. Richard Harvey has asked us to look into the matter.”
Adelaide blinked. “Why on earth would he ask that?”
“Because it’s what we do,” Constance said nonchalantly.
Adelaide still looked baffled, so Solomon took a card from his pocket and passed it to her.
“Really?” Was that disappointment in her eyes? “This is what you do now?”
“Mostly,” Solomon said. “You could help us, if you would. Do you remember the last time you saw Percy?”
Was that a shudder? She turned aside quickly, to receive the tea tray, while another maid brought the coffee and David’s dinner. Clarence’s eyes gleamed as they fixed on the tiered cake plate.
“Yes,” Adelaide said. “I saw him from the parlor window the Thursday before last.” But her gaze did not meet Solomon’s. She was looking about her at the crowded room, a new tension in every line of her posture. “Why don’t you come for tea this afternoon?”
“How very kind of you,” Constance said. “Oh, did you know you have a stray horse in your stable?”
Adelaide sighed. “No. Is it sick? Nelson—my groom—quite often takes in neighbors’ ill animals. I turn a blind eye and he thinks I don’t know.”
“But you didn’t know about this one?”
“No, I have been…distracted. Yes, you may have a cake, Clarence. But offer them first to Mrs. Grey and the gentlemen.”
David was tucking into his steak-and-kidney pie. But Solomon had the feeling he was listening to everything with more than his usual interest.
“Nelson says the horse is tired and needs to retire,” Clarence informed them, taking a bite of cake that engulfed him in crumbs and cream. He grinned through them. “Like old Fergus, who pulls the gig. Fergus isn’t sick. The new horse likes carrots. And apples.”
His mother cast him a tolerant glance. “So you have met the stray horse?”
“I saw him. Nelson wouldn’t let me pat him or feed him until he knows him better. He says old folk can be grumpy. I don’t think he meant you.”
“I’ll have you know Nelson is older than me,” Adelaide retorted. “Or, at least, I think he is.”
“I don’t suppose you saw this horse arrive in your paddock?” Constance said to Clarence.
Adelaide shifted in her chair again. When she lifted her teacup, her fingers seemed unnaturally stiff, but she did not try to prevent the boy from answering.
“No,” he said regretfully, and swallowed some cake. “Nelson said he must have come in during the night. He only found him in the paddock on Friday morning. Can I be a groom when I grow up?”
“You can be anything you like when you grow up,” Adelaide said.
“What are you, sir?” Clarence asked David.
Davd lowered his fork. “I suppose I am a painter. Just now.”
“Do you paint houses? Or pictures?”
“Pictures, though I’m open to suggestions. I used to be a sailor.”
“We sailed on a ship, once, didn’t we, Mama?”
“We did. It was a long voyage from Jamaica.”