Chapter Eight
He felt the shock vibrate through her, though she kept walking without pause. “Why didn’t you?”
“She wouldn’t have me,” Solomon said. A faint echo of the old hurt came back to him, almost surprising him. And then came the relief. Involuntarily, he pressed her hand into his side. “Thank God.”
“Why not?” Constance demanded, and he smiled because her voice was almost indignant on his behalf.
“I don’t know. I suppose she didn’t like me enough.
She was not short of suitors. Which was the problem I helped her with.
One was a little too pressing after her parents died.
He wanted her land; she wanted to sell it.
He wanted to marry her and get it for nothing.
I…persuaded him to buy it for a reasonable price and leave her alone.
” He was aware of her turning her head to look at him. “It was a long time ago, Constance.”
A “Police” sign hung above the door just ahead.
“Could she have done this?” Constance asked.
Without consulting each other, they walked straight past the police station and on around the square.
There was so much more to her question and he was sure they both knew it.
Was Solomon too close to know? Could he be dispassionate about Adelaide?
If she had done it, would he be prepared to give her up to the law?
How much would this all hurt him? And Constance—his anchor, his strength, his weakness, and so much more.
He knew where his love and his loyalty lay. And yet his tongue was reluctant to say the words. Whatever the past meant, it counted for something.
He licked his lips. “If you mean is it in her character, then yes. She would have shot Crowther—her unwanted suitor—so if Percy was unwelcome and forceful…”
“There would need to be a good reason, then? No moment of temper or jealousy?”
He passed the back of his free hand across his forehead. “I don’t know. I would doubt it. Her nature is kind.” Or it was…
“She didn’t like it when I mentioned Channing House,” Constance said. “Do you suppose that was to do with Percy, or with his family in general? Why would Mrs. Harvey say Adelaide is not one of us?”
Solomon shrugged. “She is of mixed race.”
“Like you. They have welcomed us like honored guests.”
“They don’t know about me. I have passed for European before. Presumably everyone in Channing knows that Jenkins married a woman of mixed blood. I suppose,” he added reluctantly, “that is another motive for her. But she has suffered such slights before. I can’t believe she shot Percy for it.”
“A slight against her son might be different.”
That was something that had not struck him before, and it brought memories of his own parents, of his own childhood.
“Also,” Constance pursued, “she does not like our profession.”
“Perhaps not, though who does? Apart from you and I. She probably sees it as a step down from my big plans when I was starting to make my fortune in Jamaica.” He felt too defensive, without understanding why, so he shook his head, trying to clear it.
“I think we need a franker, more private discussion.”
They were nearing the police station once more. This time, they knocked on the door.
Constable Wills himself opened it and ushered them inside what appeared to be his house. The front room, where he directed them, was dominated by a plain wooden desk, a fling cabinet, and three upright, hard chairs.
“I was just collecting my notes for the inquest,” he said a shade nervously, waving them to the chairs. “Normally, I like to keep an eye on the market—brings all sorts into town.”
“All seems peaceful enough,” Solomon remarked. “And you have quite a good view of it from here. We intend to be at the inquest too but wanted to speak to you first.”
“I got up early and followed the London road,” Wills said. “Found the inn where Mr. Percy changed horses last. He should have been here in Channing by about two or three in the afternoon at the latest.”
“Mrs. Jenkins’s groom found a saddled horse in their paddock the following morning,” Constance said. “It might be Percy’s. But we haven’t found anyone who saw Percy himself.”
“Me neither.” He pulled at his lower lip, then said with disarming honesty, “I’ve never dealt with a murder before. Not sure it works dealing with it like a stolen item from the market, or a Saturday night tavern brawl.”
“You know the people here,” Constance reminded him. “That must be a help.”
“Or a hindrance,” Wills muttered.
“How well did you know Percy?” Solomon asked. The constable’s expression shuttered, and he added, “We already know he was no angel. That is why we wanted to see you without his father, so we could all speak a little more freely.”
Wills’s shoulders dropped. “In that case, he was trouble. If he wasn’t in a fight, he was causing one, drinking, gambling with men who couldn’t afford to pay him, rarely paid those he did owe.
Treated the respectable local girls like doxies and generally made everyone’s life miserable.
We were always glad when he took himself off to London.
Pity he didn’t stay there. For all our sakes. ”
“We understand he was at the Duke’s Arms the night before he left for London. Quarreled there with Sir Felix Everett and George West.”
“Not hard to quarrel with West,” Wills allowed. “Though I can’t see Sir Felix behaving unseemly, like.”
“Why would West have cause to quarrel with Percy? Did he cheat?”
“In every sense of the word.” Wills hesitated, then, “Gossip has it that Mrs. West strayed. With Mr. Percy. She certainly sported a black eye for a while. I had a word with West.”
Solomon thought all the better of him for that, although it was no part of a policeman’s duties to interfere between a husband and his wife. “Why would West play cards with a man who’d cuckolded him?”
Wills shrugged. “Got me there. To prove to everyone else he wasn’t cuckolded? A man’s pride is a strange thing.”
It was indeed.
“What about Sir Felix?” Constance asked. “Did he have a grudge against Percy? Were they friends?”
“Hardly. Sir Felix is a gentleman of dignity and serious character. He occasionally drops into the Duke’s Arms for a pint and a game of cards or darts, but he doesn’t stay long.”
“On Saturday, he stayed long enough to win from Percy.”
Wills’s lips quirked. “Don’t suppose he saw his winnings, though.”
“Did he have any other enemies in and around Channing?”
“He wasn’t well liked,” Wills said. “But enemies is a strong word.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Harvey,” Constance said, “seem to believe that Mrs. Jenkins at Dare Hall was enticing their son somehow. Do you know anything about that?”
“Only what he said to me in his grief,” Wills said uncomfortably. “But she’s a beautiful woman, bound to catch Mr. Percy’s roving eye. As to any affair between them, I couldn’t say.”
“Did she ever complain to you about him?” Constance asked.
Wills raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh no.” He glanced at the clock on his mantelpiece. “It’s heading for one o’clock. Shall we go to the Duke’s Arms?”
*
The inquest was held in the coffee room.
The tables had all been pushed to the back of the room, apart from the large one, behind which sat the coroner and his clerk.
The rest of the chairs were set out in rows for witnesses and interested parties.
There appeared to be many of the latter, since the Harveys were a prominent family, and the manner of Percy’s death was both horrific and scandalous.
Richard Harvey sat in the front row beside the doctor and two other gentlemen. He kept looking about him, so he saw Solomon and Constance enter with the constable, and instantly beckoned.
“I was hoping you would come,” he said, indicating in a somewhat high-handed manner that they should sit directly behind him.
But at least he rose to his feet to acknowledge Constance’s presence, and when he did, his companions rose too.
“Gentlemen, these are my guests, Mr. and Mrs. Grey. Allow me to present Sir Felix Everett and Mr. Ellis Thomas, our vicar. You know Dr. Owens, of course…”
They all murmured how-do-you-dos, and Constance and Solomon sat down. The gentlemen resumed their seats and faced front once more, except for Harvey, who said to Solomon, “I doubt this will tell us anything new—bit of a formality, really—but I’m glad you’re present to hear it.”
The proceedings took their usual course, and Solomon took the opportunity to study everyone involved.
The coroner, a bluff old gentleman with a military bearing, called George West the lockkeeper to tell how he had discovered the body and, with the help of Fred Baines, dragged it from the canal.
West had taken the trouble to shave and dress in a decent coat, and he was clearly enjoying his moment of theatre.
However, there was a hardness about his little eyes, and both his mouth and his posture spoke of the kind of brutality Solomon had seen among certain dockers and seamen, people who saw no need to cover their instincts with a veil of civilization.
Solomon could imagine the man beating his wife. And killing Percy without a flicker of remorse.
“He’s a performer,” Constance murmured in Solomon’s ear.
He nodded. West could easily have faked his shock at discovering the body.
“You live right beside the lock, do you not?” the coroner asked, leaning forward. “Did you or your family hear or see anything that might have been either a gunshot or a body hitting the water?”
“We did not,” West declared. “But then, the body could have gone in farther up, nearer Larchford, and entered the lock when it was filled.” At the coroner’s request, he explained to the jury how the lock worked, and when the lock had last been filled and drained.
Constable Wills testified next to being sent for and what he had discovered. “Mr. Percy had been shot, sir, and weighed down with stones in his coat pockets, presumably in the hope he’d stay hidden below the surface.”