Chapter Eight #2
A visible tremor passed through the dead man’s father. The doctor was called next and gave his evidence as to the manner of death in a brisk, no-nonsense manner that left the jury in little doubt of the primary cause of Percy’s death.
“The autopsy showed, by the state of the victim’s lungs, that he was dead before he entered the water.”
Harvey let out a painful gasp, and the vicar, Mr. Thomas, gave his knee an awkward pat.
“Shall we wait outside?” Thomas murmured, but Harvey shook his head, his gaze fixed on the doctor.
“Did you manage to retrieve the bullet?” the coroner asked, and Harvey made himself listen to that evidence too.
It was the vicar who looked as if he wished himself anywhere else but there. He looked slightly green as the retrieved bullet was shown to the jury, who were told it had entered the heart and that death would have been more or less instantaneous.
“From a pistol, I’d say,” the coroner opined. “Constable, have you found such a weapon?”
Wills stood up. “No, sir, not yet. We’ve looked up and down that stretch of the canal banks, and the bridge at Larchford, and we’ll be dredging the canal tomorrow.”
“Very good,” the coroner approved. “Can you determine the time of Mr. Harvey’s death, doctor?”
“Not exactly. I’d say he hadn’t been in the water longer than a day or so. Given the evidence of the lockkeeper, I would suspect he died on Thursday afternoon.”
“Thank you, doctor. Mr. Harvey, with deepest sympathies for your loss, I have to ask you if you are able to give testimony as to your son’s movements prior to his untimely demise?”
Harvey rose to his feet and told what he knew of Percy’s return from London. Constable Wills added his discovery of Percy’s last change of horse.
There was little more to discuss, and the jury quickly delivered their verdict of murder by person or persons unknown. Proceedings were wound up. Harvey walked out in the midst of a sympathetic silence, surrounded by the protective figures of Sir Felix, Dr. Owens, and Mr. Thomas.
At least no one had brought up Adelaide Jenkins. And she’d had the good sense to stay away.
Harvey was waiting for them in the courtyard.
*
Not for the first time, Adelaide Jenkins wondered why she stayed here.
Sheer stubbornness, perhaps. At least the vile Percy Harvey was dead, so there was a chance now that the rumors would die too.
She hadn’t really believed the gossip she’d overheard at church that he had been murdered, but she had hoped, rejoiced even, that he was no more.
Unkind and shortsighted, she thought ruefully as she gazed out of her parlor window at Clarence, who was charging about the lawn with his wooden sword, dispatching enemy soldiers by the dozen.
Unkind because life was sacred, and because his parents seemed to love him. Shortsighted because, of course, the Harveys, and therefore the rest of the neighborhood, would believe his death was all her fault.
His murder. Solomon Grey had said so, and she did not doubt him.
She closed her eyes. Dear God, what unkind fate had brought him here, at this moment in time?
Bad enough that he was intensely focused and almost preternaturally observant.
But now he investigated for his living. She did not want that harsh, predatory light turned on her.
Apart from anything else, there was Clarence to consider.
Luke had wanted him to grow up as an English gentleman, and Adelaide meant to do her very best to see to that.
It was hard, though, when they all knew and despised her mixed origins. That was the root of the Harveys’ dislike. She could have kept and traded slaves in the worst of conditions and they would have smiled upon her, if it wasn’t for her African blood.
Percy had ignored their strictures and pursued her anyway.
At least she no longer had to worry about his striding up the garden path, barging past her servants, and…
Abruptly, her heart jolted. A man was striding up the garden path.
It can’t be him! His inquest is this afternoon!
And, of course, it wasn’t Percy. This man was taller, leaner, darker, and he moved with a looser-limbed grace that made her think of Solomon.
Her breath caught in sudden panic. It was Solomon. Early for tea, and without his stunningly beautiful wife, whom Adelaide would not trust further than she could throw her. Was he here to discuss old times? To ensure she did not speak indiscreetly to Mrs. Grey?
Clarence pelted toward him, and he paused. Adelaide clutched her heart as she saw that rare smile. He walked beside Clarence off the path and across the lawn, where they both crouched down, and Clarence opened his tin of painted toy soldiers.
Solomon admired them in the sunlight, and she was grateful to see him help setting them up. He had changed since their last encounter, surely…
Yes, he had. But she had made the same mistake again. This was not Solomon. This was his brother, whose disappearance in childhood had bothered him so badly. He wore a smarter coat with a respectable collar and tie, which might have been what fooled her. Whatever, she knew now it was David.
Was that relief she felt spreading through her veins?
Before she could be caught watching, she opened the French doors and walked out into the cool sunshine, drawing her shawl more closely around her.
“Mama, look, it’s Mr. Grey!” Clarence called at once.
His companion straightened and took off his hat to bow.
“But which Mr. Grey?” Adelaide asked lightly.
“The first one,” Clarence said.
He was quicker than she had been. But now that she’d seen Solomon again, the differences were obvious.
David’s hair was slightly longer, his whole manner slightly less assured.
Where Solomon’s eyes were hard and piercing, David’s were…
old, yet gentle. They were still veiled, though, like Solomon’s. David had secrets of his own.
How had they found each other again?
“Mrs. Jenkins,” David said civilly. “I apologize for being so early. I was walking and came across your house by accident.”
It might have been true. She chose to accept it as such. “There is no need to apologize. You are welcome. Perhaps you should bring the soldiers inside, Clarence. Although the sun is out, it’s not exactly warm.”
“Can we set them up in the parlor?” Clarence asked eagerly.
“At one side, where no one will fall over them by accident.”
David crouched again and helped put the soldiers back in the tin. Adelaide found herself watching his hands—quick, deft, practical. They looked rougher than Solomon’s, calloused like a laborer’s or a seaman’s. She wondered what his paintings were like.
Irrelevant.
Inside the parlor, he focused on Clarence’s game, setting up opposing forces on the hill—David’s hat—and behind the farmhouse—a footstool.
Adelaide found herself smiling, for David made it fun, causing Clarence to laugh.
Especially when David charged his cavalry down the hill and had them slide and bounce over the hat brim.
“He was looking for you,” Adelaide said.
A quick glance at her, then back to the battlefield. “He found me.”
“And are you part of this inquiry business from which he makes his living?”
A faint quirk of the lips as his cavalry barged through Clarence’s. “No, though I have occasionally joined in to watch his back.”
“Then the business does not thrive?”
“It seems to. They are much in demand.”
“And successful?” Her heartbeat skipped.
“I can’t recall them ever failing.” His gaze shifted to hers, while Clarence rallied his cavalry, and brought his infantry sneaking out from behind the farmhouse. “Why do you ask?”
Because I don’t want anyone prying in my affairs, least of all him. Least of all anyone who would find out… She gave a nonchalant shrug. “It seems a-a small way to earn his bread, for the great entrepreneur of Jamaica who had ideas too big for the island.”
David smiled properly this time, and she saw that he wasn’t really like Solomon at all. “Oh, he doesn’t earn his living from Silver and Grey. His living was earned long before and is what enabled him to embark on this hobby.”
“Hobby,” she pounced. “Then he is not serious?”
Much to Clarence’s delight, David’s infantry fell in droves to the barrage of rifle shots, and enthusiastic hand-to-hand fighting ensued.
“Oh, they are very serious,” David said, allowing two of his soldiers to be overcome, “and very good.”
“At prying?” she snapped.
“At justice,” David said mildly, and perhaps that was scariest of all. He was bringing his cavalry back into play, galloping them around to come on Clarence’s infantry from behind.
“You will excuse me one moment while I see about tea,” Adelaide said, rising to her feet.
She needed to be alone to compose herself, but she was not in the habit of leaving her son alone with strangers. It shocked her slightly that she was doing it, though she took only long enough to issue orders for tea to the kitchen.
When she returned to the parlor, David was still sprawled out on the carpet, moving his cavalrymen slowly back up to the top of the hat. Clarence joined in, limping his own men back behind the farmhouse. They both smiled at her, which took her unaccountably by surprise.
“What now?” Clarence demanded.
“Now we regroup and treat the wounded, ready to fight another day.”
“Why?”
“Because you still want my hill, and I still want your farmhouse.”
“How long do we have to wait?”
Jenny the parlor maid opened the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Grey, ma’am.”
Oh, God, I’m not ready for them as well…