Chapter Nine
Constance was not sure what she expected to find at the home of Solomon’s old love, but it was not the casually domestic scene before her.
Adelaide sat at apparent ease in an armchair while, a few feet away, David sprawled comfortably on the hearth rug, playing soldiers with Clarence.
So she has both Greys enthralled…
Adelaide rose to her feet at once. So did the child, proving the good manners he’d been taught. David rose more slowly, not obviously embarrassed by the over-comfortable position in which they’d found him.
Could that have been all Percy was doing here?
Playing with the child in the hope of being approved of by the mother?
Most of the men she knew were odd creatures, keeping their beloved wives and children separate from mistresses.
Could Adelaide have been his intended wife, while all the other women were mere peccadillos?
She didn’t look as though she were grieving.
She seemed, in fact, a little distracted, a little stiff, as she made them welcome while the tea trolley was wheeled in by the maid.
She served tea with grace and had Clarence offering sandwiches, scones, and cakes.
Only then did the child take his glass of milk, two sandwiches, and a cake and retreat toward the rug.
“An army marches on its stomach,” Constance murmured. “Time to feed the troops?”
Clarence grinned, stole a quick glance at his mother, and took his plate to the carnage of the battlefield, where he proceeded to mash some soldiers into an elegant sandwich. Adelaide regarded him tolerantly but didn’t stop him. Against her will, Constance rather liked her for that.
Until she said abruptly, “Well, ask your questions, Solomon, while my son is occupied.”
Constance itched to discompose her by doing the questioning, but at least Solomon did not look remotely embarrassed.
“How well did you know Percy?” he asked.
“Well enough to dislike him. Not well enough to shoot him.”
“How do you know he was shot?” Constance asked.
“Because several people told me so. There are few secrets in Channing.”
“Were you surprised?” Constance asked.
“Only by the fact that it happened here in the countryside. If anyone set himself up to be attacked, it was Percy.”
“Why do you say that?” Solomon asked.
Unexpectedly, Adelaide seemed uncomfortable, her gaze flying to her son, who was oblivious to the adults, lost in his own world.
“He behaved badly,” she said at last. “And was spoiled enough to imagine there would never be any consequences of that behavior.”
“Did he behave badly to you?” Solomon asked.
Her chin lifted. “He did. I didn’t take it personally. He probably imagined all widows were fair game.”
“All women, by what we hear,” Constance murmured. “Did you speak to him that Thursday before you went to London? When you saw him from the window?”
“I saw him approach up the garden path. I did not receive him.”
“Because he had already tried to take advantage?” Constance asked.
Adelaide nodded curtly.
“Did you or your servants tell him you intended to go to London?”
“The servants are under strict instructions not to tell him anything at all.”
“Were you afraid he would follow you there?”
Adelaide shrugged. “Not really. He had only been home for a few days.”
“Might I ask,” Solomon said, “why you went to London?”
“For a change,” she replied. “To show Clarence the Tower of London and buy us both some new clothes. You would be surprised by the speed a small boy can grow.”
Constance almost touched her abdomen. How quickly was her small boy or girl growing? Hers. Dear God…
“Did you see Percy in London while you were there?” Solomon asked.
“No, I did not.”
“Would it surprise you to know,” Solomon said, “that his parents believe you and he had an assignation there? Or that they believe you were holding him in some kind of thrall?”
“By my bodily favors, no doubt? No, it does not surprise me. They imagine—imagined—that their son was irresistible to all females. They cut me before I even met him.”
“They also believe he was engaged to be married,” Constance added.
“There is a local rumor. To some earl’s daughter, apparently.” Adelaide laughed suddenly. “Had I gone up to London to put a spoke in that wheel?”
“Did you?” Constance asked steadily.
Adelaide threw her a contemptuous glance.
“We think he arrived back in Channing some time on Thursday afternoon,” Solomon said. “Did you glimpse him at all? Hear of anyone who did?”
Adelaide shook her head. Constance waited. So did Solomon, she was relieved to note. Often, people rushed to fill a silence, and in doing so let slip things of importance. Adelaide didn’t rush. But she did turn a somewhat stormy gaze on Solomon.
“You already know I’m glad he’s dead. He persecuted me, calling at the house, lurking around the grounds, engaging me in conversation if ever we ran into each other in town, monopolizing me at public events.
I was already the stranger in the area, and by his behavior he was ruining what little reputation I had gained. I have a child—”
Abruptly, she broke off, and Constance’s hostility vanished into sympathy. For the first time, Adelaide was speaking from the heart.
“I suspect many women had a reason to shoot him,” Solomon said.
“I didn’t. What use would I be to my son at the end of a rope?”
*
“She’s hiding something,” Constance said as soon as she and Solomon were alone. They had parted ways with David at the end of the drive from Dare Hall and were walking in the direction of Channing House.
Rather to her surprise, he nodded. “When we asked about her seeing Percy from the window before the London journey. Do you think she spoke to him?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t know that it matters. He died a week later.”
“True. She has little cause to be defensive—and yet she is.”
“She has a child,” Constance said, as if that explained everything. Did it? When she was small, Juliet—and all the women who had been around them—had protected her fiercely. Like Adelaide with her son. “Reputation is a form of protection, too. And Percy…”
“Percy seems to have carried a positive maelstrom of ill will in his wake,” Solomon said. “How can his parents be unaware of that?”
“Perhaps they aren’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone pretends, shows a face they can live with to the world. We need to write all this down, discover where all our suspects were on Thursday afternoon.”
“If only we knew who our suspects were,” Solomon said wryly. “Do you kill a man over a game of cards, or an insulting proposition?”
“There is always more…”
They walked on in silence for a little. Secrets. Secrets were the cause of so much trouble in the world.
“Solomon,” she said firmly.
“Yes?”
She opened her mouth, but a deluge of thoughts, not least the memory of Adelaide’s lovely face, seemed to clog up her throat. She shook her head and walked faster.
At Channing House, they were surprised to learn of other dinner guests.
“The vicar and Sir Felix came home with me to offer condolences to my wife,” Harvey told them, striding up the hall to meet them as soon as they entered the house.
He seemed to be slightly agitated. “Dr. Owens is here too. I’m afraid she has invited them all to dine, even sent over a note to Owens’s daughter to join us, as though we’re hosting a dinner party! ”
Such things were not customary. The bereaved—especially the women—were supposed to hide, rarely leaving the house and receiving only short condolence calls before the funeral. Harvey was both ashamed and outraged.
“She needs the company of friends,” Constance said gently. “Like you, she is dealing with terrible grief in her own way. If it gives her any comfort at all…”
Harvey glared at her, then blinked several times. “You are right, of course,” he muttered. “I suppose I just wanted to discuss with you in private what you have discovered so far. Have you interviewed That Woman?”
“Mrs. Jenkins?” Solomon said. “Yes, we have. But we have reached no conclusions as yet. There is much more we need to know.”
Harvey’s face fell. “Of course. Well, we are in the drawing room, whenever you are ready to join us.”
In their room, Constance threw off her outerwear and sat straight down at the desk, extracting several sheets of paper from the drawer. She began writing down what they knew of Percy’s death and a timetable of events leading up to it. She made separate sheets for each possible suspect.
“Adelaide, West, Mrs. West,” Solomon noted, looming over her shoulder. His brows rose. “Everett? Why him? Because Percy didn’t pay his debt to him?”
Constance sighed. “And accused him of cheating. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it seems to me, until we rule them out, everyone Percy came in contact with is a suspect.”
“Including his parents?” Solomon asked.
She looked up and met his gaze. “If it was a crime of emotion, who harbors more emotion than parents for their children? They had him on a high pedestal. If he fell…”
“You don’t need to defend the idea to me,” Solomon said mildly. “Harvey was with us, of course, and could not have committed the crime, but Mrs. Harvey was here. And even before the body was discovered, there was something very…overwrought about her.”
With odd reluctance, Constance made a page for Mrs. Harvey. “Two mothers, a wife beater, an adulteress, and a widower. We certainly have variety.”
She began to write down the bare bones of what they knew so far, which was very little.
“The weapon is of utmost importance,” Solomon said. “I cannot imagine many people here owning a pistol.”
“No, and it won’t be easy to find out, since we can’t exactly search people’s houses for it. At least Harvey isn’t abusing his power as magistrate to have Wills search Dare Hall.”
“It might exonerate her,” Solomon said lightly.
Constance paused, risking a glance up at him. “How hard is this for you, Solomon?”
She tensed against the pain his answer might deliver, and against her own compassion. But she had to know. And, perhaps, so did he. He met her gaze, his eyes a little troubled, but not veiled.