Chapter Nine #3
“Would you stay on the case if I did?” Harvey asked.
“If you wish us to, of course.”
Harvey nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll think about it.
No stone should be left unturned, after all.
And I have to think of more than my own grief.
There is a murderer somewhere in the environs of Channing, and it is my duty to find him before he strikes again.
He could be an escaped prisoner, a madman…
That is the sort of thing the police would know, I suppose, only… ”
“Only what?” Everett asked.
“Strangers,” Harvey said succinctly.
Everett did not ask how long Harvey had been acquainted with Solomon, another stranger to the area, but his thoughts were clear enough in his face. Harvey poured himself another glass of port. So did Dr. Owens.
Silence filled the room, which Harvey did not seem to notice for several moments. Then he lifted his glass and finished his port before standing up. “Shall we rejoin the ladies? Etta will have tea ready for us. And there’s brandy in the drawing room should we require it.”
Rather to Solomon’s surprise, Everett walked beside him toward the door, where he hung back for a moment, letting the others get ahead.
“Would you mind calling on me privately tomorrow morning?” the squire asked.
“Of course,” Solomon murmured.
Everett nodded curtly and sped up.
In the drawing room, Constance met Solomon’s gaze, but she was too experienced with social situations for her expression to give anything away.
Her questions about Adelaide had taken him by surprise—stupidly, perhaps.
It had taken him some time to realize that she felt threatened by his past with another woman.
Which still stunned him, for since their first meeting, Constance had filled him.
There could only ever be her. And yet her secret vulnerability was one of the things he loved most about her, and he should have considered that.
Adelaide was more than a suspect to her.
And to him, though not in the manner Constance clearly feared.
He sat in the only chair left in the group by the fireside, which was not close to her. But even from the corner of his eye, he could tell she was tired. Something about her posture told him it was an effort to maintain. He hoped this mourning dinner party would soon be over.
The tea trolley arrived promptly. Mrs. Harvey’s hand shook slightly as she poured.
Miss Owens was quick to ferry cups and saucers to everyone.
Harvey kept a glass of brandy in his hand while his tea sat at his elbow, ignored.
Everett, who again seemed to have accepted the brandy in support of his host, ignored his glass and drank his tea.
It all felt awkward, with too many silences. Constance made a few bland conversational gambits about the season and the local scenery, all of which Mrs. Harvey seized upon eagerly.
Eventually, Dr. Owens rose and asked to consult with Mrs. Harvey. At the door he nodded to his daughter, though it was with odd reluctance that, after the door was closed, Penelope asked her host if she might send for their carriage. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t want the evening to end.
“She has set her cap at Sir Felix,” Constance murmured to Solomon, when they were alone, Harvey having gone to see off his guests.
“Really?” Her observation of such things was certainly sharper than his. “He does not appear to notice.”
“I don’t think he does. But she is quite protective of the Harveys, too.”
“Did Percy behave inappropriately with her?”
“Not that she has confided. But then, she doesn’t like me. Do you think we can go to bed soon?”
“Definitely,” Solomon said fervently.
In the end, because Harvey asked it of him, he felt obliged to take a glass of brandy with his host before following her upstairs.
She was already asleep by the pale glow of the lamp she had left burning low. She was beautiful in sleep, her features composed and calm, her delectable, long lips, with their extra upward curve, slightly parted and oh so tempting.
She would wake to his kiss. Her sleepy passion would ignite in response to his, and God knew he needed her, like an affirmation of life in this house haunted by the dead. But tenderness swamped his desire. She was exhausted, and she had not been particularly well the last couple of days.
He left her for the dressing room, where he undressed and washed as quietly as he could before easing into the bed beside her and turning off the lamp.
She moved in her sleep, curling into him as he lay down on his back, her head against his shoulder. It felt peaceful, familiar, and achingly lovely. He let himself breathe in time with her, basking in the feeling, in her.
“Solomon?” she said quietly.
“Yes?”
Her lips parted again, fluttering against his skin. She breathed out and in again. “Nothing,” she said, and he smiled, listening to her drift back off to sleep.
All the same, it struck him that she had had something to say, whether she had been too tired to articulate it, or had simply changed her mind.