Chapter Ten
Constance and Solomon called at the vicarage at precisely ten o’clock the following morning. The housekeeper, who had clearly been warned to expect them, showed them into the study, where the vicar sat at a cluttered desk, busily writing.
It was a surprisingly chaotic room for a man Constance had already designated fussy in her mind. The walls were lined with books, some of which lay flat on top of others. More books were scattered across the sofa, some open. A pair of spectacles lay on the page of one.
Mr. Thomas rose from his desk, looking slightly flustered and blinking at them somewhat owlishly.
“Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey. Good morning…” He felt among his papers, as though looking for something he had buried by accident.
“Won’t you sit down?” He indicated the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
“Thank you,” Solomon said.
As she passed, Constance picked the spectacles off the book on the sofa and presented them to the vicar. “Are these what you’re looking for, sir?”
He looked endearingly sheepish. “Thank you. I’m terribly shortsighted, but I can read so much better with them off, so I keep losing them…” He shoved the glasses on to his nose and waited until his guests sat down before he resumed his seat.
He did not offer them refreshment, though. Clearly they would not be encouraged to linger. “What is it you think I can help you with?”
He looked at Solomon as he spoke, perhaps wishing the support of the rational male against the female with the bizarre ideas.
Solomon said seriously, “There is a strong possibility that Percy Harvey was murdered by someone he knew. Sadly, it is so with most killings. Obviously, we are strangers here, while you, as vicar of the parish, must be familiar with most of the population.”
“I am not familiar with any murderers,” Thomas said, amiably enough.
“To your knowledge. We have already identified several people whom Percy managed to annoy one way or another.”
“One does not take a life over a mere annoyance!”
“You or I would not,” Solomon said, “but there are obviously degrees of annoyance, and of reactions to that annoyance. Some people lash out in temper. Others bear grudges that can fester and grow out of all proportion. Can we at least agree amongst ourselves that Percy was not universally beloved? Your answer is no betrayal of Mr. and Mrs. Harvey. We will obviously shield them as much as possible from any more…unpleasantness.”
Solomon’s serious, gentle tone had its effect. The vicar nodded in wary understanding.
“Percy had a young man’s faults,” he admitted. “And perhaps too large an allowance with which to indulge them. But as I told Mrs. Grey yesterday evening, I had little to do with Percy. He was not often at church.”
“Did he donate or otherwise help with your local charities?” Constance asked.
“Not beyond turning up at the occasional town fête or church fair.”
“To ogle the girls?” Solomon suggested.
Thomas shifted in his chair. “There may have been something like that. Many young men attend for the same reason.”
“We understand he hung around Dare Hall,” Solomon said, “making a bit of a pest of himself. Did Mrs. Jenkins ever complain to you about him?”
“She did not. But nor did I ever hear that she encouraged his attentions.”
“His parents believe she did,” Constance pointed out.
Thomas’s lips tightened. “I believe their partiality led them to mistake the matter. Mrs. Jenkins attends church and donates generously. In my hearing, she has several times brushed aside Percy’s…overtures. I believe her to be a virtuous woman.”
“Then it is only prejudice that makes the Harveys think otherwise?”
“In my opinion.”
“Were you aware,” Solomon asked, “of a liaison between Percy and Mrs. West, the lockkeeper’s wife?”
The vicar blushed. “I heard it said.”
“Did you also hear it said that West beat his wife when he found out?”
Thomas’s lips tightened. “I preached a sermon that Sunday on gentleness and forgiveness.”
“Why do you suppose he beat his wife rather than Percy?”
“Probably because Percy was not immediately at hand, and she was.”
“Do you think it was in his nature to kill Percy in revenge?”
The vicar opened his mouth and closed it again. “I tend to think that if he were to do such a thing, it would have been the night he beat his wife. He lashes out in temper, but I never heard that he bore a grudge.”
“Not even if he loved his wife?” Constance asked. “And then he cannot have been very happy to lose money at cards last Saturday night, to the man who cuckolded him.”
The vicar frowned. “Why would he have played with Percy at all if he was so angry? In any case, that must have been nearly a week before he died.”
Solomon nodded. “True. I don’t suppose you happened to see West or Mrs. West on Thursday afternoon?”
Thomas shook his head with the vague apology that seemed to be habitual to him. “No. On Thursday I was at the other side of Channing visiting the poor and the sick. Neither the Wests nor Percy had any reason to be in such an area.”
“We know,” Solomon said delicately, “that Percy occasionally sought his pleasures in the rougher areas of London.”
The vicar’s lips twitched with distaste. “I never heard that he did so in Channing. I have certainly never seen or heard of him there. But then, it is not like London. There is little amusement to be had in our poorer streets, and the worst danger is sickness.”
Constance gave him credit for that. He had worked out what they wanted to know and told them.
“So what time did you return to the vicarage on Thursday?” she asked.
“It must have been nearly seven. I prayed by a deathbed for some time with a rather tragically bereaved family.”
“Then you had no reason to pass the area between the lock and Larchford?”
Thomas shook his head.
Solomon tried another tack. “Do you happen to know of any quarrel between Percy and any of his neighbors? Even those of better degree?”
“None.” The vicar’s eyes flickered for a mere instant before returning to Solomon’s.
“Last Saturday,” Constance said, “when Percy won money from West, he also lost to Sir Felix. Would that have annoyed Percy?”
“I shouldn’t have thought so. I understand he was used to losing.”
“Would you say it was in Percy’s character to seek Sir Felix out to pay his debt? Or even to agree a date to pay?”
Thomas blinked. “I cannot imagine Sir Felix dunning him. To be frank, if they were playing with West, there cannot have been much money involved.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” Solomon said, rising to his feet. “You have been most helpful.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” the vicar said, standing to shake hands.
*
“He wasn’t,” Constance remarked as they set off out of town again.
“Glad to help? He certainly seemed more baffled than happy.”
“Or wary,” Constance said. “There is something he’s not telling us. Either that or he downright lied.”
“When we asked him about other quarrels between Percy and his neighbors? I noticed that. I wondered if he was covering for Everett, whom Percy called a cheat, or one of his other flock who had confided in him.”
“I suppose clergyman are in a difficult position. Doctors, too…”
“Ahead on the other side of the road,” Solomon said, “is that not Daphne West?”
It was indeed. The lockkeeper’s wife, two overloaded baskets at her feet, had stopped to talk to two other women walking into town.
The exchanges seemed to be friendly and good-humored, although they all stopped and gazed at Constance and Solomon as soon as they walked past. Constance nodded. Solomon touched his hat.
“Let’s walk on and then wait for her to catch up,” Constance murmured.
They did not have long to wait. Constance, pretending to admire the view over the canal toward Larchford, said, “Good morning. You have some pretty scenery here.”
“Is that so?” Daphne said wryly. “Something to admire while you’re waiting for me?”
“What makes you say that?” Solomon asked.
“You’re the folks asking all the questions. Trying to do poor old Johnny Wills out of a job?”
“Hardly,” Solomon said, smiling politely. “But certainly, we would like to speak to you. Allow me to take your baskets.”
“Suit yourself,” Daphne said, relinquishing them without a struggle. “What is it you want to know?”
“Where were you on Thursday afternoon?” Constance asked.
Daphne smiled cynically. “At home. Washing, hanging it out, cleaning the house, cooking.”
“Then you didn’t go to the market in Channing?”
“Went in early in the morning with George, took the pony and cart.”
“So George was with you all day,” Constance translated.
Daphne beamed. “He was.”
“You believe he needs that alibi?” Constance asked.
Daphne’s smile faded. “Not unless you got it in for him, and you’re not even the law. Bad enough poor Percy’s dead without you trying to make out my husband shot him.”
Constance held her belligerent stare. “He has a history of violence, does he not?”
“What, a few pub brawls?” Daphne said scornfully. “He don’t fight himself, you know.”
“Why are you so defensive of him?” Solomon asked. “The man beat you badly enough to warrant the doctor telling him off and the vicar preaching a sermon against such acts.”
“Never tempted to give her a little slap?” Daphne retorted, jerking her head at Constance.
“No.”
“No?” Daphne’s eyebrows flew up. Then she curled her lips as she turned to Constance. “Expect you’re the virtuous kind.”
Constance laughed, which seemed to take Daphne by surprise.
“It’s not about me,” Constance said, sobering. “It’s about the kind of man my husband is. What kind of man is yours?”
“The kind who might raise his fist occasionally in temper,” Daphne replied, “but puts food on the table.”
“What kind of a man was Percival Harvey?” Solomon asked.
Daphne looked away. “Fun.”
“Then he didn’t take more than was offered?” Constance asked.
Daphne stared at her. “No. What you going to do? Put me in the stocks?”
“At any point on Thursday afternoon,” Solomon said, distracting Mrs. West’s attention from Constance, “did you notice anyone near the canal?”