Chapter Fifteen
Solomon had never before known the kind of tenderness with which he made love to his wife that night. It remained with him in the morning, when he held her cradled in his arms—his lover, his precious wife, and mother of his child growing within her.
He lay still for a little, letting the wonder of it all flow through him. Amongst it all, he recognized relief, because he had feared she was ill, and taken together with the suspicion that she was keeping something from him, he had been very afraid.
So had she. But she had found her way through with the courage that was the foundation of her character.
He knew only too well how difficult it was for those used to deciding and fighting alone to adjust to sharing.
In the early days of their partnership, she had had to remind him of it more than once.
But she was no more infallible than she was invulnerable.
It only deepened his love for her. And for his child. Their child.
An inevitable wave of fear washed over him. Childbirth was a dangerous time for mother and baby. But they would share that fear too, and make sure it never triumphed over care and happiness.
He brushed his lips across her temple, and she stirred, winding her arms more closely around him with a sigh of contentment.
He waited until her breathing evened out again, then slipped from her hold and the bed and threw on his shirt and trousers.
He could hear the faint sounds of movement, as the maids set about bringing tea and lighting fires.
He opened the bedroom door and found the maid walking along the corridor toward him.
“Will you bring a slice of toast with the tea?” he asked her.
She curtsied immediately. “Right away, sir.”
That done, he returned to the room to wash and dress with more care. By the time tea arrived, he had lit their own fire and was at the desk, poring over Constance’s notes on the case and adding a few comments of his own.
Constance stirred as Solomon took the tray from the maid with a murmur of thanks. But when he set it down and turned to her, her eyes were squeezed shut and he knew she felt nauseated.
“Do you want to sleep more?” he asked gently.
“No. We have letters to post, and more people to speak to.” Very gently, allowing Solomon to grasp her arm at the elbow, she eased herself into a sitting position. Solomon put a cup of tea on the bedside table and a quarter slice of toast into her hand.
“Whom do you want to speak to first?”
“Adelaide. Adeliade’s servants. The stray horse in her stables was Percy’s mount.
And witnesses saw both Mrs. Harvey and an unknown gentleman who may or may not have been Percy close to the environs of Dare Hall.
Someone must have seen something.” She began nibbling distractedly on the piece of toast.
Solomon nodded, perching on the end of the bed with his cup. “I think we need to speak to Everett’s people too. We know he was out and about on his estate, but he could have been anywhere.”
“But does he have a motive?” Constance asked before taking a proper bite of the toast that left her holding little more than a crust. She was frowning, deep in thought.
Solomon sipped his tea. “And then there is the good doctor, the father of a daughter, who is so reluctant to speak to us. He claims to have been visiting the sick in the poor area of Channing, but we didn’t find anyone who saw him there.”
“Perhaps the vicar did,” Constance said brightly. “For he was there too, wasn’t he?” The crust vanished into her mouth too, and she reached for her teacup.
“And we could try asking more about strangers in town that Thursday. The innkeeper claimed to have no strangers that day, but there are other alehouses. And the market vendors.”
Constance nodded. “Good idea.” She drank her tea in silence for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Solomon!”
“Yes?”
“I don’t feel remotely sick! It must be time for breakfast. Thank you for the toast. I don’t know where you got the idea, but it is perfect!” She leaned forward and kissed him, and he felt ridiculously proud.
*
Over the coming days, Solomon knew, he would develop new concerns, worrying for Constance’s health and that of the baby she carried, considering financial settlements so that the child would always be secure, changes to their own lives and staff, and hundreds of other details, big and small.
But for now, walking at her side along the wooded path toward Dare Hall, dappled sunshine spilling on them through the trees while the birds sang, he was conscious only of a profound happiness overlaid with peace. All is well with Constance. I am going to be a father. I am going to be a father…
He thought he would remember this morning forever, the musty forest scents overlaid with pine, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet, the golds and browns and reds of the trees.
For him, the child of Jamaica, these changing seasons in England were still fascinating—as they seemed to be to Constance, a child of the city.
She had found her own calm, allowing herself to be happy, and not just because he was.
The baby would bring huge changes to their lives, and no doubt a clash of opinions and wills as they learned to negotiate the new reality.
But all would be well, because they were together.
Her hand slipped into his. There was no need of words. A moment of trust and happiness—and support, for she understood the difficulties he would face, should Adelaide be the one who shot Percy.
Emerging from the wood, they walked up the path to Dare Hall and found Adelaide pruning the rosebushes at the front of the house.
She wore an old wide-brimmed bonnet and gardening gloves and looked rather lovely in the morning sunlight.
With an odd dispassion, he remembered how and why he had been so drawn to her.
Beauty, the shared problems of those of mixed race in a turbulent society, belonging to neither and trusted by few.
In England, the challenges were different, but the problem remained basically the same.
Clearly lost in her own thoughts, Adelaide did not notice them at once.
“Good morning!” Solomon called, and she straightened abruptly, swinging around to face him.
“Solomon. Mrs. Grey.” Impossible to say if she was pleased or disappointed, or just annoyed by the disturbance.
“It is a beautiful morning, is it not?” Constance said.
“One has to make the most of those in this country. I daresay it will be raining by noon. Some coffee, perhaps?” Adelaide indicated the table and chairs farther along the front terrace, warmed by the sun. “Outdoors, or inside?”
“It looks lovely here, if you are happy with the outdoors,” Constance said.
“Then if you’ll excuse me one moment, I’ll give the orders and wash my hands.”
She vanished into the house but was gone only a few moments.
Solomon rose again and politely held her chair. “Is Clarence not around this morning?”
“He practices letters and numbers in the mornings,” Adelaide said.
“Then he has a tutor already?”
“Not yet. I’m teaching him myself, but when I give him exercises, he is very good at doing them alone.
I expect him to burst through the door in about twenty minutes!
But soon I suppose I will have to decide between a private tutor and sending him to school.
And then between the local charity school and sending him away from home. ”
Constance was watching her quite closely.
Adelaide looked up suddenly and met her gaze. “But you didn’t come to hear me prattle about my son’s education, did you? What is it you want to know?”
There was a challenge in that, though Solomon couldn’t quite work out where it was aimed.
He said bluntly, “We are looking for the pistol that killed Percy. So we are trying to eliminate all such weapons in the local area.”
“And how is that going?” she asked. “Ah, here comes coffee. I do prefer it to tea, don’t you?”
Was she being too deliberately careless? “Slowly,” he replied to her first question, as the maid laid the tray in front of Adelaide. He waited until she was out of earshot again, and Adelaide had poured three cups from the pot. “You had a pistol in Jamaica. Do you still have it?”
“Sugar and cream?” Adelaide passed the first cup to Constance, indicating she should help herself from the bowl and the jug beside her. Only then did she spare Solomon a glance. “Yes, I do.”
“Perhaps you would show it to me before we go?”
“Of course.”
Constance stirred some cream into her coffee. “You said you did not see Percy the Thursday he came home from London. Did you happen to see anyone else around your land that day?”
“I must have. The boy from the farm brings milk and butter and eggs. People pass in the distance going about their own business. Are you thinking of someone in particular?”
“Mrs. Harvey?” Solomon suggested.
Adelaide stared at him, then laughed. “Mrs. Harvey would give me a very wide berth. Why would you think she came here?”
“Someone saw her,” Constance said, “on what may have been your land. And at the moment, she is a little too frail to answer questions.”
A wry smile curved Adelaide’s lips, but she said nothing.
“Then you didn’t see her?” Solomon pursued.
“No, I did not.”
“What about a gentleman?” Constance asked.
“Which gentleman?”
“Any. Probably alone, whether close to the house or in the distance.”
“No,” Adelaide said firmly.
And Solomon’s heart sank, because he didn’t believe her. “Would you mind if I spoke to your servants and anyone who lives on your property? Someone might have seen something or someone that would help us.”
Adelaide didn’t hide her unease now. “Do you think he was shot here, then?”
“It is a possibility. But the more people we can speak to, the more we can learn.”
She gestured wide with her hand. “Then by all means, ask whomever you wish.”
At that moment Clarence came pelting around from the side of the house, a notebook flapping in one hand.