“Call on a duke’s daughter,” Solomon said, “and learn what we can about the St. Johns, and about Mrs. Willow and her sister.”
“And the price of aristocratic weddings,” Constance added. “This evening, we’ll be at Zenobia Paul’s gathering, where we’re hoping to learn if the Neville in St. John’s letter is our Nevvy, and if so, what the connection is.”
Janey nodded at the pile of letters on Solomon’s desk. “You’ve got them to answer too,” she said somewhat smugly, and swaggered off to fetch her hat.
*
In the end,since they hadn’t thought of calling on duke’s daughter Lady Grizelda Tizsa while they were actually in Mayfair, Constance and Solomon went home to change and eat a quick dinner first.
They found the Tizsas enjoying a quiet moment in their little house in Half Moon Street Lane. Their offspring had just been put to bed, and they welcomed Constance and Solomon with flattering delight.
“You look very smart,” Lady Griz said when they were all seated in the pleasant study-cum-drawing room. “I can’t imagine it is for our benefit.”
“Am I overdressed?” Constance asked ruefully. “We’ve been invited to an evening party at Miss Zenobia Paul’s.”
“Oh, then you areperfectlydressed. Everyone is.”
“You know her?” Solomon asked quickly.
“No,” said Dragan Tizsa, one-time revolutionary in his home country of Hungary, and now doctor and refugee—and son-in-law to the Duke of Kelburn.
“Yes,” Griz said. “She’s an explorer. I like her, though I haven’t seen her since the Great Exhibition. She knows lots ofinteresting people, too. You are bound to enjoy the evening.” She looked from one to the other. “Or are you working?”
“On the death of Terrence St. John,” Solomon said.
To Constance’s surprise, Griz’s expression changed to one of dismay. Or was it grief?
“You knew him?” Constance asked quickly.
“He was a very good musician,” Griz said. “He played the violin with our amateur orchestra when it first began. He left us not long afterward but came to most of our concerts still.”
“Why did he leave?” Solomon asked.
“Family commitments, I think. Which probably meant his wife didn’t like us.”
“She wasn’t musically inclined?” Solomon said lightly.
“No.”
“You don’t like her?” Constance guessed.
Griz shrugged. “I don’t think I ever met her. He just seemed…” She gave an apologetic little smile. “He seemed toneedthe music. Was there something untoward about his death? I only saw the announcement in the paper.”
“He was found on the doorstep of my establishment,” Constance said. “Along with a vagrant called Nevvy, or Gareth Neville.”
Griz’s eyebrows rose above the frame of her spectacles. “He was not a client of your establishment, though, was he?”
“Why do you say that?”
“No reason,” Griz said vaguely, and again the suspicion Constance hadn’t yet mentioned to anyone slid into her mind.
“What do you know of him?” she asked.
“A good man, a cultured man, devoted to his children.”
“And his wife?”
“I know nothing to the contrary.”
