“Bella and Anthony?” Constance considered. “It’s true Bella was somewhat ambivalent about our investigation, and she’s definitely angry with Cordell, though whether for employing us or coming anywhere near me is debatable. Anthony is a bit of a dark horse. Clever by all accounts, and probably stronger than he looks. He probablycouldhave moved the bodies. And he could easily have left the house in the middle of the night without the servants or anyone else knowing. Only…”
“Only they both seem genuinely grief-stricken,” Solomon said. “Which leaves their mother, and frankly, I can’t imagine her heaving bodies around. She could never have done it alone.”
Constance sighed. “Let us see what we can learn from Zenobia…”
*
In many ways,the gathering in Zenobia’s rooms reminded Solomon of evening parties at the establishment. There was a similarly eclectic mix of people, from actresses, artists, and radical free thinkers to scientists, politicians, and academics. However, they were squashed into a much smaller space than Constance’s gracious salons, and there appeared to be a mere scattering of the nobility present. Solomon guessed they and the politicians were less powerful than those who flocked to the establishment, often for more nefarious purposes.
Zenobia welcomed them with genuine pleasure, poured them each a glass of wine, and indicated where little bowls of nuts and fruits could be found. By then, one of Solomon’s acquaintances from the Royal Geographical Society had found them, and Constance was introduced. After a few minutes, he felt Constance relax into her usual social manners, quickly findingher feet in a company she expected to shun her. If anyone knew her as Constance Silver, they did not judge her for it.
He still found it rather touching that, as herself, she could still be hurt by such things. If she had been in her own establishment, or if she had been playing a part—as she was on their first case together—she would have sailed through this experience with panache.
When she felt confident enough, she drifted away from him to learn what she could. Solomon followed gentlemanly accents until he heard St. John’s name mentioned.
“…St. John! You could have knocked me down with a feather. I count him one of my oldest and best friends, you know. I’m devastated.”
The words came from a stout man in his forties, rather soberly dressed for this gathering, apart from his bright, flowered waistcoat.
“My condolences, sir,” Solomon said as the rest of the group made sympathetic noises. He held out his hand to the man who had spoken. “My name is Grey. I knew Mr. St. John slightly through the board of St. Peter’s Hospital. A sad loss.”
The man took his hand. “Elton Granger, one of the Berkshire members.”
It took Solomon a moment to realize he meant member of Parliament. “Honored to make your acquaintance,” he said.
The other men, perhaps embarrassed by death and grief, wandered off.
“I believe the funeral service is tomorrow,” Solomon said.
“I shall be there, of course.”
Solomon nodded. “I’ve been trying to locate another friend of his. One Gareth Neville? Perhaps you also knew him?”
“Oh, yes,” Granger said at once. “We’ve all tried to locate him, without any success at all.”
“Really? How long has he been missing?”
“Oh, he’s notmissing, exactly,” Granger said with sudden awkwardness. He grimaced. “Well, I suppose he is, but he did it himself. Had a spot of bad luck, ended up bankrupt, and wouldn’t accept help from any of us. He told us all he was going away, and went, and nobody’s seen him since. He’d like to attend the memorial service, though. Maybe he’ll see it in the newspapers and come. That will be something.”
But increasingly unlikely, Solomon thought. “How long is it since Mr. Neville—er…went away?”
“Goodness, it must be fifteen years.”
“And you’ve heard nothing from him since?”
“Not a cheep,” Granger said sadly.
“Might I ask how you know him and Mr. St. John?”
“Oh, we were all friends and neighbors, growing up—Terrence, Gareth, Zenobia, and me.”
Gareth. Gareth Neville.Surely it had to be the same man?
“To my regret,” Granger was saying, “I drifted apart from them all a bit when I went into politics. But then I ran into St. John again by accident, and it was just like before. We were all at his wedding. And shortly after that, Neville’s bit of bad luck began.”
“Was he married?”
“Neville? Not when he left. Confirmed bachelor, old Neville. And I don’t suppose he had the means after he went away. Unless his luck changed.” His voice turned wistful. “It would mean a lot to Zenobia and to me if he came to the funeral. I may be sentimental, but I feel we all need to be together.”
