Janey should have scoffed, of course, and made it plain he could not give her orders. But it struck her suddenly that his spurt of anger had been fear for her. He had stood up for her, protected her. Only Constance had ever done that for her before. It made her feel oddly…good.
Because it wasn’t just about chivalry, although that was his nature. There was something deeper in his eyes. He cared.
She smiled up at him because she couldn’t help it, though she said cheerfully enough, “He’d be an excellent blackmailer’s minder. And I suspect he is.”
Chapter Fifteen
Constance and Solomonsat discreetly at the back of the church. In addition, to avoid distractions and any appearance of disrespect, she wore a veil. Which meant she could stare at people without anyone knowing.
Mrs. St. John—also veiled and decidedly elegant in her mourning black—walked in leaning heavily on the arm of her young son. Bella came behind, escorted by a middle-aged gentleman who might have been an uncle. She looked dazed again, as Solomon had described her on their first meeting. Funerals were never easy.
This one was very well attended. Solomon pointed out several prominent figures from the government, and the worlds of trade, philanthropy, and academia. She recognized a few more gentlemen who frequented her establishment, and then Lady Grizelda and her sister, escorted by Lady Azalea’s husband, Lord Trench. Constance hoped there would be a chance to speak to them.
Hanibal Cordell accompanied both his parents and sat just behind the chief mourners. Elton Granger arrived with his wife and son. Household servants sat at the back, on the opposite side of the aisle from Constance and Solomon. Mrs. Willow and Miss Morton arrived, the former very stiff and haughty, her sister looking half frightened.
Of what?Constance wondered.Me?
But then, they would never expect her to have the nerve to come here. Did they know Solomon by sight? Did they know he was her husband? Or simply misjudge him as a customer? She gazed after them as they walked up the aisle and took their seats. From the back, they looked unexpectedly frail, which surprised her somehow. It was harder to imagine their creeping about in the middle of the night with a shovelful of manure, let alone supervising the transport of a body in a wheelbarrow.
But then, perhaps the frailty was an act. It was how people were supposed to behave at funerals.
“Excuse me,” a lady whispered, and Constance shuffled over to make space for her before she realized it was Zenobia, dressed in somewhat narrow garments, but all of them black, as though she had made a special effort for the family while she mourned her old friend in her own way. She appeared to recognize Constance and Solomon at the same time, for she gave them a quick, fugitive smile.
And then the service began.
Zenobia’s presence, while welcome to Constance for professional as well as personal reasons, made it harder for her to slip out before the family, as she had fully intended. But then, Zenobia too was something of an outcast in this company. Many people, those who believed she was St. John’s mistress, would be scandalized by her presence here.
But Zenobia showed no signs of bolting, and the moment passed as the clergyman led the chief mourners down the aisle to the door. Outside was bright sunshine, so there was less chance of Mrs. St. John being hustled straight into a carriage.
Bella had been weeping. Anthony’s eyes were suspiciously bright, contrasting with his serious, almost stolid expression.Poor boy…
No doubt it was Solomon’s tall, distinguished figure that caught Lady Grizelda’s eye, but she nodded acknowledgmentto both of them as she walked past. Constance harbored some hope that being last out of the church—the servants at the back had already bolted, no doubt back to their duties—would ensure Mrs. St. John was fully occupied with other, more distinguished mourners. But she was still there just outside the church porch, beside her son and daughter, exchanging a brief word with everyone.
Zenobia led the way, looking directly into the widow’s veil. Perhaps Mrs. St. John gave her hand from habit, but there seemed no outrage or stiffness in the murmur of words they exchanged.
Then Constance was facing the veil through her own. “I am so sorry,” she murmured, taking the hand that would never have been offered if she had embroidered her name on her hat.
“Thank you,” Mrs. St. John returned, and turned to Solomon. “So kind of you to come, Mr. Grey. I hope you will both join us in Grosvenor Square.”
Constance repeated her condolence to the stiffer figure of Anthony, who, she guessed, was held together by a very tight thread. He did not shake hands but inclined his head and thanked her.
Bella, who had moved slightly further away with Zenobia, was saying, “Come back to the house. My mother does not believe the nonsensical rumors, you know. We understand you are one of his oldest friends.”
“I am,” Zenobia said, “so I know he will understand why I won’t come. And I know you and your brother were the joy of his life. Bless you.” She gave Constance and Solomon a vague, flapping wave and hurried away to where Elton Granger and his family waited for her.
By then, Cordell had joined his betrothed, who grasped his hand gratefully as she addressed Constance and Solomon. “I’mso glad you came. There are no new gowns in my mother’s wardrobe that fit the descriptions on those accounts.”
“What are you talking about?” Anthony asked, staring at his sister as if she had gone mad.
“We told you,” Bella said. “Han hired Mr. and Mrs. Grey to find out the truth about Papa’s death.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I did not associate the name. What is this to do with wardrobes? Or my school troubles, come to that.”
“Did you have any?” Solomon asked mildly.
“No! Well, except the time Fairclough and I climbed onto the roof for a dare, and I fell off.”
“And the lamb,” Bella reminded him.
