All color fled her face. “Nonsense,” she said once more in a strangled voice. “You are ridiculous.”
“I shan’t explain how it was done, and believe me, the matter is being treated with sympathy and discretion. The blackmailers are the criminals here, and Veronique will pay. I came only to warn you to be wary of speaking to strangers. Veronique’s husband, who was her partner in crime, has so far eluded the police. We know he has some information torn from Veronique’s book, under your name, so make sure that until he is captured, your servants admit no strangers to the house.”
Mrs. St. John held a handkerchief to her white lips. She seemed to try to speak and then closed her mouth again. The silence was so loud it seemed to drown out even the relentlessly ticking clock on the mantelpiece.
“I’m sure you are mistaken,” she said at last. “But I will see no one until this man is apprehended.”
She stood and rang the bell. The interview was at an end.
“Thank you,” Solomon said, bowing again.
The same footman appeared to show him out, closing the door behind them.
“I don’t suppose that Mr. Cordell is here?” Solomon murmured.
“He is escorting Miss Bella in a turn around the gardens,” the footman said.
Solomon’s neck prickled. He almost bolted across the square to the gardens, searching among all the strolling couples, the maids and nurses with their charges, the old men on the benches, and the dog walkers pretending not to see the vulgar actions of their canine companions. He was looking for Cordell and Bella, but also for Kenny. The police would never look for him here…
At first, he saw no one he recognized, not even Mrs. Willow or Miss Morton. He wondered distractedly how—or if—they would greet him in the bright light and safety of day.
At last, he saw Cordell and Bella, arm in arm and deep in conversation. Perhaps already wary, Cordell saw him coming and veered toward him with a murmur to his companion.
“Are you looking for us, sir?” Bella asked, with an unenviable mix of eagerness and apprehension. “Have you news?”
“Yes, but I shan’t linger on details. Veronique has been arrested for blackmail, but her husband, who we think was her partner, is still loose and dangerous. We have reason to think he might approach Mrs. St. John, so I have suggested she admit no one but the closest of friends to her house. I would ask you the same thing. Cordell, will you stay with the family until this man is caught? Have a word with Anthony, too.”
Cordell met his gaze and nodded. At the very least, he understood not to ask questions that Solomon did not want to answer in front of Bella. The last thing he wanted was to knock her mother off the parental pedestal. Mrs. St. John’s secrets should remain just that.
“Did he kill my father?” Bella asked in a small, hard voice.
“I think perhaps he might have. It’s one of the reasons the police need to question him. Try not to worry, but if you do see any strangers lurking, send word to Inspector Harris or to our office.” Solomon all but shooed them toward the nearest gate and the St. John house. Only when he saw them at the front door did he turn away.
He wondered briefly if he should request David’s company again, but in the end he decided against it. He had the feeling that he didn’t have time, that urgency was of paramount importance. And besides, this was the life Solomon had chosen. David had not.
Chapter Eighteen
Constance, after armingherself with a heavy stone inside a leather satchel, had obtained several ideas and a change of clothing from Juliet. Her mother had actually looked frightened when Constance agreed to take Gerry with her. But then, she had also looked disapproving when Constance hugged Marissa, the girl from her establishment whom Juliet had taken on only the day before yesterday.
It was a dangerous as well as frustrating search in some filthy places. Even the lie that she owed Kenny money and was anxious to pay it back was greeted with blank looks. The closest she got was a couple of people who had seen him last night but not since. A brief spark of hope was caused by Nevvy’s vagrant friend Harry, who knew Kenny by sight.
“He don’t live round here these days. Got a posh gaff in the West End and a rich wife, I heard.”
“So did I,” Constance said.
An hour later, she sent Gerry back to her mother and trailed back to the office to see if there was news from anyone else.
There wasn’t.
She sat in her own office with her sore feet up, and Hat brought her a cup of tea.
“Maybe it’s a job for your brain, ma’am,” Hat said, “not your feet.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
Where would the bully have gone? The axe-wielding character they had sent back to him last night—in retrospect, a mistake—must have warned him to bolt immediately. Kenny hadn’t even had the decency to warn his wife, just torn the page out of her journal, no doubt taken what money he had found on the premises, and legged it alone. He could have been walking the streets ever since, dodging policemen and all the places he was known.
There were hundreds of hiding places in London, from cheap hostels to rookeries. Kenny could probably afford better, but unlike his performance last night, he would not want to stand out and be noticed.
