Page 26 of Corpse in the Canal

Solomon, sitting down with a more modest plateful than his host, replied, “We must discover your son’s movements on Thursday, when and how he came to Channing, whom he saw, where he went.”

“Then I suppose you will want to call on That…on Adelaide Jenkins?”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll come with you,” Harvey stated. “Immediately after breakfast.”

Carefully, Constance did not look at Solomon. She spread a thin layer of butter on her second half slice of toast and reached for her cup of tea.

“To be blunt, sir,” Solomon said, “our inquiries are more likely to be successful if you are not with us.”

Harvey bristled.

“People won’t always tell the truth in the presence of a grieving father,” Constance said gently. “We will, of course, keep you closely apprised of anything we learn and ask you for assistance when necessary.”

“And for permission,” Solomon added. “To begin with, may we speak with your servants?”

Harvey blinked, his brows twitching. “Servants? Why would you want to speak to them?”

“They often notice things,” Solomon said vaguely.

“And they are often close-lipped about the family they serve,” Constance said, “so if you could instruct them to cooperate with our inquiries, the matter would be simpler. We don’t want them to imagine we suspect them of wrongdoing, or that we are looking for salacious gossip. Anything we learn will be kept in confidence, if at all possible.”

Harvey closed his mouth. Clearly, he hadn’t thought of such things, and couldn’t see the point, but eventually he nodded curtly. “I’ll tell Davis.”

Davis was the butler, so presumably word would trickle down. Harvey, however, seemed slightly forlorn. He didn’t know what to do with himself if he wasn’t occupied with the inquiry. Constance scratched around in her head for something worthwhile he could do.

“Perhaps you could look into his finances?” she said. “The banks will not talk to us, as strangers. And you will know what is in the house.”

Harvey set down his knife and fork and pushed his plate away. “I’ll write this morning and look in the safe too.”

“Thank you.”

“But you should be addressing the Jenkins woman,” he burst out.

“We shall,” Solomon assured him. “And your other neighbors. Was Percy particularly friendly or otherwise with the gentry families in the area?”

Harvey gave a shrug. “There’s really only Everett over at Larchford. His family have been the squires here for generations. Always been a decent fellow, but Percy claimed he looked down his nose at us—because we made our fortune in trade, he said. I told Percy that was daft, since it was the Everetts that dug the canal and still run it—for trade! Even if it’s not exactly profitable.”

“So Percy and Sir Felix Everett did not like each other?” Constance asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Harvey said. “He dines with us occasionally. He and Percy just weren’t particular friends. Not surprising—Everett’s older, a widower, bit of a staid fellow. The opposite of Percy, really.”

“There are no other gentry families nearby? Don’t you have a vicar?”

“Yes, yes, young Thomas, but the vicarage is in the town, next to the church. Percy wasn’t a great churchgoer.”

“Were he and Mr. Thomas not friends either?”

“I doubt Percy noticed him much, and I suspect Thomas disapproved of Percy. He’s not a lively man, Thomas. A bit…ineffectual, you might say, practically speaking. But an excellent man and an excellent vicar in his own quiet way.”

“Did Percy keep lower company in Channing? People he might not invite here?”

“I daresay. He liked a glass of beer at the Duke’s Arms.”

“If he changed horses on the journey to London, is that where he would leave his horse? Or would he ride it all the way to Channing House?”

“They do keep horses for changing—both carriage and riding horses—at the Duke’s. Usually, if he was riding, Percy would keep the horse here overnight and take it back to the inn the following day. But there’s no horse in our stables. Percy never came home. The best place to look is That Woman’s stable.”