Page 93 of Corpse in the Canal

“Be discreet. We’re dealing with a magistrate here.”

“I can’t see either of them going this far to convince us of Adelaide’s guilt,” Constance protested when Flynn had gone.

“It wouldn’t necessarily be you he was trying to convince. It’s a jury. The constable would no doubt have found that piece of cloth if you hadn’t, and then Mrs. Jenkins would have probably been arrested.”

“I don’t think he would do that,” Solomon said.

“He would if the Harveys pushed him to it. He’s the magistrate, and she’s unstable and in the first throes of grief for her beloved son. And she knows Mrs. Jenkins killed him. She already told me so.” Harris’s scowl came back. “You know, if it weren’t for this shooting at you, Grey, I would be inclined to go back to London and have a word with Henry Hope. We know him all too well. And it’s more likely than someone around here taking it into their head to kill a gentleman’s son. Plus there’s the fact Hope wouldn’t have known the local waterway and wouldn’t understand the body would be discovered so quickly. Surely a local would know that?” He paused. “Unless it was a woman.”

Constance raised an eyebrow and regarded him in silence.

Amusement tinged Solomon’s voice. “But someone did shoot at me. Besides, we have assistants looking into Hope, and into the whereabouts of Percy’s own pistol, which he normally traveled with. And which has not yet been located.”

“They shouldn’t go near Hope,” Harris snapped. “He’s dangerous, and we’ve been after him for years.”

Oh, the devil, Constance thought, her blood chilling with guilt. Could she really rely on Janey’s nose for danger? “I’ll write again and warn her off. It might not be too late.”

*

The bandage around his head somehow gave Solomon more of a rakish air than that of a wounded soldier. He wanted to cover the bandage with his hat, which Constance promptly took from him until he agreed to merely carry it. She wasn’t sure about his walking all the way to Larchford with her, but after washing and changing and an hour’s rest, he was clearly too restless to stay behind.

On their way out, Constance glanced through the drawing room door to see if either of the Harveys were there. Both were, sitting close together on the sofa. They weren’t speaking, but Harvey was holding both her hands and gazing at her.

Since neither noticed her, Constance tactfully withdrew.

“What is Harris doing?” Solomon asked as they left the house.

“He said he was going to talk to Wills and then go down to the lock and see the Wests. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he or Flynn appeared at Larchford at some point. Are we redundant, do you suppose?”

Solomon turned to her, eyebrows raised into the bandage. “You mean you would leave the investigation?”

She actually considered it. “I don’t think I could at this stage.” Mostly because she believed the shooting of Solomon to have been an accident. But if she was wrong…

Involuntarily, it seemed, her arm wrapped across her stomach. She could not afford to be wrong.

Chapter Twenty

They found Everett walking across his front terrace with another man who might have been a steward of some kind. At any rate, as soon as he saw them, Everett changed course to stride toward them while his companion vanished around the side of the house.

“Grey, how are you?” Everett demanded, offering his hand as though delighted to see him. “What a terrible thing to have happened.”

“It could have been worse,” Constance pointed out, all her attention focused on him. His shock and concern appeared to be genuine, but she had been fooled before by natural actors. “Might we have a word?”

“Of course, come in and take some refreshment.”

They opted for tea, which was served in a comfortable parlor rather than in Everett’s office. Constance wondered if this was a social promotion for them, or if their host was motivated by guilt. That sense of urgency was upon her again, and she felt there was no longer time to be tactful, to beat about the bush.

“First,” she said as soon as the tea was served, “Mr. Harvey took your advice and two detectives from the Metropolitan Police are here. Discretion about matters that turn out not to be related to crimes is now out of our hands, so forgive us our blunt questions. Where were you yesterday morning between ten and eleven o’clock?”

Everett blinked. “I took the boat up the canal to visit a friend.”

“In Channing?”

“No, in the opposite direction. John Standish has the property to the northwest of here, just a few miles up the canal.”

“And he will vouch for your being there?” Solomon asked.

“Of course.”