“With fist, singular,” Nolan snarled, showing them his left hand suitably clenched. He sniffed. “Never touched them. Never had to. But…I had a red-hot shoe in my tongs. Forgot about it, to be honest, but it certainly made the little tikes run.”
“Did anyone see this happen?” Constance asked. “Apart from you and the children themselves?”
“Nope. They were all inside sheltering from the rain too.”
“Then who do you think sent you the note?” Solomon inquired.
Nolan shrugged. “That’s what I don’t know. One of the little b—children must have blabbed to their parents, though the parents don’t want their precious darlings in here any more than I do. They should be grateful to me, not threatening me.”
Solomon’s parting lips had a caustic look about them, so Constance barged in before he could speak and lose them whatever information Nolan might be harboring.
“That is a fair point,” she said. “Which children invaded your shop that day?”
“Oh, the lot of them. The Keaton brats. Edgar Chadwick, the doctor’s boy. The Gimlet lad was there, a couple of Dickies, and the vicar’s twins, who’re the worst of the lot, only Mrs. Raeburn will never believe it. They need a damn good hiding if you ask me, but that schoolteacher’s too lily-livered to do more than look at them—!”
Nolan broke off and glared between them. “There. Know who it is yet?”
“Not for certain,” Constance said, “but you have been most helpful.”
“I have?” Nolan looked taken aback.
“Absolutely,” Solomon agreed. “Thank you for your time.”
As they left, they heard hammering start up again.
After the heat inside, Constance was glad of the cold wind to cool her face.
“Well? Who did he give away?” Solomon demanded.
“I have no idea. I just don’t want him to think he shouldn’t talk to us. We don’t want to be clueless strangers.”
“So, what are we?”
“Clueless strangers,” she said, smiling amiably at the two elderly ladies who were marching directly toward them. One swung an umbrella like a weapon of war, while the other commanded a walking stick at an impressive pace.
The ladies came to a halt in their path, forcing them to halt.
“Good day,” said the one armed with the stick. This close, she seemed younger than Constance’s original impression, somewhere between fifty and sixty, perhaps. She was a small,round person in well-made if old-fashioned clothing, and she bestowed an unexpectedly sweet smile upon them.
“Good day,” Constance replied, while Solomon tipped his hat.
“You must be Dr. Chadwick’s friends. Welcome to Sutton May.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Jessica Mortimer—of Mortimer Manor, you know. This is my companion, Miss Jenson.”
Constance dipped a curtsey. Solomon bowed. “I’m Constance Silver. My partner, Mr. Grey.”
“How do you do?” Miss Jenson said. At first glance, she appeared to be the opposite of the first lady, being tall and almost stick thin, her expression one of brisk determination compared to the rather unworldly gaze of Miss Mortimer.
“We have been most curious to meet you,” Miss Mortimer said. “You are not at all what we expected, are they, Hannah?”
The thin Miss Jenson’s nostrils flared. “That remains to be seen.”
“Perhaps you would care to join us at the manor house for tea this afternoon?” Miss Mortimer asked.
“Thank you,” Constance said. “That would be lovely.”
