“Could the ill feeling be aimed at someone acting on your behalf? A steward?”
“I would doubt it, but again, I don’t know. If you have specific question once you’ve read and investigated, feel free to call again. In fact, come tomorrow evening, and we shall find time to speak alone. I am holding a little card party—they remind me of my youth, and we only play for halfpennies—so I hope you and Mr. Grey will come.”
“Thank you,” said Constance, who had hoped for Solomon’s sake to be back in London by tomorrow evening.
“It is not warm, is it? Shall we go back inside?”
Miss Mortimer performed a military-style right wheel, and they came face to face with Solomon and Miss Jenson marching toward them. Solomon’s lip twitched with amusement, but he too turned with good grace, Miss Jenson on his arm, and they all returned together to the drawing room.
Tea was being laid out by the servants.
“Oh good,” said Miss Mortimer. “Tell Mr. Mortimer, if you please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the footman, bowing.
“Mr. Mortimer is your nephew?” Constance asked. “Does he live with you?”
“No, but he stays frequently, I am glad to say. He is my heir, you see, and will make a much more dashing squire.”
In what was clearly a long-established habit, the teapot was set before Miss Mortimer and the servants departed. While the lady of the house poured, Miss Jenson conveyed cups and saucers to the guests, along with plates and offerings of dainty sandwiches, pastries, and cakes.
“So, tell us about Sutton May,” Constance said brightly. “Is Mrs. Chadwick as kind as she seems?”
“Unfailingly,” said Miss Mortimer.
“And just as tired,” Miss Jenson added, dryly.
“Because of her work among the sick?” Solomon asked.
“And with the doctor. It is she who organizes him while keeping the house, dealing with her unruly son and her stubborn daughter. No wonder she is exhausted.”
“Her son is unruly?” Solomon asked. “He is only fourteen, is he not?”
“Oh, it’s just mischief,” Miss Mortimer said. “Boys will be boys, and there is no spite in Edgar Chadwick. He has just been a little overindulged.”
“And Miss Sophie Chadwick is stubborn?” Constance said. “In what way?”
Miss Jenson shrugged. “She makes her own friends, goes her own way. Which is admirable, in my view—up to a point.”
“What point?” Solomon asked.
“The point where her path veers from that of her parents,” Miss Mortimer said.
“But she seemed so willing to please and run errands for her mother.”
“Oh, yes. She is a kind girl, and very bright,” said Miss Jenson, no doubt with her old teacher’s hat on. “Very bright indeed.”
The drawing room door opened, and the footman announced, “Miss Chadwick and Mr. Ogden, ma’am.”
Dr. Chadwick’s daughter swept into the room ahead of a tall, gangly young man who appeared to be all legs and awkwardness. The girl’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Constance and Solomon, but she greeted her hostess first with a curtsey and a kiss on the cheek, a greeting she repeated with Miss Jenson, who patted her shoulder in a pleased sort of way.
To Constance, it looked very natural, a long-standing fondness between all concerned. Could Sophie’s “stubbornness” be to do with the awkward youth now standing with his arms hanging by his sides, fingers flexing, as though unsure what to do with himself?
He was not an ill-looking young man, for he had bright, inquisitive eyes beneath a high, intelligent brow, a rather long nose, and a pointed chin. His mouth, with its full lower lip, might have been sulky or passionate, or just indicative of the fact that he did not want to be there. His clothes, which could not ever have been fine, were past their poor best and did not fit well, being both too loose, and slightly too short in the arms and legs.
“I brought Mr. Ogden,” Sophie said cheerfully, “since I know you are always pleased to see him and hear about the children.”
With all eyes now on him, the young man made a jerky bow.
