Constance rose to her feet. “We should be on our way, Solomon. Miss Mortimer, thank you so much for tea. It has been lovely meeting you and your friends.”
“Until tomorrow evening, then,” Miss Mortimer said, while the gentlemen all stood and Ogden bumped his knee on the nearest small table, rattling the china.
“I’ll show you out,” Mortimer said unexpectedly.
Constance suspected the courtesy was to emphasize his unique position in the household and heir to the lady of the manor, but here she maligned him. Dismissing the servants who came to help with coats and hats, he assisted them both himself.
“I hope I am not speaking out of turn,” he said, almost apologetically, “but if you are friends of Dr. Chadwick, and here on his account, perhaps you are the people I should be warning.”
“Warning?” Solomon said, donning his own coat.
“Well, telling. I am worried for my aunt. And sending anonymous letters is exactly the sort of low, underhand sort of trick that old witch would perpetrate.”
“Old witch?” Constance repeated.
“Hannah Jenson,” Mortimer said quietly. “My aunt’s so-called friend and companion. Hah!”
“Why do you say that?” Solomon asked.
“Because she has always worked to cut my aunt off from her family and friends. She’s after the old girl’s money—as much as she can lay her hands on. I’d watch her very, very carefully.”
“Thank you for your information,” Solomon said politely. “Good afternoon.”
He opened the front door himself, since Mortimer seemed to have forgotten about it, and Constance sailed out in front of him, allowing the young man a regal inclination of her head.
She felt his hot eyes on her, though, as Solomon assisted her into the gig.
Only as he flicked the reins to get the horse to move did she let her breath out in a rush.
“Now,thereis a young man I would not let near my girls,” she murmured. “At least not without a character reference and a few long conversations in the salon.”
“You think he’s malevolent?” Solomon asked. “Or just a typical young man who likes women a shade too much?”
“There’s no respect there. He has his aunt wound round his finger and treats both Sophie and me as if we are conquests he has already won. The only person he is even prepared to respect is you, and I doubt he’s made up his mind about that yet. He clearly despises the schoolteacher.”
“He is certainly an arrogant young cub,” Solomon allowed. “Do you think he said what he did about Miss Jenson because she’s one of the few females he can’t cozen?”
“Possibly. Though I doubt he’s cozened Sophie Chadwick either. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Constance leaned her cheek briefly against Solomon’s shoulder, needing the closeness. “Can you see him taking the time to compose our anonymous letters?”
“No. Nor can I see his caring about anyone’s kindness or false accusations against poor Nell Dickie—though it’s true he was in the shop at the time.”
Constance straightened and opened her handbag. “Which reminds me, Miss Mortimerdidreceive a letter, and hers is in an envelope without a postage stamp.”
“So, it was hand-delivered, too,” Solomon said.
“It would seem so.” The direction was hand-printed in capital letters, presumably as the others had been. And inside, the letter was clearly of the same type, with glued bits of newspaper attached to notepaper. “The envelopes and the paper look to be the same kind the Keatons sell in the shop.”
“What does it say?” Solomon asked.
She smoothed it out in her lap.
You are responsible for them all. It is you who will pay.
Solomon gazed at it while the horse trotted on without any guidance. “Couldit be a warning from her faithful companion?”
“I don’t see how it helps Miss Jenson gain power over her, let alone inherit a lot of money. And if it’s a warning—wouldn’t she just speak to her? She’s not really subservient, is she?”
“She doesn’t say much,” Solomon remarked. “But if they are such good friends, why has Miss Mortimer not confided in her?”
