“You don’t like her.”
“I find her a hypocrite.” Miss Mortimer smiled wryly. “But then, so am I, for I still invite her to my parties. The habits of childhood stay with us.”
Sensing more here, Solomon leaned forward. “Hypocritical rather than simply misguided?” he suggested.
“Oh yes.” Miss Mortimer lowered her head, her voice dropping further so that he could barely hear. “We had to retire her from the school for appropriating the funds for books, writing materials, and school outings. That is when we got Mr. Ogden in instead.”
Startled, Solomon cast an instinctive glance in Miss Fernie’s direction. She was playing cards, but her gaze was on Constance.
“Who knows this?” he asked with inexplicable urgency.
“Just Mr. Raeburn and me. We contrived it so that she resigned voluntarily and traveled for her health. I was surprised when she came back, but I suppose Sutton May has always been her home. And I, it seems, will always be her friend.”
But will she always be yours?
Chapter Eleven
Constance Silver. ConstanceSilver…
Where had she heard that name? It kept repeating in Helen Fernie’s head even after they had stopped conversing and she was playing cards with Sophie Chadwick and Abigail Raeburn.
She knew why the young woman was asking all those questions, of course. She was nosing around for Dr. Chadwick and his silly wife. The daughter was even sillier, by all accounts, though Helen knew better than to believe in village gossip. Still, she had seen Sophie with Ogden—the girl even visited him at his house, which was utterly improper. And nothing to do with Constance Silver.
Wherehadshe heard that wretched name? She was sure she had not met her in London. She was far too noticeable to forget. She was also far too well dressed to be a woman in need of work to live. And Mr. Grey was not her husband, whatever else he was.
Solomon Grey. Did she know that name, too? When she went home, she would go over her letters from her family in London. Wait, though, was he not one of those benevolent, wealthy men of this new world? Made his first fortune in Jamaican sugar and cotton and built another in shipping. A surprisingly young man who preferred seclusion to Society and was therefore sought after by all.
Oh yes, it was coming back to her now. Could this man really bethatSolomon Grey? His coat was certainly well enough cut for wealth, but why on earth would such a rich man be ferretingout squalid information for the likes of Dr. Chadwick?Eccentric—was that not another world flung around about Solomon Grey? And some kind of scandal written in a letter by her shocked cousin, something to do with his being snared in matrimony by an infamous courtesan.
Her breath caught.Constance Silver! Of course!
As if she couldn’t help it, Helen’s gaze sought and found the woman, so pretty, so charming—and so false. How dare she masquerade as a decent woman, tricking poor Jessica into accepting her as a guest, introducing her to the respectable people of Sutton May!
The jezebel was laughing over her shoulder at something Mr. Lance said to her, then she stood up and left the room.
She must be going to the retiring room.
And Helen was just outraged enough to follow. She was halfway across the room with a poor excuse thrown to her fellow players before she realized her own foolishness. And her own possibilities. Whatwasher best move here?
*
The footman inthe hall directed Constance to the staircase at the end of the passage. “The first door on your right is for the use of ladies.”
“Thank you.”
The room was easily found and brightly lit. As she dealt with her own comfort and examined her hair in the glass for wayward strands, her mind flickered from guest to guest. As in most communities, secrets and ill feeling seemed to seethe beneath the surface of neighborliness, most of them trivial. She could not actually imagine anyone present here this evening sending those anonymous letters. None of them, she felt, would see the needof anonymity. Unless it was Sophia Chadwick, afraid her youth gave her less gravity than a pasted-together letter of complaint?
She sighed. No, that did not really work either. Constance could not imagine her treating her mother or anyone else in that way, no matter how unjust she felt their actions to be.
But what if the culprit was not in her or his right mind? Everyone in the village seemed to be eminently sensible and even likeable people—with the exception of Peregrine Mortimer.
Mr. and Mrs. Lance from over the hill were also amiable and impressed with their children’s school progress under the auspices of Mr. Ogden. They knew of no trouble amongst the children or their parents in Sutton May, and pronounced Helen Fernie “a funny old thing” with no harm or malice about her.
Mr. Raeburn’s theory of female spite did not seem to work in this case.
Emerging from the retiring room, it took Constance a moment to realize that the landing was now in total darkness. A glow filtered up from the foot of the stairs, but it seemed very dim. Surely all the lamps and candles had not gone out at once?
Constance stood very still, trying to get her bearings, but she could not even see the top of the stairs, only the faint light below. Feeling idiotic, she put out both her hands and shuffled slowly forward, groping for a wall, or the balustrade that bordered the stairwell.
