“My guess is he had little choice. He certainly dressed to blend in.”
“Blackmail?” Omand guessed. “Either Chase wouldn’t or couldn’t pay, or Drayman always intended to kill him. What of the second sailor? An accomplice?”
“A convenient scapegoat, I believe. Though I suspect he raised the alarm faster than suited Draymen.”
“Which is why they both ran. The second sailor should turn himself in for questioning.”
“If I ever see him,” Solomon said politely, “I shall pass that on. I shall be going out of town tonight or early tomorrow, though, so I leave it all in your capable hands. I imagine you can find a missing sailor far more quickly than I.”
“If he’s even in the country. I don’t suppose you have any clues as to where to begin looking?”
“In dockside brothels, according to his old captain,” Solomon said, rising to his feet and offering his hand once more. “Whose name is Blake, and he stays with his daughter in Bloomsbury. Thanks for your time, inspector. Good afternoon.”
As he retraced his footsteps through the outer office, he felt Napier’s malevolent eyes on his back. It made his flesh crawl because there was no reason for it.
Was that the nature of whatever hatred swirled in Sutton May? Unprovoked and reasonless prejudice? It bore thinking about.
In the meantime, he had a house to view.
*
When Constance drovethe inn’s gig up the carriageway to the front of the manor house, she felt quite safe. Until the notion entered her head that she was being observed from behind those rows of windows, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
As she climbed down from the gig and handed the reins to the groom who had run round from the side of the house, she was very aware of the aching bruises on her arm and stiff shoulder. Was there real malevolence in this house? Or was shejust fanciful because of the incident last night? If she was right that Miss Fernie had pushed her, then she was perfectly safe at the manor house today.
Miss Mortimer and Miss Jenson were discovered in the drawing room, arranging daffodils in separate vases and arguing. Constance was glad to see no sign of Peregrine Mortimer at this stage, since she wanted to speak to the ladies first.
The pair halted their argument at once to welcome Constance with gracious and apparently genuine smiles.
“No Mr. Grey today?” Miss Jenson inquired.
“He has gone to London for the day,” Constance said, slightly surprised that they didn’t already know. She sat in the offered chair and regarded the two expectant faces before her. “I’ve been speaking to Constable Heron, who told me about items that have gone missing over the years.”
“What items?” Miss Jenson asked.
Miss Mortimer frowned. “He hasn’t become involved in the matter of Faye Keaton’s wretched shawl, has he?”
“Oh, no. He is not talking about crime, as such, just about things that have got lost. He mentioned a bracelet belonging to you, Miss Mortimer.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Did he? How on earth did he know about that?”
“Then you remember the bracelet I mean?”
“Of course I do. It was a twenty-first birthday gift from my father, and really quite valuable. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless as to leave it in London.”
“Is that what you did?”
“I must have, for I never found it in this house or in any of my bags.”
“Did the staff of your London house not find it?”
“The house and servants were not ours, merely hired for the Season. My father wrote to our man of business, but the bracelet was never found.”
“When was this exactly?”
“Oh, thirty years ago at least! Not long before he died.”
“Could you describe it for me?” Constance asked.
