Chapter Five
From the sittingroom window, shaded by the curtain, Carl Darrow watched his visitors depart.
What on earth had that been about? He stared at the card he had been given. Silver and Grey. Inquiries. She was a madam, for God’s sake, even if a somewhat refined one. For that reason, he had almost turned down her invitation to play at her house in the spring. Yet a powerful courtesan had the kind of clientele he needed, so he had taken the chance—and discovered she was married to that wealthiest of recluses, Solomon Grey.
Well, he didn’t seem to be much of a recluse either. He had been present at Carl’s recital at that house of civilized ill repute, along with many other influential gentlemen. And there was no denying that it had led to several more lucrative private engagements with the best people. His reputation was growing…
Though how much did that matter without Caterina?
Her loss both filled and emptied him. He needed music… Where was his damned violin?
He was about to turn away from the window when a jaunty figure caught his eye: Reid loping around the corner from the bakery, a loaf in one hand, a small basket of strawberries in the other.
Carl paused, his gaze shifting to the carriage in front of the house. Grey already had the door open, and CarlwilledConstance Silver into it.
Too late. She had seen Reid.
Grey closed the door again, and Carl’s heart sank. For the first time ever, he wished Geoffrey Reid was less good natured. He would never walk past someone who clearly wanted to talk to him, much less be deliberately rude.
Slowly, Carl eased the bottom sash up, careful not to let it rattle. The three people below did not appear to notice. They were too focused on each other. Annoyingly, he could only hear snatches of their conversation, but it was enough to understand.
The courtesan, who was now Mrs. Grey, was clearly asking Reid about Wednesday night.
“He was home before me,” Reid answered cheerfully. “Afraid I had a few at the Pig and Whistle.”
“Did you see him when you went in?” Grey asked.
“No. He was too grumpy. I scratched at his door, but he told me in no uncertain terms to—er…go away. So I did.”
Thank you, Geoff…The last thing Carl needed was to be under suspicion for murder. That it should behermurder was unbearable…Bloody Montague…
“Did either of you go out again?” Grey asked.
This time Reid’s answer was less satisfactory. “Ididn’t. Out like a light as soon as my head touched the pillow. I’d have slept through a riot in the street.”
Damn it, Reid…
Mrs. Grey’s next words were lost in the breeze, and the call of a costermonger in the next street. But Reid’s reply was clear enough.
“Oh no. Carl doesn’t go out when he’s grumpy. He plays his violin until he feels better.”
“Not after ten o’clock, surely,” Grey said, which made Reid laugh.
“No, but certainly well before ten the next morning!”
Carl stepped back from the window. Was it enough? He hoped so. He didn’t want to think of Caterina, of his loss, of the blackness. Almost blindly, he stumbled back to his own room and snatched hisviolin off the bed.
It was the only thing to do with grief.
*
Constance had beenaware of the window lifting above her and wondered if Darrow would somehow try to disrupt their conversation with Reid. But if she hoped for a reaction from Caterina’s lover, she was disappointed. There was only silence above, and then she heard the violin.
“Were you with him,” Solomon asked, his voice low and confidential, “when he learned of Caterina di Ripoli’s death?”
Reid’s expression grew troubled. “No. I saw it in the newspaper stand around the corner when I was on my way home last night and immediately went in to see him. He already knew.”
“How?” Constance asked.
