“So, are you to see them off? Or investigate the case?” Flynn asked.
“I’m too busy to bother with either,” Harris growled. “And so are you. Where’s my hat?”
“Going to Silver and Grey’s?”
“No, I’m going home. It’s Will’s birthday.”
*
Constance was alreadyback in her office, writing what she had learned into her notes and into the schedule of Caterina’s doings in the nine days before her death, when Solomon returned.
“What did you learn?” she asked as soon as he entered.
“That Darrow never attended the academy. I trailed around several lesser schools and teachers, only one of which had dealt with him for a matter of six private lessons. No one I spoke to had even heard of him until eighteen months ago.”
Constance replaced her pen in its stand. “Really? Then his rise to this level of prominence is quite…unusual. What does it mean, I wonder?”
“His talent is undeniable.” Solomon threw himself onto the chair opposite her. “His origins, however, are obscure. Does that matter? I don’t know. But why tell people you attended the academy when you didn’t?”
“To hide where you really were?” She shrugged impatiently. “Or to hide the fact that he is largely self-taught. There is professional prestige in a good school.”
“It still makes him a liar,” Solomon pointed out, watching his wife rifle through her notes and add the lie to her notes on Darrow. “I also spoke to Thomas Halliwell, who has interests in India and tea, and he recalls rumors that Montague swindled a young widow out there. Whatever happened, and whether or not it was true, it turned the British in India against him. It probably affects his profits, even if it’s lies.”
“And if it is true,” Constance said, “it certainly doesn’t sit well with the honorable man everyone believes him to be. Could Caterina have found out about that?”
“Possibly. He couldn’t afford his business to be attacked from this side too.”
“Hmm… I don’t suppose we can contact this widow?”
“She’s still in India, so only by letter.”
Constance sighed. “How inconsiderate of her. That will take weeks.”
“What about you?” Solomon asked. “Did you find Sophie Worthington’s family?”
“I found her widowed mother. And hecouldhave killed Sophie in almost exactly the same way—using a cushion instead of a pillow. There was no reason for her death, no known health conditions that might have explained it. There was a postmortem that found nothingunusual. But there was no police investigation, no whisper of foul play. Mrs. Worthington will believe no ill of Montague. But hecouldhave done it…”
Solomon listened to the details, occasionally asking questions. And was forced to agree. “He could have done it. It all adds up against him, and yet still we have no proof that he did anything to any of these women. Would he not guess that if his wife died in such a similar way, people might remember about Sophie?”
“If he got away with murdering Sophie,” Constance countered, “why would he not use the same method on Caterina? What we don’t know iswhyhe would have killed Sophie. According to her mother, there was no hint of infidelity on either side. She would have brought him a very decent dowry, and Worthington, a senior figure in the banking world, would have made an extremely useful father-in-law. We need to dig deeper… Ah, that sounds like Janey.”
Janey had entered with her key, calling cheerfully to Hat. “Guv’nors in?” she demanded, and a second later all but burst into Constance’s office with Lenny in tow.
“Wotcher!” she greeted them. “Gotreamsof stuff for you from the theatre.”
“Pull up a chair,” Solomon invited Lenny as Janey threw herself into the one next to him.
Janey extracted a notebook from her bag—one Constance had given her for becoming an assistant rather than a mere receptionist in the firm—and leafed through several pages of notes, talking all the time. “Lenny spoke to the porter and a couple of the singers. I went round the stagehands, the dressers, and the understudy. And it’s quite interesting. I ain’t put it all into order yet, but you’ll see her nibs was very busy during the time that interests you. The days she came early to the theatre, she didn’t tend to stay there long. Got the porter to call her cabs, and he’s got long ears.” Janey grinned and fluttered her eyelashes. “I persuaded him to tell me where she went, me being sotrustworthy and caring.”
“Baggage,” Solomon said appreciatively. “So wheredidshe go?”
“The street names are in the book. Same street twice, and it wasn’t a direction the porter had ever heard before. He knew the other address, though.”
Constance raised her eyes from the book to meet Solomon’s gaze. “She’d found another place to meet Darrow, cutting out the disapproving Marianne Locke. Shewasgoing to run away with him.”
“We don’t know that,” Solomon protested, although he had to admit it was a likely possibility. “She could have had another lover we haven’t heard of, or she could just have needed the advice of a trusted friend.”
“True,” she agreed, but he could sense the excitement in her, as though they were nearing the conclusion and proof awaited only a step or two away. She returned her attention to the book. “This is good work. Well done, both of you. Let me copy it all into the overall schedule and see where we are…”
