Her voice trailed off, her pen still while she gazed at Janey’s notes, then referred briefly to her own.
“Same street,” she said in triumph. “Look, Solomon—according to the stage doorman, Caterina ordered a hackney to take her to Theobalds Street twice, on Wednesday the twenty-ninth of June and Friday the first of July. And according to Mary Webb, she waited hours for her mistress outside a house in the same street on Tuesday the twenty-eighth of June.”
“Three times in one week,” Solomon said, frowning. “But she never saw Darrow so often.”
“Mary never saw Darrow go into the house. I’m sure she would have told me.”
“Would she have noticed?” Solomon said. “Waiting so long, she probably fell asleep. Or Darrow could easily have slipped in while the coachman walked his horses. Only…why would she change her habits?”
“Because she no longer cared about being found out. She was planning her escape.”
“Why?” Solomon demanded. “We only have Darrow’s word that she had agreed to go away with him, and we already know he is a liar.”
“So is Montague, at least by omission. And you saw him attack Darrow at the funeral. There is anger in him, Solomon, however controlled. Ifeltit this morning.”
“But there’s no evidence,” Lenny pointed out mildly, “against either of them.”
“Lenny’s right,” Janey said.
Solomon sighed. “He is. Well, let’s see if Darrowcouldhave met Caterina at Theobalds Street on those days. He practices in the mornings, so it does leave his afternoons free in theory. That is for tomorrow. As is a visit to Theobalds Street. And we need to know if they had got as far as booking their passage to Italy or anywhere else in Europe. If Montague knew about that, then it really does give him a strong motive, so we should try to make a schedule of his movements, too. Could he have followed his wife? Inquired at the docks, or the Channel ports?”
The others nodded in agreement.
“What about your other suspect?” Janey asked. “This Mr. Kellar?”
Constance narrowed her eyes. “I would love to know his movements, too, but somehow, I don’t believe our chances of learning them are very high.”
*
Juliet had changedinto her newest gown. She had made it herself from some gorgeous scarlet silk that had come her way some years ago—most likely stolen, or at least with no duty paid. She couldpretend it was her variation of the loose tea gowns that had lately come into fashion, though such garments were generally worn at home, not to go out and dine in public.
Not that she wasactuallygoing to go to meet Sebastian. Probably. She was merely testing out how she would look if she did go. She refused to apologize for what she was or what she had been, soifshe went, he would see her in all her glory.
Well, at least, all her eccentricities. She had scrubbed the paint from her face and had not replaced it. Without it, she felt naked, vulnerable. But perhaps she looked better, too. Peering more closely into the glass, she noticed that her skin had improved in recent months. Less red and mottled. And her eyes were clearer. That, no doubt, was due to eating better, since she had a proper kitchen in the flat. And to a lot less gin.
There was nothing she could do about the plumpness and sagging of age.
How much did he know and guess about her life?
He had invited her to be seen with him in public—admittedly not by the kind of society he came from, but she had nosed around the eating house already and knew it to be a respectable place. The question was, how much harm would she do by going there? Harm to her own peace, harm to his life.
No, she would not go. It was not fair on either of them. If she stayed away, he would not ask her again. She knew that with certainty. He would take the hint, as he had when he left for America thirty years before. And peace would return.
If she went, God knew where it would lead. Nowhere good. She was no friend for the likes of him. He was still ambitious, on the verge of a prestigious promotion, according to Connie.
Which was another thing, of course. Constance and Solomon did not trust him. They appeared to suspect him of involvement in the opera singer’s death. And Juliet could not put it past him. There wouldbe a reason, of course, though she doubted it was one of simple ambition. Why then would he have invited Juliet to be seen in his company?
I would be death to his ambitions. But I could help Connie rule him out of their investigation…
And if she found he was guilty?
Well, Juliet was a pragmatist herself. It would depend on his reasons whether or not she would betray him.
It would be no betrayal. He has been nothing to me for thirty years. Connie is my life.
She stared at the bright, striking woman in her looking glass, and let her shoulders straighten. She had let her daughter down often enough, but Constance herself admitted that it was Juliet who’d made everything possible for her. She had taught the child to read and write and count, had drilled into her the various ways to stay safe from the scum of the streets and brothels. And if she had put certain matters off just a little too long and failed to stop her entering into prostitution—well, Connie had found her own unique way to both embrace it and rise above it. With a good and responsible man who loved her.
Oh yes, Constance was her pride and joy. And for her, Juliet would brave anyone or anything. Even Sebastian Kellar.
