Page 100 of Corpse in the Canal

Janey shrugged. “Whores. Brothels. Anyone who doesn’t look like him or think like him. But, dammit, he saved our bacon tonight. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.”

“And we need to take more care,” Lenny said grimly. “I couldn’t protect you.”

She took his arm again. “We stayed too long, just ’cause we don’t like to let themselves down. Mr. and Mrs. Grey wouldn’t thank us for getting ourselves killed.”

“It’s a lesson. Come on, we can get a hackney here. I’ll take you home.”

Janey thought of her new lodgings, of waking her roommate by throwing stones at her window and facing the wrath of their landlady. And then the understandable resentment of her roommate who had to be up at the crack of dawn for her own work.

“I ain’t going home,” Janey said. “It ain’t home. I only been there a few days and I hate it, Lenny. I’ll go and stay at the establishment.”

“Your landlady might evict you for immoral behavior.”

Janey snorted and felt him smile in the darkness.

“You can stay with me,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“Thanks,” Janey muttered. “Wouldn’t be proper, would it?”

He looked at her. “And staying at a brothel is? I thought that was why you moved out?”

“What do I care? Look, I don’t want to set your neighbors’ tongues wagging. You’re settled into a good place there, where they know you work hard and do well.”

“It could be better. If we got married, you wouldn’t need to worry about where to stay on late nights.”

Janey’s heart thumped. And ached. “I ain’t getting married for a roof over me head. I got two of those already. Sort of.”

Lenny halted beneath a streetlamp. By its glow in the gloom, she could see the vital, almost desperate gleam of his eyes. His hand covered hers on his arm.

“Janey. It’s not about roofs. It’s about you and me. You brought me back to life from a very low place and you never gave up, even knowing the worst. I never met anyone like you. I love you.”

“Oh, Lenny.” Her voice broke. “You don’t have to say these things to me. I know what I am—”

“No you don’t,” he said fiercely. “You’re warm and kind and funny and beautiful—”

“I ain’t beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful.” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, and the tenderness brought tears to her eyes. “I ain’t got much, Janey, but my business is growing, and I get the extra work with Silver and Grey. We could manage. We could be happy together, couldn’t we? I’ll do my best to make you so. Please marry me, Janey.”

The dam burst when his mouth touched hers, a flood of tears spilling over her cheeks, his fingers, their lips. He drew back, appalled by what he had done.

With a sob, Janey threw her arms around his neck and dragged him back to her.

This kiss was long and fierce and told her everything she needed to know.

*

The next morning, Constance and Solomon woke early, and pored over the case notes as Constance updated them.

“Penelope was too appalled at shooting you,” Constance said. “I don’t believe she can have killed Percy, even to save her virtue. Apart from anything else, she’s so poor a shot, she’d probably have missed! Unless she shot from point-blank range.”

“And her father?” Solomon said thoughtfully.

“I don’t think we can rule him out. He owns the pistol. He saw Percy try to assault his daughter. And though he claims to have been visiting patients in the poorer part of Channing, no one saw him there. I think we need to get names and addresses from him, then visit the supposed patients.”

Solomon nodded. “Good plan. We need to check Everett’s alibi too. Though perhaps we should speak to Harris first. He and Flynn and Wills might have covered all that between them.”

“Which would leave us where?” Constance asked, frowning.