Page 27 of Corpse in the Canal

“We will,” Solomon assured him.

Harvey pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll go and have a word with Davis.”

With relief, Constance realized her stomach now felt much as it should. She turned her full attention to Solomon. “We’d better give him a few moments before we start questioning the staff. And then we’d better call on Mrs. Jenkins or he’ll drag us there under armed guard, if necessary. I’m almost sure he has entirely the wrong idea about her.”

“We’ll see,” Solomon said, refusing to commit. “I’ll speak to the outside servants, if you like, and leave you the indoor staff.”

“I think formal interviews might be counterproductive at this stage,” Constance said. “I’d really just like to know more general things—what they thought of him, how he behaved, where he went…”

Solomon nodded. “It might not even be relevant. It’s perfectly possible he was followed from London by one of those people we failed to follow up, and his murder has nothing to do with Channing at all.”

“That was my thinking,” Constance admitted. “Shall we fetch our outdoor things? And I’ll try to catch a few servants in passing.”

Oddly enough, the first person they encountered was not a servant, but Mrs. Harvey, floating about the landing like an indecisive ghost. She didn’t know what to do with herself either.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey! Mr. Grey. Have you breakfasted? I’m so sorry not to be down in time…”

“Yes, we had an excellent breakfast, thank you,” Constance said quickly. “And there is no need to apologize. We are about to go out to make some inquiries.”

She had the feeling that if it were physically possible, Mrs. Harvey would have turned even whiter. As it was, she groped for the wall, as if seeking support. A maid hurried along the passage toward her.

“One question, if you don’t mind,” Constance said. “I know your husband disliked your son’s association with Mrs. Jenkins. Did you feel the same?”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“Why was that?” Constance asked, wondering if it was the woman herself they disliked, or the type of association she and Percy had enjoyed.

Mrs. Harvey blinked several times, as though surprised. “She is not one of us.”

*

David rode into Channing on his hired horse before eleven that morning, having started out before dawn. Since he had no idea where Mr. Harvey lived—or even if Solomon and Constance would be staying with him—his aim was to inquire at the inn.

He found the Duke’s Arms on the corner of the town’s market square. Dismounting in the road outside the courtyard entrance, he became aware of a vehicle stopped right beside him—a small gig pulled by one horse and occupied by a well-dressed lady and her little boy. The lady held the reins and clearly wished to drive into the square but was held up behind an empty cart whose driver had stopped to talk to a couple of pedestrians.

The couple in the gig caught David’s attention, for their beauty was striking. And since the lady was so close, David took advantage.

Touching his hat brim, he said, “Pardon me, ma’am. Would you happen to know where I might find Mr. Richard Harvey’s house?”

The lady turned her head in a distracted sort of way, and her full, shapely lips parted in clear shock. Her eyes, deep and dark, stared into his. David was about to say something witty—he was sure—when her shock vanished into a dazzling smile of delight that whipped away his breath.

“Solomon,” she said.

It felt like a slap, and for an instant he didn’t understand why. As boys, he and Sol had relished confusing people with their similarities. More recently, they had even used their similarity as adults to hide David from the police. He liked looking like his brother. But for no reason, he didn’t like that this strange and lovely woman was so pleased to see him.

What a bizarre jealousy.

“Sadly not,” he said, removing his hat and bowing. “David Grey, at your service. I believe you must be acquainted with my brother.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if, for a moment, she didn’t believe him. Then a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “I beg your pardon. Mr. Harvey resides at Channing House. If you take this road out of town, and over the bridge, the fork on your right will lead there.”

“Thank you. Is Solomon staying with them?”

“I-I have no idea.”

Then she had not met Solomon here. He was in her past. “How do you know my brother?”

The question seemed to throw her. Her fingers tightened on the reins and the horse pulled its head, shifting restlessly.