Page 42 of Corpse in the Canal

Constance did not expect to enjoy dinner with the bereaved family. But she did look forward to learning what she could of Percy’s relationships with his neighbors, to observing what they said about him and what they didn’t. Questioning them over dinner in the hearing of both Percy’s parents was neither feasible nor kind, so she mainly listened.

It was an informal gathering, since the gentlemen were not in evening dress and outnumbered the women. Constance found herself beside the vicar. Mr. Ellis Thomas was a scholarly man in spectacles with receding hair at his temples. He was younger than she had supposed at the inquest, perhaps still in his thirties, with a pleasant, self-deprecating smile, which she was happy to return. Vicars tended to know everyone in their parish and could be very useful sources of information.

“And so your husband is helping Mr. Harvey discover what happened to poor Percy?” he murmured while conversation hummed around the table.

“Indeed,” Constance said. She was used to people discounting her role in investigations and thought it might well stand in her favor here. “It must be a huge shock to everyone in Channing. Did you know him well?”

“He was not a frequent attendee of church,” Thomas said carefully.

“Have you been in this post for long, Mr. Thomas?”

“Some six years now.”

“Then you did not grow up in Channing?”

“No. My family is in Devon. But this a large parish, where I hope I do some good.”

“Of course,” Constance said. The doctor’s daughter, Miss Penelope Owens, distracted her attention, because the young lady’s entire focus was on Sir Felix Everett. The squire sat beside her, his head inclined toward Mrs. Harvey, who was talking rapidly in that desperately overbright way that filled Constance with both pity and anxiety. As if suddenly aware that she was staring, Penelope dropped her gaze abruptly and turned to her father.

Interesting. Penelope might have been twenty years old, surely no older, and Everett was about two decades her senior. But he was a distinguished man in appearance, the perfect gentleman in manners, at least. Penelope did not dazzle. She was a little dumpy and her face was pleasing rather than beautiful, her hair an undistinguished shade of brown. Her preferred choice could not have been more clear to Constance.

She glanced back to Mr. Thomas. “As vicar, your insights would be invaluable to—er…my husband and me. Might we call upon you tomorrow? What time would be best for you?”

Thomas flushed, managing to look both pleased and flustered. “Perhaps the morning?” he suggested. “Any time between ten and midday would be best.”

“Thank you,” Constance said.

The uncomfortable meal went on until, finally, Mrs. Harvey led the ladies to the drawing room. Leaving Constance and Penelope seated comfortably by the fireside, she excused herself and bustled off again.

“Is she always like this?” Constance asked.

“Like what?” Penelope said suspiciously.

“Then she is always so unsettled?”

“Her son has just died in the most shocking of circumstances. What more do you expect of her?”

Constance held Penelope’s gaze. “You mistake my concern for criticism,” she said mildly. “In short, I am worried about her, while you, who must know her so much better than I, might have some insight that I lack.”

The girl colored a little, but merely inclined her head, as though acknowledging an apology.

Constance tried again. “Did you know Percy well?”

“No,” Penelope said, without obvious interest. “We had little cause to meet.”

Then she was one of the few women Percy had not pursued? “I understand he was not always…respectful to ladies.”

A definite hostility entered Penelope’s gaze. “The man has just died, Mrs. Grey. This is a house of mourning.”

Constance sat back. “It is. And the chief mourners desire to know the truth of their son’s tragic demise. Where does truth lie in your priorities, Miss Owens?”

Deeper color flooded into Penelope’s face and neck. Her eyes positively spat, although what she might have said remained a mystery for Mrs. Harvey drifted back into the room.

“I think it will rain tomorrow,” she remarked.

*

Solomon did not expect to learn much from the men left to their port in the dining room, so he sat back and observed.