Page 62 of Corpse in the Canal

As one, Constance and Solomon hung back, curious to see where she would go, what she would do. She carried no bag, no basket, no umbrella. She slowed. Constance darted a glance to the side, in search of a hiding place. But they didn’t need one.

Mrs. Harvey halted, without turning her head. She appeared to be holding one hand in front of her and adjusting her glove, as though it were uncomfortable.

Solomon caught his breath. Mrs. Harvey marched purposefully on. Solomon walked faster, his gaze fixed.

“What was all that?” Constance demanded.

“She dropped something,” Solomon said. “From her glove. Two things, both tiny.”

“Buttons that fell off her glove?” Constance hazarded.

“I don’t know.”

And Constance felt somewhat reluctant to look among the effluence of the gutters, which looked rather like open sewers. Fortunately, Solomon had kept his stick from their earlier search of the canal bank, so under the curious stares of a dog and a laborer walking home, and an old woman at the dirty window of the overhanging building, he poked the stick into the unspeakable mess. Something bright glinted momentarily and he dragged it free with the stick. He handed Constance his large handkerchief and she bent to pick up the tiny object.

A small key, of the kind used to lock valises and trunks and smaller padlocks. While she folded it into the handkerchief, Solomon moved forward a few paces and began poking with his stick once more. This time it took longer, but he found a farthing as well as another small key.

Leaving the farthing for whoever was brave enough to pick it up, Constance retrieved the second key with the handkerchief. It felt rusty. At least, she hoped it was rust.

“You can keep them,” she said generously, popping the wrapped keys into Solomon’s coat pocket.

“Thank you.”

By this time, Mrs. Harvey was out of sight. The whole act of dropping the keys had been too deliberate. It was surely no accident. But what were they keys to?

*

Before returning to Channing House, they called again at the doctor’s house, and this time were fortunate enough to find him at home. He appeared to be willing, if not eager, to talk to them. He ushered them into what was clearly his consulting room rather than the parlor, though whether for the sake of privacy or a distaste to have them in his home was debatable.

“We have come to you rather than to Mr. Harvey,” Constance began, “because we are actually worried about Mrs. Harvey. It hardly seems kind to worry him further at this stage if we don’t need to. But aside from the state of her nerves—of which you must be aware—we have just seen her walking alone in one of the least salubrious areas of the town.”

Dr. Owens frowned. “Is she still there?”

“We don’t think so. We glimpsed her again walking over the canal bridge, as though she were going home.”

“Then I’m not sure what else we can do, short of alerting Harvey himself. My daughter encountered her earlier this afternoon in the high street, and said she seemed to feel compelled to keep moving. It is the mixture of shock and grief, I fear, and will ease only with time. In the meantime, you might consider removing to the Duke’s Arms until your—er…work is done.”

“Neither of them will hear of it,” Solomon said. “We really just wanted you to be aware of this odd behavior. Was she terribly close to Percy?”

Owens hesitated, perhaps wondering how much he should say, in terms of loyalty or duty. “She doted on him, certainly. They both did. But as to closeness… Percy went his own way.”

“Therein lies our difficulty,” Constance said, leaning forward confidingly. “We know Percy had some serious faults, but we have no idea how apparent these were to his parents. Were they truly ignorant of his gaming and drinking and womanizing?”

Again, Owens hesitated. “Willfully ignorant, perhaps. The signs were there.”

“And yet the only fault they will acknowledge was his partiality for Mrs. Jenkins—which, by all we can discover, was not returned.”

“I think she became something of a scapegoat, so that they didn’t need to look further. For his father, at least.”

Constance sat up. “Then his mother was more aware than his father?”

Owens shifted uncomfortably. “I would say so, though she said nothing to me. But even before he went off to London this last time, I would say she was seriously worried.”

“Do you have any idea what in particular concerned her?” Solomon asked.

Owens gave a helpless shrug. “No. Like everyone else, I just hoped Percy would grow out of it.”

Constance chose her next words with care. “Is Mrs. Harvey a devout person? Very moral in her outlook?”