Page 70 of Corpse in the Canal

He said hoarsely, “Are you saying…?”

“That we are expecting a baby. Yes.” At least that came out clearly and simply.

He hauled her against him, swaying, his cheek pressed to hers, and she thought she would cry, even through the happiness that built and built. He seemed unable to speak, but his hold told her everything—joy and tenderness and wonder. And not a little relief.

“And you were afraid to tell me?”

“I was afraid of my own fearful thoughts. I still don’t understand where they came from, when I want our child so much…”

“I think we all have fearful thoughts sometimes. Most of us never act on them.”

Solomon had not, in his youth. Even Etta Harvey, in considerably more danger of it, hadn’t, and Constance knew suddenly that even at her most confused she would never have acted on her own black thoughts either.

“Some women are troubled during pregnancy,” she murmured. “And after birth.”

“I will watch over you,” Solomon said unsteadily. “And you will talk to me.”

It was not a request, but she had no hesitation in answering. “I will. Oh, Solomon, I will.” She reached for his mouth because words were no longer enough. Emotion spilled through her lips, and his, intensifying and taking its inevitable course of passion and sweetness and joy.

Chapter Fifteen

Solomon had never before known the kind of tenderness with which he made love to his wife that night. It remained with him in the morning, when he held her cradled in his arms—his lover, his precious wife, and mother of his child growing within her.

He lay still for a little, letting the wonder of it all flow through him. Amongst it all, he recognized relief, because he had feared she was ill, and taken together with the suspicion that she was keeping something from him, he had been very afraid.

So had she. But she had found her way through with the courage that was the foundation of her character. He knew only too well how difficult it was for those used to deciding and fighting alone to adjust to sharing. In the early days of their partnership, she had had to remind him of it more than once. But she was no more infallible than she was invulnerable. It only deepened his love for her. And for his child. Their child.

An inevitable wave of fear washed over him. Childbirth was a dangerous time for mother and baby. But they would share that fear too, and make sure it never triumphed over care and happiness.

He brushed his lips across her temple, and she stirred, winding her arms more closely around him with a sigh of contentment. He waited until her breathing evened out again, then slipped from her hold and the bed and threw on his shirt and trousers. He could hear the faint sounds of movement, as the maids set about bringing tea and lighting fires.

He opened the bedroom door and found the maid walking along the corridor toward him.

“Will you bring a slice of toast with the tea?” he asked her.

She curtsied immediately. “Right away, sir.”

That done, he returned to the room to wash and dress with more care. By the time tea arrived, he had lit their own fire and was at the desk, poring over Constance’s notes on the case and adding a few comments of his own.

Constance stirred as Solomon took the tray from the maid with a murmur of thanks. But when he set it down and turned to her, her eyes were squeezed shut and he knew she felt nauseated.

“Do you want to sleep more?” he asked gently.

“No. We have letters to post, and more people to speak to.” Very gently, allowing Solomon to grasp her arm at the elbow, she eased herself into a sitting position. Solomon put a cup of tea on the bedside table and a quarter slice of toast into her hand.

“Whom do you want to speak to first?”

“Adelaide. Adeliade’s servants. The stray horse in her stables was Percy’s mount. And witnesses saw both Mrs. Harvey and an unknown gentleman who may or may not have been Percy close to the environs of Dare Hall. Someone must have seen something.” She began nibbling distractedly on the piece of toast.

Solomon nodded, perching on the end of the bed with his cup. “I think we need to speak to Everett’s people too. We know he was out and about on his estate, but he could have been anywhere.”

“But does he have a motive?” Constance asked before taking a proper bite of the toast that left her holding little more than a crust. She was frowning, deep in thought.

Solomon sipped his tea. “And then there is the good doctor, the father of a daughter, who is so reluctant to speak to us. He claims to have been visiting the sick in the poor area of Channing, but we didn’t find anyone who saw him there.”

“Perhaps the vicar did,” Constance said brightly. “For he was there too, wasn’t he?” The crust vanished into her mouth too, and she reached for her teacup.

“And we could try asking more about strangers in town that Thursday. The innkeeper claimed to have no strangers that day, but there are other alehouses. And the market vendors.”