Page 80 of Corpse in the Canal

“Shall we return to the sick room?” she asked.

“We shall.” And somehow, with her inexplicable confidence in him, and the memory of Solomon’s hand reaching for his, he believed in his own strength.

Chapter Seventeen

By the time Dr. Owens bustled into the room, Constance had herself back under control. She carefully unwrapped the bandage around Solomon’s head, to show the doctor the wound, but found it hard to move away from him to give the doctor space. It was David who took her arm and gently drew her back.

Dr. Owens cleaned the wound with alcohol, which Constance had already done, and then examined it more closely.

“Is the bullet still in there?” she blurted, terrified of the answer.

Owens poked about, making Solomon’s breath hiss and Constance’s fingers clench. “No, it did not penetrate, merely grazed the surface.”

“But he lost consciousness.”

“I suspect he is concussed. Bullets strike with some force, you know. I’m afraid you will have rather a sore head for the next couple of days. I’ll leave you some laudanum—no more than a couple of drops in eight hours.” He rummaged through the salves on the tray Adelaide’s maid had brought, and clearly rejected them, for he then delved into his own bag and smeared ointment across the wound, before applying a fresh dressing and tying it on with the bandage.

The doctor worked neatly and efficiently, which was some comfort to Constance, although she could have wished for a little more sympathy in his manner.

“Who did this to you?” he asked abruptly.

“I don’t know. There was a gunshot and the next thing I knew, I was here with a head full of hammers.”

“Someone shot him from the woods,” David said.

“The woods at the Larchford boundary,” Constance added.

The doctor fastened his bag and stood up. “If Mrs. Jenkins can put you up until morning, that would be best. Someone should sit with you at all times for the next twenty-four hours. If there is any change, send for me at once. I’ll be back in the morning to change the dressing. In the meantime”—he glared from Solomon to Constance—“if this was not an accident, you have stirred up considerable ill feeling. There is no need to tell Harvey.”

Constance blinked. “He is the magistrate.”

“Don’t you think he has been through enough? Wills was not shot. You were. You are the strangers here.”

“You shoot strangers here?” David said politely.

Owens flushed and eyed David with some dislike. “Of course not. Certain strangers blunder in feet first and cause chaos. I have no doubt that Percy was shot by some London criminal he had annoyed, who followed him here and fled before we even found the body. There is nothing to be gained by poking around Channing. As soon as you are able, you should leave.”

Constance placed her hand protectively on Solomon’s shoulder and held the doctor’s gaze. “Our colleagues are looking into matters in London. As for the rest, my husband is the victim, not the cause, of attempted murder. And it will not be swept under the carpet any more than Percy’s murder will. Thank you for your care of my husband. You may send your bill to us at Channing House.”

“Let me show you out, doctor,” Adelaide said smoothly.

The doctor’s mustache bristled and twitched furiously, but in the end, he simply turned on his heel and followed Adelaide to the door.

Constance sank onto the sofa beside Solomon. Tender amusement lurked in his eyes.

“So fierce,” he murmured, touching her cheek.

“Pompous ass,” Constance said, a catch in her voice.

“What did I say?”

“Not you, idiot.”

David laughed and ruffled the good side of Solomon’s hair. “I believe you will do.”

*

Adelaide insisted that they all stay, and had rooms made up. David supported Solomon upstairs to a comfortable bedchamber with a roaring fire and then left Constance alone with the patient.