Page 19 of Corpse in the Canal

“Very well,” Harvey snapped, already halfway to the door. “It’s not a long journey. We will be there in time for tea.”

*

It necessitated something of a rush, of course. Clothing and toiletries for an indefinite stay had to be collected, and various notes sent, including to the establishment, where Constance would no longer be available to find out what Tulip could learn about Percy’s ungentlemanly companion. Janey and Hat had to be instructed accordingly.

There was little time to think of anything but being properly prepared to leave London on time. Only as the carriage began to bowl along faster, leaving the close-built grime of London behind for the pleasant country beyond, did Constance fully realize the discomfort that was ahead of her.

Time alone with Solomon was precious, of course. And his traveling coach was excellently sprung and luxuriously kitted out, but even so, the constant movement made her feel terribly nauseated. Her stomach might have been made of delicate glass.

“Are you quite well, Constance?” Solomon asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said quickly, summoning a smile. “I must have eaten breakfast too fast.”

It helped to concentrate on Solomon, to hold his hand and discuss Richard Harvey’s precipitous decision to leave the London search before it was anything like complete, to tell him about Tulip and her difficulties in adjusting to the establishment, and to discuss David’s paintings, and the art dealer Solomon knew, to whom he had found the time to write before they left.

When they stopped to change horses, it was a relief just to be still. Solomon went off alone to make inquiries and exchange a few words with Harvey. Constance watched them from the window, feeling utterly exhausted.

Solomon returned wearing a puzzled expression.

“Harvey was right,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Percy stopped here on Thursday morning. He and his father could have passed each other on the road.”

“Then Percy’s at home in Channing? What are we even doing here?”

“I wish I knew,” Solomon said with a hint of grimness. “Something is wrong, Constance. I feel it in my bones.”

*

Solomon’s feeling only grew with the journey, especially as at the second stop, no one had any recollection of seeing Percy on Thursday or since. But Harvey refused to stop or retrace steps to make further inquiries.

On top of which, Solomon was worried for Constance. Her face was unnaturally white and he had never seen her look so unwell, even when she was injured. Their work frequently took her into areas of the city where disease was rife and contagious. But at least she showed no signs of fever, and her brain was clearly still active.

“He knows more than he has told us,” she said after the second stop. “And yet he seems blind to other aspects of his son’s life. The women, the gambling and low company…”

“The lack of any engagement to Lady Phoebe,” Solomon added. “Or, so far as we can gather, involvement in charity. Harvey’s mind is fixed on this Jenkins woman. Why?”

“Perhaps she too is more than she seems. She may be leading him into nefarious exploits that have little to do with love or even lust. Although there is the child.”

“We both know children can be useful, even necessary, in certain crimes.”

Constance scowled, her eyes suddenly bleak in her white face. “At the moment, I can’t begin to imagine what they are. Harvey spent no time with Mrs. Jenkins in London, as far as we were able to gather, and yet almost as soon as she left, so did he. If they are allies, in what possible cause?”

The countryside flew past them, mostly flat and picturesque, with gentle inclines and water glinting among the fields and scattered villages with half-timbered houses and thatched rooves.

They knew they were passing the town of Channing because a sign at the side of the road told them so. The canal ran parallel with the road along this stretch, and a stone bridge over the water seemed to be the way into town. Harvey did not pause, but drove straight past the bridge, before taking a right-hand fork onto a narrower lane that led gently uphill. From there, they could see a large house, and others scattered among fields and woods.

As they drew closer, Solomon saw that Channing House was not an old building, but solid and pretty in its own fanciful way, with elegant scrolls carved into the stone. Close behind Harvey’s carriage as it swept up the drive, Solomon’s halted in front of the house. He opened the door at once, in time to hear Harvey call to the servant on the front steps.

“Where is Mr. Percival? When did he come home?”

The footman’s reply came with ominous clarity. “Mr. Percival isn’t here, sir. We haven’t seen him since last Sunday.”

*

Mrs. Harvey was a tiny, worried woman, as thin as her husband was stout. Fortunately, she accepted the presence of Constance and Solomon without fuss—or indeed much interest, since her entire focus seemed to be on her son.

“If he left on Thursday, he should be home,” she kept saying, while they all drank tea in the drawing room.

“I expect he took a detour to visit friends,” Constance said. She was looking better, with a little color in her cheeks and more brightness around her eyes.