Page 33 of Corpse in the Canal

Unease pierced him. If Adelaide had killed Percy… A whole new world of trouble opened out before him. But that was imagination. During tea this afternoon, a few truths could no doubt be established. For now, he was leaving Constance to carry the conversation alone, for David was little help.

He exerted himself to join in, while mother and son drank their tea, and the boy withdrew his hand from the third cake he was going after. His mischievous smile was disarming.

As Adelaide looked around to summon the maid, Solomon said, “You are our guests. Allow me.”

“You are kind, but no,” Adelaide said firmly, already rising from the chair. “Thank you. Come along, Clarence.”

She caught the waitress, paid her bill, and curtseyed to the table before she departed. Clarence was still chattering beside her, and her musical laughter drifted back to them.

“Well,” Constance said, “I look forward to tea. David, are you returning to London this afternoon?”

“No, I thought I would stay here for a night or two. There are pictures to paint in the neighborhood. Or at least draw.”

Pictures of Adelaide? Solomon thrust that aside and instead summoned the maid and paid with a generous gratuity. “My wife and I are guests at Channing House,” he said, glancing about him for any eavesdroppers. Only a couple of tables at the far side of the room were still occupied.

“Poor souls,” said the girl. “Be sure to pass on all our condolences to Mr. and Mrs. Harvey.”

“Of course,” Solomon replied. “Tell me, did you see young Mr. Harvey on Thursday? Did he come to the inn?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I never saw him. I can ask Jake in the taproom, if you like?”

“That’s all right,” Solomon said, “I’ll step in and ask him myself.”

“As you like, sir. Call again, won’t you?” She was about to turn away when Constance caught her attention with one of her most winning, confidential smiles.

“One more thing… What did you think of Mr. Percy? Was he a well-behaved young man?”

“Oh yes, sir,” the maid said with obvious piety. “Poor young gentleman.”

“Of course, one does not wish to speak ill of the dead,” Constance agreed, “but in this case, it would be in confidence. We heard he was a little…unruly. Drinking, gambling, perhaps too little respect for where he put his hands?”

The maid flushed. “Boys will be boys,” she said stiffly.

“He wasn’t a boy. He was twenty-five years old. Whom did he pursue?”

The girl glanced over her shoulder. “He weren’t fussy. Not when he were three sheets to the wind.”

“Did anyone…oblige him?”

“Not from this house. The mistress’d kick you out without a character. And quite right, too,” she added virtuously. She sniffed. “Word is, he liked more refinement in his females.”

“Like…?” Constance prompted her.

“Well, like your friend, Mrs. Jenkins. People can be unkind, but I always found her very pleasant. And her little lad is cute as they come. Excuse me.” She dashed off in answer to someone else’s summons.

Solomon met Constance’s gaze. The rumors about Percy and Adeliade were clearly not confined to the Harveys, although that didn’t make them any less true. Solomon’s stomach twisted in a tangle of distaste and anger that shocked him.

Leaving David to escort Constance out, he wandered into the taproom to have a word with Jake.

It didn’t take long.

“He hasn’t seen Percy since last Saturday night,” he told the others when he emerged into the courtyard to join them. “The day before he left for London. Percy drank too much, played cards, and whenever he was in the house, the innkeeper kept the younger maids behind the scenes.”

“Nothing new, then,” Constance said cynically.

“A couple of things. He lost money to the squire—Sir Felix Everett—whom he accused of cheating. And won money from George West the lockkeeper, who was apparently quite disgruntled.”

Constance’s eyes gleamed, as he’d known they would. “Was he indeed? What do we know of West?”