Page 43 of Corpse in the Canal

Harvey drank his first glass in two swallows and reached again for the decanter. He pushed it absently toward Thomas, who, with a full glass still at his elbow, passed it on to Owens. The doctor topped up his glass and stood to push the decanter across the table to Solomon, who merely passed it on to Everett.

Sir Felix, frowning, topped up his own glass, though there was only a sip out of it. Solomon had the feeling it was done more out of companionship with his host.

“It’s a bad business, Harvey,” Everett said abruptly, leaving the decanter at his host’s elbow. “We all feel for you.”

Harvey nodded absently. “I know you do. It’s why I’m so grateful for your presence. My wife, too… Owens, can you not give her something for her nerves? I can’t imagine she’ll ever sleep. She certainly didn’t last night.”

“I left her some drops yesterday,” Owens said. “But I suspect she did not take them. I’ll try to see that she does before I leave, and then you should make sure she goes to bed.”

Harvey nodded.

“What about you?” Owens asked, a little more roughly.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Harvey said. “I wish to keep a clear head, to absorb whatever Grey here finds out about Percy’s killer.”

The vicar shuddered at the ugly word. Everett frowned.

Seeing it, Harvey added, “Wills has no experience with anything so serious. I need help, and Grey’s reputation is excellent.”

Everett inclined his head, though whether to Harvey or Solomon was not clear. “But unofficial. Have you thought of requesting the help of the Metropolitan Police? They have experienced detectives who investigate serious crimes, and who are both able and willing to take on provincial cases.”

Everyone looked at Solomon, as though expecting him to be offended or outraged. Or both.

“It is an idea worth considering,” he said. “We have worked before with some fine detectives based at Scotland Yard.”

“Would you stay on the case if I did?” Harvey asked.

“If you wish us to, of course.”

Harvey nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll think about it. No stone should be left unturned, after all. And I have to think of more than my own grief. There is a murderer somewhere in the environs of Channing, and it is my duty to find him before he strikes again. He could be an escaped prisoner, a madman… That is the sort of thing the police would know, I suppose, only…”

“Only what?” Everett asked.

“Strangers,” Harvey said succinctly.

Everett did not ask how long Harvey had been acquainted with Solomon, another stranger to the area, but his thoughts were clear enough in his face. Harvey poured himself another glass of port. So did Dr. Owens.

Silence filled the room, which Harvey did not seem to notice for several moments. Then he lifted his glass and finished his port before standing up. “Shall we rejoin the ladies? Etta will have tea ready for us. And there’s brandy in the drawing room should we require it.”

Rather to Solomon’s surprise, Everett walked beside him toward the door, where he hung back for a moment, letting the others get ahead.

“Would you mind calling on me privately tomorrow morning?” the squire asked.

“Of course,” Solomon murmured.

Everett nodded curtly and sped up.

In the drawing room, Constance met Solomon’s gaze, but she was too experienced with social situations for her expression to give anything away.

Her questions about Adelaide had taken him by surprise—stupidly, perhaps. It had taken him some time to realize that she felt threatened by his past with another woman. Which still stunned him, for since their first meeting, Constance had filled him. There could only ever be her. And yet her secret vulnerability was one of the things he loved most about her, and he should have considered that. Adelaide was more than a suspect to her.

And to him, though not in the manner Constance clearly feared.

He sat in the only chair left in the group by the fireside, which was not close to her. But even from the corner of his eye, he could tell she was tired. Something about her posture told him it was an effort to maintain. He hoped this mourning dinner party would soon be over.

The tea trolley arrived promptly. Mrs. Harvey’s hand shook slightly as she poured. Miss Owens was quick to ferry cups and saucers to everyone. Harvey kept a glass of brandy in his hand while his tea sat at his elbow, ignored. Everett, who again seemed to have accepted the brandy in support of his host, ignored his glass and drank his tea.

It all felt awkward, with too many silences. Constance made a few bland conversational gambits about the season and the local scenery, all of which Mrs. Harvey seized upon eagerly.