Page 58 of Corpse in the Canal

“Just walking,” the laborer said vaguely. “Same as me.”

Solomon’s heart had begun to beat faster. “Did she speak to you?”

“Don’t think she noticed me. Thinking her own thoughts, she were.”

“Did she seem…upset?”

“Can’t say she did.”

“Was she carrying anything?” Solomon asked.

“Oh, no. Well, not apart from the basket. Thought she were collecting blackberries before they’re finished.”

“There were blackberries in her basket?”

“Might have been,” the man said. “It had one of them covers over it that keeps the flies off.”

“Which direction did she come from?” Solomon asked, his heart sinking even as his brain raced through possibilities and implications.

“From the bridge, I guess. Walked on toward Channing.”

“By herself?”

“Oh yes.”

Solomon thanked the laborer, who grinned and ambled off toward the bridge, whistling for his dog. Solomon returned to his task, a nasty, almost unthinkable suspicion in his mind. Constance was right. Even before the body of her son had been found, Mrs. Harvey had been terribly overwrought.

*

It was not really surprising to come across David sketching on the other side of the canal. Constance found it more interesting that he wasn’t wearing his coat. Instead, it was spread out beside him, with ruffled indents where two people had clearly sat, one of them rather smaller than the other.

He didn’t seem to see her approach, so hard was he concentrating on the page before him. His hand flew across the paper and he barely looked up. Either he had already memorized the view, or he was drawing something else entirely. At last, he looked up, his eyes widening in surprise to see her. Then he waved and stood up.

“Where’s Solomon?” he called.

Constance indicated the thinning line of trees farther back.

“Are you going back to town?” he asked.

“Yes, are you?”

He shivered, as if he had only just noticed the cold, and bent to pick up his coat. “In a few minutes, when I’m finished. See you at the Duke’s Arms, if you like.”

“Good plan!”

In truth, she was looking forward to something to eat and a rest. It had been a frustrating couple of hours, with no definite clues to be found. People and horses had clearly walked here, but no one had dropped anything. If anyone had bled, the rain had long since washed it away. There were no obvious signs of scuffles, no weapons hidden in the longer grass. Judging by the silence from Solomon, he had found nothing of note either. Even the barge dredging the canal had passed the lock now, and she doubted they had discovered what they all sought.

She only passed one cottage between her and Solomon, quite close to the town. An elderly woman with a bent back was hoeing the weeds from her front garden.

“Good afternoon,” Constance said politely over the fence.

The old woman raised unexpectedly bright eyes from her work to Constance’s face. “My. Ain’t you a beauty.” She straightened up painfully and leaned on her hoe. “Where’d you come from then?”

“From London,” Constance said. “My husband and I are staying with Mr. and Mrs. Harvey at Channing House.”

“That must be very nice.” The woman’s old eyes positively sparkled with curiosity.

“Not particularly, at this time,” Constance confided. “I expect you’ve heard of their tragedy.”