Page 82 of Corpse in the Canal

Penelope Owens’s hands were still shaking when her father came home. She had to stand in front of her looking glass and deliberately change her expression from wide-eyed and fearful to calm, casual interest. She had to practice holding it for some time. It was difficult when her heart thudded so hard and her legs wobbled, but she persevered, and found the very calmness of her face seemed to settle her heart—and this time, when she walked to the door, her legs carried her much more easily.

She walked downstairs to find that the maid had already served tea. Her father sat at the table, absently drinking from his teacup while he read the newspaper held up in his other hand.

“Good afternoon, Papa,” Penelope said, taking her place behind the teapot and pouring herself a cup. She did it quickly, in the hope of hiding the residual trembling of her hand. “How has your day been? Was it a serious crisis at Dare Hall? Is Mrs. Jenkins well?”

“I wasn’t summoned to Mrs. Jenkins but to Mr. Grey, who had managed to get himself shot!”

“Shot?” Her voice broke on the word, but at least the shock sounded natural. “Please tell me he is not dead…”

“Of course he is not,” Papa said testily.

There was no of course about it, and he obviously recognized that because even as her brain began to repeat, Thank God, thank God, over and over, he cleared his throat in an apologetic sort of a way and rattled his newspaper.

“Could have been much worse,” he said, scowling. “Just a nasty graze that needed a couple of stitches. And a blinding headache for a day or two, I should think, but he’ll be fine.” He patted her hand. “No need to fret. There’s no madman in the neighborhood! I expect it was intended as a warning rather than murder.”

“I wonder if the law makes a distinction,” she said, knocking her cup against her teeth in her rush to hide her face with it.

“To Harvey, the important thing is Percy’s killing. The Greys have merely stirred everyone up with all their ignorant questions, made everything worse. With any luck, they’ll go back to London and leave things alone.”

“Sir Felix was talking about involving the detectives of the Metropolitan Police.”

Papa growled. “More strangers. Just like Percy to cause all this trouble by dying! Still, I suppose it’s the one thing he can’t be blamed for.” He pushed his cup toward Penelope and she refilled it. “Personable woman, Mrs. Grey. What on earth is her husband thinking of, involving her in such sordid matters as murder? Expect she’s a comfort to him. But she needs to take him home.”

“Will Constable Wills not search for whoever shot Mr. Grey?” Penelope asked casually.

“Oh, he’ll have to make some sort of show of it, I suppose. Don’t suppose he’ll find anything, though.”

Oh, I think he will…

*

Her heart in her mouth, Constance tried very hard not to burst into the guest bedroom where Solomon lay. But still she must have entered suddenly, for everyone in the room turned to gaze at her in surprise.

Solomon, propped up on pillows, was drinking tea, the unhealthy pallor of his skin brighter than before. That was welcome, even if the presence of Adelaide at the bedside was not. At least David still sat at his other side.

“A cup of tea, Mrs. Grey?” Adelaide offered politely. “Forgive us holding the tea party in your room, but Solomon claimed he wanted company.”

“I wanted yours, too,” Solomon said, and Constance knew he had guessed where she’d been and was not happy about it.

“Well, here I am,” she said lightly, untying the strings of her hat and laying it on the dressing table. “And yes, please, I would love a cup of tea. Thank you for keeping him company. You look better, Solomon. How is the headache?”

“Not so bad. I expect the laudanum helps.”

David gave her his chair, then fetched the stool from the dressing table to sit beside her.

“Has the rain started?” Adelaide asked.

“It has, but it’s not heavy.” Now that she was with Solomon and saw him not only alive but looking better for his nap, her mind seemed to be working again. Adelaide was wearing the same gown she had worn this morning, and it was not the gown that the torn piece of cloth had come from. When had she seen Adelaide wearing that bright, distinctive design? Surely on their first meeting at the inn…

Adelaide brought the tea to Constance herself, though David had risen to help. “I have Clarence to attend to,” she said, “so I’ll leave you for now. Please just ring if you need anything at all, or if I can help in any way.”

“Thank you,” Constance said. “You’ve been so kind already.” And she had. Had this woman really darted outside as soon as they’d gone, followed them secretly through the wood, and taken a shot at Solomon, who now lay in her very comfortable guest bed? It chilled her spine, even to think of it.

David had risen to follow his hostess and give Constance and Solomon some privacy. At the last moment, as Adelaide’s footsteps sounded in the passage, Constance caught her brother-in-law’s arm.

“Don’t leave her alone with him,” she breathed. “Ever.”

David’s eyebrows flew up. He opened his mouth to speak, and his eyes were not friendly. In the end, he simply turned and walked out of the door.