Page 29 of Corpse in the Canal

“Of course.”

They retraced their steps until the gravel path parted, with one branch leading around the side of the house and up a slight incline to an old stone stable building. A groom was brushing down a fine-looking mare, while a pony watched from the nearby grass. A couple of carriage horses were happily munching grass on the other side of a fence.

The groom paused in his work and touched his cap to Constance and Solomon. “Morning, sir, madam. Can I help you?”

“Possibly,” Solomon said. “We are staying with Mr. Harvey at Channing House, helping him make sense of his son’s murder.”

The groom, a youngish man with rippling muscles visible beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves, scowled. “Ain’t no sense in something like that, sir.”

“I see what you mean. But the law needs to take its course, and Mr. and Mrs. Harvey need to know what happened to their son.”

“Suppose they do,” the groom allowed.

“Did you happen to see Mr. Percival Harvey on Thursday?”

“No, sir.”

“Then he did not leave a horse here?”

“What would he do that for?” the groom demanded, but for the first time, his eyes dropped.

As though she didn’t notice, Constance said brightly, “The mare is a beautiful animal. Is she Mrs. Jenkins’s riding horse?”

“That she is. Sweet-natured beast, and fast, too.” He indicated the pony. “And this little monster is Mr. Clarence’s. I’m teaching the lad to ride.”

Constance smiled at the pride in his voice, which was at least natural. “And these will be carriage horses in the paddock, there? Are these all the horses you have here?”

The groom grunted, his eyes sliding away from hers to Solomon, who was strolling up to the stable door. The groom grabbed the mare’s halter and began leading her in the same direction. Constance walked beside him, which made him pause, just as an equine snort came from the stable.

“What horse is that, then?” Constance asked amiably.

“No idea,” said the groom.

Solomon ambled inside. The groom did not. He waited, holding on the mare and chewing his lip.

“I don’t know where he come from,” he said in a rush to Constance. “He just appeared, and he were hungry and needed a bit of care. So I give him it.”

Solomon emerged from the stable. “Not a thoroughbred by any means. He looks a bit old and overworked to me. As if he’s used on staging routes.”

The groom nodded. “Possible. I’ll ask at the Duke’s Arms.”

“When did you find him?” Constance asked.

“Friday morning, he was in the paddock.”

So it could have been Percy’s horse, acquired on the journey from London, and let loose before—or after?—Percy was shot. “With his saddle and bridle?”

The groom nodded with more reluctance. “I’ve got them too, all cleaned and polished. I thought someone would turn up looking for him, but no one ever did.”

“Did you ask Mrs. Jenkins about him?” Solomon asked.

Again, the groom looked away. “Not yet.”

Why not? Because Mrs. Jenkins already knew Percy was here?

“Did Mrs. Jenkins walk to church this morning?” Constance asked.

“No, she took the gig and old Fergus. He likes the outings, and it’s about all he’s up to nowadays.”