Page 44 of Corpse in the Canal

Eventually, Dr. Owens rose and asked to consult with Mrs. Harvey. At the door he nodded to his daughter, though it was with odd reluctance that, after the door was closed, Penelope asked her host if she might send for their carriage. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t want the evening to end.

“She has set her cap at Sir Felix,” Constance murmured to Solomon, when they were alone, Harvey having gone to see off his guests.

“Really?” Her observation of such things was certainly sharper than his. “He does not appear to notice.”

“I don’t think he does. But she is quite protective of the Harveys, too.”

“Did Percy behave inappropriately with her?”

“Not that she has confided. But then, she doesn’t like me. Do you think we can go to bed soon?”

“Definitely,” Solomon said fervently.

In the end, because Harvey asked it of him, he felt obliged to take a glass of brandy with his host before following her upstairs.

She was already asleep by the pale glow of the lamp she had left burning low. She was beautiful in sleep, her features composed and calm, her delectable, long lips, with their extra upward curve, slightly parted and oh so tempting.

She would wake to his kiss. Her sleepy passion would ignite in response to his, and God knew he needed her, like an affirmation of life in this house haunted by the dead. But tenderness swamped his desire. She was exhausted, and she had not been particularly well the last couple of days.

He left her for the dressing room, where he undressed and washed as quietly as he could before easing into the bed beside her and turning off the lamp.

She moved in her sleep, curling into him as he lay down on his back, her head against his shoulder. It felt peaceful, familiar, and achingly lovely. He let himself breathe in time with her, basking in the feeling, in her.

“Solomon?” she said quietly.

“Yes?”

Her lips parted again, fluttering against his skin. She breathed out and in again. “Nothing,” she said, and he smiled, listening to her drift back off to sleep.

All the same, it struck him that she had had something to say, whether she had been too tired to articulate it, or had simply changed her mind.

Chapter Ten

Constance and Solomon called at the vicarage at precisely ten o’clock the following morning. The housekeeper, who had clearly been warned to expect them, showed them into the study, where the vicar sat at a cluttered desk, busily writing.

It was a surprisingly chaotic room for a man Constance had already designated fussy in her mind. The walls were lined with books, some of which lay flat on top of others. More books were scattered across the sofa, some open. A pair of spectacles lay on the page of one.

Mr. Thomas rose from his desk, looking slightly flustered and blinking at them somewhat owlishly. “Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey. Good morning…” He felt among his papers, as though looking for something he had buried by accident. “Won’t you sit down?” He indicated the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk.

“Thank you,” Solomon said.

As she passed, Constance picked the spectacles off the book on the sofa and presented them to the vicar. “Are these what you’re looking for, sir?”

He looked endearingly sheepish. “Thank you. I’m terribly shortsighted, but I can read so much better with them off, so I keep losing them…” He shoved the glasses on to his nose and waited until his guests sat down before he resumed his seat.

He did not offer them refreshment, though. Clearly they would not be encouraged to linger. “What is it you think I can help you with?”

He looked at Solomon as he spoke, perhaps wishing the support of the rational male against the female with the bizarre ideas.

Solomon said seriously, “There is a strong possibility that Percy Harvey was murdered by someone he knew. Sadly, it is so with most killings. Obviously, we are strangers here, while you, as vicar of the parish, must be familiar with most of the population.”

“I am not familiar with any murderers,” Thomas said, amiably enough.

“To your knowledge. We have already identified several people whom Percy managed to annoy one way or another.”

“One does not take a life over a mere annoyance!”

“You or I would not,” Solomon said, “but there are obviously degrees of annoyance, and of reactions to that annoyance. Some people lash out in temper. Others bear grudges that can fester and grow out of all proportion. Can we at least agree amongst ourselves that Percy was not universally beloved? Your answer is no betrayal of Mr. and Mrs. Harvey. We will obviously shield them as much as possible from any more…unpleasantness.”