Page 48 of Corpse in the Canal

Daphne looked at her with a certain amount of curiosity. “You’re an odd duck for a lady. People make mistakes, don’t they? But hitting me once don’t make him a killer. Nor a wife beater. What I did with Percy don’t make me a slut.”

“Why did you risk your marriage for Percy? Did you love him?”

Daphne laughed. It wasn’t bitter, though Constance couldn’t quite work out exactly what it signified. “A bit, maybe. If you want the truth, it didn’t feel like adultery, more like…old times. Percy was my first, before I even considered George, so I was never unfaithful—in my mind.” Her lips twisted into a rueful smile. “George didn’t see it that way. So I ended it.”

“How did Percy take that?”

“Like the man he was—sulked, until the next petticoat caught his eye.”

“Who was the next petticoat?” Constance asked.

“Not sure it mattered to him, to be honest.”

Daphne’s honesty was oddly devastating. She appeared to harbor few illusions and yet regretted nothing. Or, at least, that was what she wanted Constance to believe.

Solomon was striding ahead of them, deliberately giving them time to speak woman to woman.

Constance said, “Rumor has it that he was pursuing Mrs. Jenkins at Dare Hall.”

“She’s pretty enough,” Daphne said indifferently.

“Do you think she succumbed?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so. She ain’t the type.” She stopped dead in the path, staring at Constance. “Are you saying she shot him to protect her virtue?”

“Is that possible, do you think?”

Daphne swore under her breath before setting off again at a much faster pace. “God knows,” she muttered.

“Did you ever see Percy with her?” Constance asked, catching up.

Daphne shook her head impatiently. It seemed the confidences, if that was what they’d been, were over.

Outside Daphne’s cottage, the boat they’d seen earlier was now in the rapidly filling lock chamber. The boatman sat on a stool by the gears, clearly enjoying a laugh and a mug of ale with the lockkeeper.

West raised a hand by way of acknowledgment when his wife called a greeting, but he didn’t get up, let alone help with the shopping, which he was apparently quite happy to let Solomon carry through the cottage to the kitchen.

Daphne glanced over her shoulder at Constance. “Come in for a minute. I’ve got some apple juice I pressed yesterday.”

Surprised, Constance followed her inside, down a short hall, and into a very clean and comfortable kitchen. While Solomon set the baskets down at one end of the table, Daphne pulled out a chair quite casually before she joined Solomon and set about putting away her purchases.

“What will you have?” she asked him. “Ale or apple juice? Sit down.”

Solomon sat obediently beside Constance, who found she was quite glad of the rest. Daphne set about fetching glasses down from the cupboard and poured out two of apple juice and one ale.

“I brew my own,” she told Solomon, setting the glass in front of him and taking the seat opposite.

“It’s very good,” Solomon said after raising his glass to her and sipping.

“So is the apple juice,” Constance added.

Solomon stood up again. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take mine outside and watch the lock at work.”

And use the opportunity to question West, no doubt. She became aware of Daphne watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Daphne sipped her juice, then rose again to put away the rest of her shopping. As she stretched up to a high shelf above her head, the fabric of her gown clung to the shape of her waist and rounded belly. She was a curvy woman, but Constance knew enough to recognize the shape.

“You are with child,” she blurted. Well, that made a difference. If the child was Percy’s…