Page 69 of Corpse in the Canal

Etta cast her a suspicious glance, though Constance was motivated only by her knowledge of the comfort women could be to each other, whether rough and ready or gentle, or just listening. After the first stiff words, torrents of them broke from Etta’s lips, and Constance sat beside her and listened, as she always had in the past, not as an investigator but as a friend.

Etta stopped for only a moment when Solomon entered the room. Being both sensitive and tactful, he wandered to the far side and read the newspaper, while Etta lowered her voice and kept talking.

She only stopped when Harvey entered and gave two sealed letters to Solomon. An expression of guilt had entered her face, a worry that her chatter about their dead son might upset him. Constance ached for that, for she sensed they both needed to talk and grieve together.

They had a quick cup of tea and then Solomon and Constance excused themselves. Before she rose, Constance took Etta’s hand and gently squeezed it.

“Thank you,” Etta whispered. “I didn’t expect you to be so kind.”

Constance could only smile, though the truth was, Etta had helped her too.

“I don’t think she did it,” she told Solomon as soon as they were alone. “She already suspected what Percy was, and at least some of how he behaved. Her real worry about Adelaide was that she would somehow take advantage of his worse nature. But she knew it existed, and she feels all the guilt for that. It hasn’t helped her self-worth or her melancholia, which Percy seems to have made worse by his alternate neglect and sneering. She and Harvey weren’t born to the gentry and were desperate for Percy to be a real gentleman.”

“And so brought him up to be an entitled, selfish pr—man.”

“They indulged him too far for too long. His mother thinks the love of a good woman, like Lady Phoebe, would have saved him. She might’ve been right.”

“We’ll never know. Do you want to write to Janey, or shall I?”

“I’ll do it,” Constance said, going to the desk. “So we want her and Lenny to search Percy’s rooms and find out what they can about this man Henry Hope whom David told us about. Anything else?”

“That should keep them busy enough for a couple of days.”

Constance finished the letter, enclosed Harvey’s note to Darren the valet, and directed the whole to Janey at the Silver and Grey office. Only then did she begin to undress.

Without being asked, Solomon unfastened her gown. She could smell his soap from his recent wash, and he was already in his nightshirt, which he wore for the modesty of the maids who lit the fire and brought them morning tea.

Her heart skittered nervously as she went through her nighttime routine and joined him in bed.

“Shall I blow out the candle?” he said, reaching for it.

She caught his arm. “Not yet. Wait a minute. I have something to tell you.”

He flopped back against the pillow, meeting her gaze. “I know you have. Is it something to do with David?”

She blinked. “David? No. Why would you think that? Oh…” She remembered the bodies on her establishment doorstep. “You mean when I didn’t tell you my theory about the St. John case? No, this is nothing to do with David, though I should have learned from that how I hate keeping things from you. I don’t even know why I did. I think I have been a little mad.”

Her voice sounded very small to her own ears, as if she were a child apologizing for some undeniable sin she knew she should be punished for.

His arm came around her shoulders. “Will I dislike this confidence?” he asked lightly, and yet she could sense the sudden wariness as he braced for a blow. “Are you unhappy?”

She flung her arm around his neck, burying her face in his throat. “God, no. I was too happy, Solomon, and suddenly what should have made me even happier made me afraid of changing anything at all. My perfect life should not be turned on its head. And I had such terrible thoughts that frightened me, appalled me, and yet I could not dismiss them until now. I cannot bear not to talk to you, not to tell you everything. I cannot bear to lose anything about you. I want everything you have given me, including courage.”

The words spilled out and she didn’t know if they made sense. She couldn’t even tell if he heard them, since her lips were muffled by his throat. Still, he held her, radiating heat and helplessness.

“It’s how the world goes round,” she whispered.

“Love?” he asked, clearly struggling.

She nodded, without lifting her face. “And what comes of it, if we are very fortunate.”

His caressing fingers stilled, and her heart beat and beat as though it were in her throat.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said, tightening her grip on his neck. “I don’t even know why it did, except I was afraid. I, who always encouraged you to embrace every happiness life offered—I was afraid to embrace this one that I’d so longed for. In Venice, when I was first ill and convinced myself I was with child, I was so happy, even in the misery of my insides… And yet when it was truth, I panicked. Until Daphne George, of all people, said those words—It’s how the world goes round—and I began to think straight again, to recognize the gift, the miracle… Solomon, I cannot bear us to become like the Harveys, who don’t talk, who cannot share the grief only they can fully understand. Or a new, wonderful, frightening happiness…”

Having begun the tangle of explanations she didn’t truly understand herself, she didn’t seem able to stop talking, until Solomon gently pushed her away with his free hand, unclamping her face from his throat. She swallowed and risked looking up at him.

Once, she had thought his eyes veiled and unreadable. Now, she could see him almost afraid to believe.