Page 73 of Corpse in the Canal

“No one but Clarence,” Constance finished. “Is it possible he somehow got hold of her pistol and there was a terrible accident?”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

“So do I,” Constance said, just as the door opened and Adelaide returned carrying a box, which she offered to Solomon.

“My pistol.”

“Thank you.” He placed the box on his knee and opened it to find the same pretty, old-fashioned double-barreled pistol he had seen in Jamaica years ago.

While he inspected it, Constance distracted Adelaide with other questions. “Can you remember if it rained on Thursday?”

There was a slight pause, either of surprise or memory searching. “I believe there was a shower in the morning, but it was dry by the afternoon, for Clarence was outside playing.”

Solomon found a bullet lined up at each barrel of the gun. As clear as if she had said it yesterday, he remembered Adeliade’s words in Jamaica. “There is no point in having a weapon if you can’t use it.”

“Was he alone?” Constance asked quickly.

“No,” Adelaide replied. “My maid was watching him. You may speak to her if you wish.”

The unspoken words being, You may not question my son. The pistol was clean and oiled, though it was impossible to tell when that had been done.

“Do you know of anyone else who has a pistol?” Constance asked as Solomon finished his inspection.

“I believe Percy Harvey had one. Most people have shotguns, if they have firearms at all.”

Solomon returned the pistol to its box, closed it, and set it on the table. “Might I ask,” he said, “what you were doing while Clarence played outside?”

“I wrestled with the estate books and then went down to the kitchen. Cook and I made the cherry tarts Clarence is particularly fond of.” There was no hostility in her voice, but he could tell she resented the questioning. Who would not? They were supposed to be friends. Solomon regretted causing ill feeling, but interestingly, he wasn’t tempted to stop, even though he had never had to question or suspect a friend before.

“Do you want to talk to the servants now?” Adelaide asked, rising and walking toward the bellpull.

“If it would be convenient,” Solomon said, standing also.

When the maid came, Adelaide said, “Mr. Grey will be asking everyone about who and what they saw last Thursday. I’d like you and the others to cooperate fully.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the maid said woodenly.

“Perhaps I could come to the kitchen with you?” Solomon suggested to her.

“This way, sir.”

*

Constance, who was normally the one who spoke to servants on difficult topics, caught Solomon’s gaze as he left. His eyes flickered infinitesimally toward Adelaide, taking her by surprise. He expected her to induce woman-to-woman confidences from his former lover?

But then, with her new clarity of thought, she realized her doubts weren’t caused by inability but by the lingering echo of her own jealousy. Even though Adelaide was his past, and Constance was his present and his future.

She thought of and discarded several conversational gambits before saying, “Do you think Percy’s killing could have been self-defense?”

Adelaide stared at her. “How could I possibly know that?”

“I never met him. You did. To his parents, he was everything that was fine and noble. To others he was a rakehell, and to others again an encroaching and entitled would-be rapist.”

Adelaide eyed her with a mixture of contempt and scorn. “Have you ever shot a man for overfamiliarity?”

“No, but I did once stick a knife in his ribs. I think he survived, but more by luck than planning on my part.” Constance watched the other woman’s eyes widen in shock. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it. She hadn’t thought of the incident in years, hadn’t even told Solomon, because it was one of many dangerous and violent moments from her past, albeit an extreme one. Her aim was to shake Adelaide’s damnable composure, and in that she seemed to have succeeded, though the result was more likely to be contempt than confidences.

“I should have known,” Adelaide said. “Solomon would never have married someone ordinary.”