Page 13 of Ghost in the Garden (Murder in Moonlight #3)

W as there ever a more maddening woman than Constance Silver?

Solomon moved after her along the lane, keeping to the shadows in case the footman came back. He watched as she entered the garden and listened with some difficulty to the sounds of her return to the house.

The footman following her had not been one of the regular patrols. Somebody was suspicious of her, which, to Solomon, made it more imperative than ever that she did not stay there. Even though they seemed to have allayed that suspicion for now, by giving her a sweetheart.

And he wasn’t. She had made that abundantly clear.

He lurked outside the gate, straining his ears for any sounds of anger within, while his mind and his body wrestled with what had just happened between him and Constance.

The embrace had been her idea, although the kiss had been his—that amazing, blinding, overwhelming kiss…

“I stopped pretending a long time ago.” It was true—with the first touch of his mouth on hers, in fact.

She hadn’t fought him off. She hadn’t even started. She had accepted the pretense. And he had made several startling discoveries, not least of which was the sheer bliss of kissing Constance Silver. Even though—and this was another discovery—the courtesan did not know how to kiss as lovers did.

That pained him, and yet filled him with wonder and hope. Kissing her was an exquisite pleasure that he could not bring himself to end. How could he when she began to kiss him back, to melt into his arms, accepting the urgency of his body and his lips? And he had known with terrifying clarity that this was right .

This love that he had not wanted was right. Constance, his friend, his partner in all things…

What had Juliet said? “ She would leave it for you. To be with you .” To be with Constance was all he wanted, and the knowledge that she was his as he was hers overwhelmed him.

He had made an attempt to bring back sanity, to give them a moment to adjust, to talk of the case they were working on, though it was so much less important than what he really wanted to say…

Although she had tried to play along in her flippant way, she was shaken. He had even been foolishly pleased by that—after all, so was he—only she had bolted so quickly and so determinedly that he had the appalling fear he was wrong.

He had overstepped, insulted her with the kind of passion she had stepped away from years ago. How could he have been so blind to her true feelings? To have initiated this at such a time when there was no time or place to explain, to talk. He had just grabbed the moment.

And lost it.

Lost her?

He should have spoken of his feelings, asked about hers… Now the moment had gone, and he had upset them both.

He had never been good at romantic relationships. In truth, he had never tried much because he had never truly cared. A little affection, a little physical pleasure… Nothing had ever compared to this feeling for Constance.

Since he could hear nothing untoward coming from the house, he walked away. By the time he found a hackney, he knew he would not give up. Not just for his own sake but for hers.

*

He found Janey in her hat and coat, about to leave the office.

“Mrs. Silver’s taken her stuff,” she greeted him. “A gentleman came to see you with a view to employing your services. I made an appointment for him tomorrow at ten. And there’s two letters of inquiry on your desk. G’night!”

Solomon blinked. “Hold on! Where has Mrs. Silver gone with her things?”

“Covent Garden. Above the shop your man showed her this afternoon. Said she’d drop in tomorrow.”

So she was safe, at least. He relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. “Goodnight.”

Grateful for the prospect of another client—and something else to focus his mind on—he walked into his office and read the letters of inquiry. Smiling, he sat down and wrote replies, suggesting appointments next week, by which time he hoped to be free of Angela Lambert, who, however, might not speak to them again once they went after her husband.

He looked forward to telling Constance about the prospective new clients. At last, things seemed to be moving forward for their business. At the very least, surely it would mean he still saw her every day.

Unless she no longer wanted to.

*

Pat had clearly blabbed about what he had seen in the mews, for Constance was teased mercilessly from the moment she stepped back into the kitchen that evening. She turned it all off with jokes and laughter, a rather professional performance accomplished without the necessity of thought.

She couldn’t think because her mind was in such turmoil. And that, in her position, was dangerous. She received a sharp reminder when she walked upstairs and, her mind still busy with Solomon and her reactions to his touch, into the main bedchamber.

She knew Angela was in her parlor, for she had rung for tea there. But she had, unforgivably, forgotten about Lambert.

By the light of one pale lamp, he stood by the bedroom window, one curtain drawn back just enough for him to see onto the street below. He didn’t immediately notice her entrance, which at least gave her a moment to hide her shock and to observe him while he was unaware.

He wasn’t what she expected.

In that first moment, there was no sign of the entitled, brutal man who had fought, stolen, and murdered his way out of the gutter, who had caused the death and injury of his tenants and stood by in the shadows while his partner was vilified for it. To say nothing of murdering that partner.

If she hadn’t been so sure he had murdered Gregg, she could almost have imagined he had just learned of the body’s discovery and was grieving.

She could not stand gawking at him. Nor could she bolt back out again without being obvious. So, without closing the door, she merely carried her bundle of Angela’s freshly laundered underclothes and put them quietly away in their correct drawers.

Was that sorrow she had glimpsed in his face? Certainly, it was something softer than she had ever seen or expected. For the first time, she had an inkling why Angela remained with him, and for his sake strove to better herself. It was not simply his power over her, or the convenience of his wealth.

Constance knew what it was like, to be so desperate to escape that one would do anything. And then the path was set and you couldn’t stop. You were afraid to stop in case you went back there.

“Silver,” he said from the window, as though both recalling her name from a thousand others and relishing the sound of it on his tongue. “Are you settling into your new position?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, remembering to curtsey as she closed the drawer and turned to face him. She should say, Excuse me , and leave, but this unexpectedly human side of Lambert was a rare opportunity, fascinating in its way. “Everyone is very kind and helpful.”

“I understand you are, too. My wife likes you. That is rarer than you might think. And she finds you useful.”

“A basic requirement of servants, sir.”

His lip twitched upward. “I suppose so. Tell me, where did you learn all your ladylike speech and manners?”

“Observation. And mimicry.”

There was a hint of derision in his smile now. “Work for many noble ladies, did you?”

“I have served my share of the nobility,” Constance said with perfect truth, and then wanted to laugh, because it was the sort of remark that had always amused and shocked Solomon.

But she should not have let down her guard. Lambert had crossed the room and stood closer to her now, and there was no softness in his eyes, only sharp observation, a sheer distance that caused her stomach to plummet. This man used people for his own ends. Beyond that, they had no value to him. A moment’s sadness did not make him a kind or sensitive man. Her skin prickled with alarm.

“Fall from grace, did you?” he asked, his lip curling.

“You’ve no cause to think that, sir,” she said, allowing self-righteousness into her voice.

“Why else’d you be slumming it with the likes of us?”

“Your coin’s as good as anyone else’s, sir. Better than some of them noble households.” She hoped he noted her grammatical slip, that it would put him at his ease.

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “Are you saving up for a reason? Got a young man who wants to marry you?”

She dropped her eyes. Had word got back to him already about her meeting with Solomon? Inevitably. Very little would be allowed to happen in this household without his knowledge.

“Maybe, sir,” she said coyly, “though that’s a long time away.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he said. “It you’re loyal. Might even find a place for your man, if he fits. What does he do?”

“He’s a clerk, sir. For a shipping company.” Sort of, in a very senior capacity…

“Is he?” Lambert’s gaze was speculative, though whether he was considering the shipping clerk or Constance was impossible to tell.

He didn’t come any closer, but neither did he show any signs of either leaving or dismissing her. Her flesh began to crawl. She had no idea what he was thinking, and that was unusual enough to be frightening.

“We’ll see,” he murmured, moving away from her at last.

She breathed an inward sigh of relief, but to her alarm he was tugging off his necktie. She had to get out. Now.

Casually—and yet she was sure it was not casual at all—he dropped the tie on the bed and kept walking toward his open dressing room door. Constance was afraid to breathe. Don’t dare lock it and turn back to me…

He walked on through the door, closed it, and locked it from the other side.

Constance exhaled in a rush and sank down on the nearest chair. Just like after their last encounter, she was shaking.

Only a few moments later, she sprang up again as the door to the passage opened.

Angela whisked inside and closed the door. “Ah, you’re here already. Good.” Her gaze fixed on the necktie lying across the bed. “When was he here?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

For the first time, there was suspicion in Angela’s eyes when they met Constance’s, veiled yet unmistakable. “Did he speak to you?”

“Just to ask how I was settling in. He went into the dressing room.”

Did she imagine Constance was casting out lures to Lambert? Or did she not trust him to keep his hands off any woman? Had he left the tie deliberately to sow doubt in his wife’s mind? Or was it some kind of signal to Angela? That her husband would be joining her for his marital rights?

“Unhook me,” Angela said abruptly. “And then you may go to bed.”

Constance was no prude, of necessity. But she did wonder how to fashion earplugs for the night.

*

Juliet Silver called at the office the following morning to thank Solomon and give him a note of her address. “To pass on to Connie.”

“Of course. I’m glad you found something suitable,” he said.

“Oh, it’s more than suitable. It’s got a shop window. Never thought I’d be able to have such a place for my little curiosities.”

“Some of your curiosities are worth a fair bit of money.”

“I know, and now I can get what they’re worth—which I’ll need to, to pay that rent. In the meantime, I could do with some shelving in the shop and the storeroom. You don’t happen to know an honest carpenter, do you?”

“Funnily enough, I do,” Solomon said, thinking of Lenny Knox. “I’ll send him along later today.”

Juliet smiled and hefted herself to her feet. “My Connie’s done well for herself to find you. Don’t give up on her.”

Solomon, vaguely irritated, said nothing, merely rose politely to see her off the premises before his ten o’clock appointment turned up.

At the front door, she paused. “You said something about buying my old place. You still interested? What would you give me for it? I could always sell it to Boggie for a pretty decent price, but I hate to think what he’d do with the place. Come to that, what would you do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Solomon said. “I have a few people to see. I suppose you’ve no running water in the building or proper sewer outside?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’ll send someone round today or tomorrow, but if Boggie tracks you down, tell him we already have a deal. Don’t give him this address,” he added, thinking of Janey on her own. “Send him to my office at St. Catherine’s.” He gave her one of the older cards with his main company address.

“Damn, I wish I’d met you when I was young and beautiful,” Juliet said.

*

Angela had been glad to spend last night in her husband’s arms. Quite apart from the physical pleasures to be found there, it reaffirmed that she always won. His affairs never mattered. He always came back to her. It did Silver no harm to see that either, just in case she was getting ideas.

Not for the first time, as Silver fastened her dress and brushed her hair and chatted of nothing by way of speech lessons, Angela wondered about the extent of the woman’s relationship with Mr. Grey. He was an impressive specimen, and he certainly carried himself like a king, but he undoubtedly possessed nothing like Caleb’s wealth. If he did, neither of them would be scratching around to make a living from other people’s squalid problems.

Angela wondered idly what it would take to bring Silver permanently into the fold. She would have to be more than a lady’s maid. A secretary, perhaps. Or a companion to accompany her to the great houses Caleb was conquering…

Too soon to suggest such a thing.

“Well?” she asked. “Do you know who the ghost is?”

Rather to Angela’s surprise, Silver said, “Yes, I think we do, though we don’t yet know her purpose. I propose to find that out today.”

“She won’t come today,” Angela said impatiently. “There’s no fog,”

“She might. If she does, then you will have your answers. If she doesn’t, we’ll have them later. But my theory is she comes every Thursday and Saturday, at fixed times that are thrown off kilter in storms or fogs, when traveling is difficult.”

“And goes into my cellar? Why? We saw no sign of her on Thursday.”

“No, but we were somewhat distracted by a dead body on Thursday.”

“So what do you mean to do?”

“Follow her into the cellar.”

“If she comes,” Angela said. She met Silver’s eyes in the mirror and held them. “Who do you think she is?”

“It is only a theory, so you must not act on it. But I think it’s the wife of Frank Fraser, the rent collector in St. Giles.”

Angela was startled. How did Silver even know about the rent collector in St. Giles? “Iris Fraser?” she said in astonishment. “Why on earth would she creep into my cellar?”

“Perhaps she is conducting some kind of liaison with one of your servants.”

Not the servants. Caleb, Caleb, have you no standards? Angela curled her lip. “I don’t see Duggin standing for that.”

“On the contrary, I doubt Duggin is interested how your servants conduct themselves so long as they do their jobs and do not endanger you or Mr. Lambert.”

Angela laughed and pushed back her chair to stand. “Well, I can’t imagine Iris Fraser—who’s a silly bit of fluff if ever I met one—being a danger to anyone.”

She went down to breakfast. Caleb had already gone, so she didn’t linger. Instead, she visited the kitchen to confer with Ida Feathers, who was alone with a cup of tea, though it smelled more like gin.

“That girl of yours is stepping out,” Ida said slyly. “With the bloke who came here with her on Thursday night, I reckon. Very intimate, they was, according to Bert. The fine ladies would kick her out without a character.”

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not a fine lady.”

“Yes, you are,” Ida said. “You’ve just more sense. And more heart. I think Silver knows when she’s well off.”

“I hope so. When does she usually go to meet him?”

“Around seven each evening, when we’re all busy and she’s got nothing to do.”

“That’s what I thought.” For a moment, Angela almost asked her about Iris Fraser. But no, she would not betray such ugly suspicion, even to Ida. She, Angela, was his wife, his support.

“What are your thoughts about dinner this evening?” she asked, as though she cared.

*

Constance had learned long ago that very few men, whatever awful things they had done, were completely beyond redemption. She had supposed Lambert to be one of those rare exceptions, and was as happy as Solomon to bring him down if she could. Her only concern had been for Angela, who, like other women before her, loved an evil man and would always stand by him.

But as she went about her duties that day, tidying and caring for Angela’s clothes as she had once done for her own in the early days of her ambitions, she realized she was regarding him differently since last night.

Like herself, like Solomon, Lambert was a driven man. Determined to rise as high as he could above the grinding poverty he must have been born into, he had followed a cruel, merciless path, and succeeded, however many people suffered and died for it. But he was not unaware of that awfulness. He did not like it. That was what she had glimpsed in him last night.

He still repelled her, but few people were all bad; he was not unsavable. Maybe she and Solomon should not be trying so hard to ruin him. They should be finding a way to redeem him, for Angela, for all the poor devils who depended on him. After all, who was she to judge anyone for breaking the law? She did it all the time.

Surely Angela was already trying to mitigate the worst of his neglect and exploitation? That was why Cathy Knox had spoken to her, why she spent her days visiting Lambert’s various properties and businesses, trying to ensure there was no repeat of the St. Giles disaster.

No one had employed Silver and Grey to bring Lambert to justice; that was their own self-righteous quest.

She wanted Solomon’s perspective on the matter.

Her heart gave a little skip. Meeting Solomon again as though nothing had happened between them—as though she, the notorious courtesan, had not been devastated by a mere kiss—filled her with dread as well as longing. She was behaving like a very young girl in the throes of early besottedness. But then, she had missed that stage in her life. She had never been besotted . Until now. And it had to be with him, the upright man who did not care to pay for his pleasures. He would never love a prostitute, a woman who sold other women. Whatever their personal friendship, he would never see beyond that.

And yet he had kissed her like that . He desired her. She had always known it, though he had never given in to it, even for a moment, until last night. And now he must know how he moved her, and she could not live with that. She had to pretend it didn’t matter, that it meant nothing to her.

Only, why had he done it?

Had he just given in to loneliness? Why should he not take the comfort of a woman who was happy to oblige? He had disdained the services of her establishment. Because it was Constance he wanted? Was he about to propose some kind of arrangement to her, despite his misgivings over her profession? After all, he understood better now the purposes of her establishment…

Her heart beat thunderously in her breast. Was this not what she wanted? The most she could ever have?

Of course, he did not know she had no professional skills. All her talents lay in enticement, in matching her clients to other women.

As she hung Angela’s cleaned walking dress from yesterday back in the wardrobe, a wave of desolation swept over her. She closed the wardrobe and sank into the armchair, staring at nothing as realization hit her.

She could not bear that kind of relationship, not with him. It was too soulless to make him happy. And it would destroy her. She had to be more than her profession. She was Solomon’s partner, not his whore.

She jumped up again, lashing herself with the word until the pain around her heart began to ease.

She did what she always did, concentrated on the business in hand. Not Lambert, not Solomon, except in so far as he was involved in the capture of their garden ghost. Those butterflies in her stomach were all for that moment, not the moment she next saw Solomon. And that she could live with.

She drew out her watch. Only a few hours to go.