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She moved slowly, creeping nearer, staying outside Sydney’s line of vision. But Sydney was paying no attention to her, to any of the women, in fact. It was his father and Devine he was watching. The policemen he must have trusted to do nothing that would risk Solomon’s life.

Solomon himself appeared quite unconcerned, though at least he was not foolish enough to make any sudden movements that might hasten his own demise.

Help, when it came, was from an unexpected quarter.

Rachel took a step toward him. “What are you doing, Sydney? You can’t shoot Mr. Grey.”

“My poor, deluded child, I might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, and I am more than capable of shooting Mr. Grey.”

“But Sydney, I like him.”

A frown crossed Sydney’s brow, as though he were puzzled by the concept. Certainly, it distracted him, but Constance was not yet near enough to take advantage. Besides, the gun never wavered.

“Sorry, pip-squeak,” Sydney said with what sounded like genuine regret.

“You like people too easily and you have no discrimination. I don’t want to kill him, though I will, and I do hope you like me better than him.

” He let go of Solomon’s arm and, still watching his father, reached for the bags on the table with his free hand. He gathered up the handles of two.

“You missed one,” Solomon said conversationally.

“What?” Sydney asked, just as Solomon’s elbow crashed backward into his chest.

Oh God! Oh God, help him! Even as Constance launched herself forward, the business end of the pistol had slid off Solomon’s skin while Sydney doubled over with a howl of pain.

Solomon spun around, seizing Sydney’s wrist, but the younger man fought back, re-finding his grip on the weapon and dropping the bags in order to punch viciously at Solomon.

“Sydney, stop that this instant!” Lloyd commanded, and a weird gurgling issued from Sydney’s throat. Incredibly enough, he seemed to be laughing.

“Sorry, Papa,” he panted, maneuvering the pistol to aim it once more at Solomon’s body. Constance leapt, shoving up his arm.

She didn’t see what happened next, but she heard the report of the pistol just as she threw herself at Solomon to protect him.

She felt no pain. In the small, disastrous silence, her world did not darken.

Mrs. Lloyd cried out, a low of grief as old as the world. Behind Constance, there was much scuffling. She thought Sergeant Flynn threw his coat to the floor. Over Sydney?

Solomon’s arms were around her, and hers were around him, hard.

“It’s not me, Constance,” he murmured. “He turned the pistol on himself.”

God knew there was tragedy in that. It would haunt her all her life.

But it was so much better than the alternative.

“Don’t you ever,” she said, “do anything as foolish as that again. Or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She felt his smile in her hair. “I do love you, Constance.”

*

It was not even midday by the time Constance and Solomon were able to leave the house. Captain Tybalt had left shortly before, expressing sorrow to the bereaved family. Subdued, he had nonetheless pressed Audrey’s hand by way of farewell, as though reminding her that she was not alone.

Audrey, of course, remained with her brother and his family, who were stunned by their loss. She seemed bewildered rather than numb.

“Why?” she murmured, when no one but Constance was listening. “Why did he do such a thing? He was never cruel like Barnabas, never bad natured. How could he kill ? Joshua, himself… Destroying his family. How did he reach that place and no one saw?”

“No one saw that you were at the end of your tether, either,” Constance pointed out. “We all withdraw behind the faces we show the world. To some extent.”

“But Sydney is not—was not—evil. I know he was not.”

“He had been brought up with his father’s example of rather monstrous self-belief. Whatever he wanted was right.”

She nodded slowly. “I did that too, didn’t I? I wanted to hurt Barnabas, even if I would have mitigated it for the others if I could… And now they are in pieces. I can’t leave them like that. Unless they cannot bear the sight of me.”

“They will need you. But Miss Lloyd?”

“Yes?”

Constance took her hand, drawing her surprised attention back. “Don’t lose yourself again. Your Joshua might be gone, but your life is not over. You can still find another place to live it. If you wish. You have friends.”

A spark lit Audrey’s eyes, perhaps only curiosity. “You are a very strange and very kind young woman. Brave, I think. I ran away. The next time, I shall walk. For now, there are the children…at least until the funeral is over.”

Rachel, shivering, came and sat very close to her aunt. Jemimah, horror still in her eyes, had her arm around her mother, while Lloyd was saying an awkward farewell to Ben Devine and the policemen.

“We should go too,” Constance said. “Goodbye, Miss Lloyd.” She tucked a Silver and Grey card into Audrey’s hand. “Don’t forget where we are.”

She was still shaking with reaction to Solomon’s near brush with death as she took his arm and murmured the correct words of sympathy to the family. To her surprise, Lloyd chose to show them out.

The shock of what had happened stood out in his face, the loss he was only beginning to comprehend. And yet somehow Constance was not surprised when he said abruptly, “I trust I might count on your discretion? As to what happened here today.”

“Of course,” Solomon said. “But you will find it difficult to hide. Obviously, there can be no charges against your son now, but a shot was fired here and speculation is inevitable.”

“Inspector Harris has already promised me he will be as discreet as he can be. I am acquainted with some of his superiors.”

Of course he was.

“Discretion is part of our business,” Constance said. “But I believe you would limit talk if you divided your treasure as your sister intended. You have more to deal with now than the next adventure.”

He stared at her. “You mean I should reward her for stealing from me?”

“Is that really all she has ever done for you?”

His eyes fell. “No,” he admitted, reaching for the front door. “Goodbye, Mrs. Silver. Mr. Grey. You will receive my final banker’s draft for your services in the morning.”

They walked out of the house with a shared sense of release—that they could walk away from someone else’s grief, that it was not their own.

“Do you think we really will receive his draft?” Solomon said cynically.

“Maybe. Though we might have to wait until he sells the wretched treasure.” She stopped, gazing at Solomon’s carriage, which awaited them in the street. “I can walk from here.”

“No,” Solomon said, guiding her with firm gentleness toward the carriage. “You are in desperate need of rest. I shall see you safely into bed at last.”

She fluttered her eyelashes in a decent attempt at self-mockery. “Why, Mr. Grey, you will make me blush.”

“I hope to. One day.” He handed her inside and sat beside her.

The tired horses moved forward at a walk.

Constance, gazing out of the window, felt Solomon’s nearness like a gift she had almost lost. The hugeness of that overwhelmed her.

She could not keep the tears quite at bay until she was alone, yet still when he took her hand in the silence, she clung to it.

He didn’t ask, but she knew she had to answer.

“We have been here before, endangered, frightened for each other… This life we lead, this life we have chosen, will only get harder. The more I know you, the more I love you, the more dreadful every moment like that becomes.”

He knew what she meant. After all, he had found her unconscious person by Clarke’s corpse only two mornings ago. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Can we bear it, Solomon?” she whispered.

“Can you?”

“I don’t know.” Right now, she felt she could not. Her throat ached, and still she trembled. “What alternative do we have?”

“We can do something else. Or nothing else. Silver and Grey is not our living. We have the luxury of closing it down if we wish.”

“It was meant to be our fun. Today was not fun.”

“The fun was never about the tragedies behind the crimes, or about the dangers we risk to ourselves.”

“What was it about, Sol? Remind me.”

She felt rather than saw his shrug. “Puzzling out the truth. The excitement of finding the patterns, of bringing justice. And if I am strictly honest, I believe I do enjoy the risks.”

“I enjoy them too,” she admitted, glancing around to him at last. “I just don’t enjoy yours.”

“Nor I yours,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek to wipe the fallen tear. “Shall we end Silver and Grey Inquiries? And concentrate instead on love?”

His dark eyes were serious and intent on hers. The idea of his focus being entirely on her, on love, was breathtaking. Slowly, she lowered her head until it rested on his shoulder, and thought about it.

“Can we do both?” she asked.

“If we do it together, I believe we can do anything.”

“Then let’s do both,” she said, and he smiled and kissed her lips. And that was right too.