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T he end of a case was always difficult.

Often, it had left them physically as well as mentally and emotionally bruised.

This one was no different. And yet Solomon was glad Constance did not want to end their inquiry business.

It had become part of who they were. But she was right that risking each other would only become harder.

Talking about it had made it easier to face, but it would never be easy to experience.

By the time he left her in the care of her maids, with instructions that she was to go to bed and rest until at least the end of the afternoon, the white look had gone from her face and she no longer trembled. Her smile still dazzled him, and her kiss was sweet.

I would do anything for you. To keep you. To protect you. To make you happy…

The thought stayed with him as he got the carriage to drop him at the Silver and Grey office. He would make his own way home.

Janey was waiting for him, charging up the hall to meet him. “There you are! I got the necklace!”

His head was so full of Constance that it took him a moment to grasp her meaning. “Bibby’s necklace? Constance said you’d tracked it down but the character who found it wouldn’t give it back.”

Janey grinned. “I went to his house to see him, just as Mrs. S. advised. He coughed it up double quick to be rid of me. Now you’re back, please can I run round to the house to give it to Bibby? Oh, and how’s herself?”

“Sleeping, I hope. So don’t wake her. Go on. I’ll stay here for the afternoon, since I have a few things to do.”

“Oh. Yes, you do, there’s a client in the waiting room. Shall I send him in?”

Sometimes, the girl had her priorities wrong. He frowned at her. “Yes.”

Unmoved by his displeasure, she grinned as he strode into his office. “Funnily enough, he looks quite like you,” she said cheekily.

It was enough to make him pause, his fingers on the door handle.

David.

He had thrust the pain associated with his brother to the back of his mind over the last couple of days.

He was so used to doing so by now that it hadn’t even been difficult.

Only the unease had remained like the background hiss of a gas lamp.

Was Johnny David? And if so, why was he avoiding Solomon?

Because of that childish quarrel Solomon could no longer explain?

His heart thundered as he hung up his coat and hat and turned to face the door. Had his visitor come to explain, to make things right? Or at least tell him what was wrong? Was this greatest mystery of his life about to be solved at last, for good or ill?

Or had Johnny come to tell him there was no connection but some random similarity in appearance?

As soon as the man walked through the door, Solomon knew.

Recognition stabbed him.

Wishful thinking . He might have been looking in a mirror as far as the man’s features went.

Johnny was tall and lean, his limbs muscular from years at sea.

But his hair was longer, wilder. There was a scar across one side of his face, probably from a knife fight, and another across his knuckles where they grasped a seaman’s kit bag.

He was roughly dressed, and his eyes were hard. Not with hate, just with life.

For a moment they looked at each other.

Mechanically, Solomon stretched out his hand, indicating the comfortable chair. Johnny sat, though he looked anything but comfortable. He placed a familiar card on the low table.

“Mr. Grey?” Johnny said.

Solomon quirked his lip, inclining his head. “Mr. Grey.”

Johnny blinked. “I doubt it. Look, mister, I don’t know who you are. Some people got doubles, looks like we do, but the truth is I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Solomon Grey and I believe I am your twin brother. I don’t think you can have forgotten that.”

Johnny smiled. It was a very odd smile, containing genuine amusement as well as cynicism and something that might have been shame.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Grey. I have forgotten everything I ever knew before my illness.”

“Illness?” Solomon repeated stupidly. “When?”

Johnny shrugged. “Nine or ten years ago. Something like that. I woke up in a hospital in Marseilles. Didn’t know my own name, where I was born, how old I was, nothing.

Funny thing was, I spoke English, though I understood French.

They told me I’d come off a ship and assumed I was a seaman.

Seemed they were right. Ships were familiar. ”

“And you can read,” Solomon said, gesturing to the card.

Johnny’s lips quirked in a smile eerily like Solomon’s. “Don’t make me a gentleman like you, though.”

“But you allow the possibility.”

“Oh, I allow any possibility. So what is my story, then? Who am I?”

A lump had formed in Solomon’s throat, so constricting he could barely get the words out. “David Grey. I believe you were born in Jamaica in the same hour as me. Our father was William Grey, an English plantation owner. Our mother was Lillian, a Maroon.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I doubt it. They were married. We inherited the estate between us, only you were lost. You vanished during the slave revolt of 1832.”

“That’s a lot of time I don’t remember.”

As it had more than once before, a horrible fear came to the fore. “Were you a slave? Did they enslave you?”

Johnny shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “One good thing about no memory. If I was, I don’t recall it. I get paid like anyone else. Though there’s certain ports I still avoid.”

I have everything. You have nothing. But there was only wariness in Johnny’s hard eyes, no recognition, no envy. This was one solution to the mystery of David’s disappearance that Solomon had never thought of, never imagined. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

Solomon swallowed. “I believe you are my brother, whom I have missed.”

Their eyes, so alike and yet so full of differing experiences, met again. “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “If I ever missed you, I’ve forgotten. I came because she told me off and I was curious. I wanted to see if you would make me remember.”

In despair, Solomon didn’t even ask. He could see there was no recognition, no memory of their shared childhood adventures, fun, and quarrels…

“Is she your woman? Your wife?” Johnny asked.

Solomon should have known Constance would go to Johnny when he lacked… What? Courage? He’d been too full of pain at rejection. And now there was the pain of being forgotten.

“She will be my wife. I never forgot you.”

“I’m not him,” Johnny said quickly. “Even if I was born him, which I doubt, I’m someone else now.”

“Maybe,” Solomon allowed, feeling his way. “But I would like to help you find out. It’s my mystery as well as yours now. There are doctors who might be able to help you remember.”

“Oh, I don’t care for doctors. I don’t even mind anymore that I don’t remember. I can live with it. I’m happy with who I am.”

It was a gift Solomon had never acquired. He had always been discontented, always looking… Until Constance.

But his visitor was rising to his feet, and panic filled Solomon.

“I’ve got a ship that sails on the evening tide. Interesting to meet you, Mr. Grey.”

“You won’t consider staying?” Solomon blurted.

A frown flickered. “You mean it, don’t you? I could rob you blind, bleed you dry.”

“You wouldn’t find it as easy as you seem to think.”

Johnny’s smile flashed, a dose of charm that was almost familiar. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” He hesitated. “Look, I can’t do that. I can’t live off a stranger pretending it’s fine because he might be my rich brother.”

Then he knew Solomon was rich. He had made inquiries of his own before coming here. For some reason, that gave Solomon hope. He pushed the card back across to the table. “Keep it. You can find me again if you want to. Or if you need my help. I would rather you didn’t vanish again completely.”

Those eyes were curious now. Johnny didn’t feel the emotions Solomon did, but he might have felt their echo, a desire to belong.

Solomon stood because he didn’t know what else to do. To his surprise, the seaman thrust out his hand, and Solomon took it. The man who might have been his brother smiled and walked away. Solomon could hear him whistling as he strode off up the street.

*

Constance rose in good time for her “evening salon.” She felt much more rested and steady, and enjoyed her light supper with the women who would grace the salon this evening.

They were expecting several important guests as well as the usual “passing” trade, and so musicians had been hired for a musical evening.

There were plenty of jokes about that among the women, laughter over how music put some gentlemen in the mood, and others grew too philosophical to wish for more than a shoulder and a sympathetic ear.

After a difficult case and a tragic outcome, the familiar banter and companionship was just what Constance needed. By morning, by the time she saw Solomon again, she would be back to normal and ready for the next case.

Although perhaps they should take the time, as they had promised, to look for a house to live in and a clergyman to marry them who would not throw up his hands with horror and eject Constance from the church.

It would be a very odd wedding, one side of the church filled with the respectable and wealthy, and the other with her eccentric mother and a rabble of old convicts and whores, reformed and otherwise.

Not that most of these women were incapable of behaving like ladies for a short time at least, and they would, for her.

She just wondered at the man who was prepared to tolerate it.

It came upon her suddenly that she didn’t want anyone else at their wedding. Not the stuffy disapprovers or even her own friends. This was about Solomon and Constance, no one else.

She would speak to him…

With her stitches still in place, she made a light, flimsy headdress to cover the bandage and match her gown. Then she went downstairs to play her part once more.