Page 12 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

Mortimer had little choice but to leave off tormenting the schoolmaster and turn to be introduced to Constance and Solomon. His eyes widened as they landed on Constance, but that seemed to be his only spontaneity. He crinkled his eyes again and let them twinkle attractively.

“Mrs. Silver. I am enchanted.”

“Oh dear. Have some tea,” Constance added, since Miss Jenson was approaching with his cup and saucer.

He promptly sat down between Constance and Solomon, though he lazily offered the latter his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Grey. What brings you to our backwater?”

“A little business,” Solomon said.

“And you, Mrs. Silver?” Mortimer turned back to Constance, his eyes leaving hers to drift down over her chest and waist.

“The same business,” Constance said.

“Oh.” Mortimer’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Are you…?” He gestured from one to the other.

“Betrothed?” Solomon said coolly. “Yes.”

“I did not know that,” Sophie said from the chaise longue, adding to Ogden, “They are friends of my father’s.”

“It isn’t a secret,” Constance said.

“When will you be married?” Sophie asked.

“Soon,” Solomon said.

They had been saying that since before Christmas. It would be spring soon…

Constance rose to her feet. “We should be on our way, Solomon. Miss Mortimer, thank you so much for tea. It has been lovely meeting you and your friends.”

“Until tomorrow evening, then,” Miss Mortimer said, while the gentlemen all stood and Ogden bumped his knee on the nearest small table, rattling the china.

“I’ll show you out,” Mortimer said unexpectedly.

Constance suspected the courtesy was to emphasize his unique position in the household and heir to the lady of the manor, but here she maligned him. Dismissing the servants who came to help with coats and hats, he assisted them both himself.

“I hope I am not speaking out of turn,” he said, almost apologetically, “but if you are friends of Dr. Chadwick, and here on his account, perhaps you are the people I should be warning.”

“Warning?” Solomon said, donning his own coat.

“Well, telling. I am worried for my aunt. And sending anonymous letters is exactly the sort of low, underhand sort of trick that old witch would perpetrate.”

“Old witch?” Constance repeated.

“Hannah Jenson,” Mortimer said quietly. “My aunt’s so-called friend and companion. Hah!”

“Why do you say that?” Solomon asked.

“Because she has always worked to cut my aunt off from her family and friends. She’s after the old girl’s money—as much as she can lay her hands on. I’d watch her very, very carefully.”

“Thank you for your information,” Solomon said politely. “Good afternoon.”

He opened the front door himself, since Mortimer seemed to have forgotten about it, and Constance sailed out in front of him, allowing the young man a regal inclination of her head.

She felt his hot eyes on her, though, as Solomon assisted her into the gig.

Only as he flicked the reins to get the horse to move did she let her breath out in a rush.

“Now, there is a young man I would not let near my girls,” she murmured. “At least not without a character reference and a few long conversations in the salon.”

“You think he’s malevolent?” Solomon asked. “Or just a typical young man who likes women a shade too much?”

“There’s no respect there. He has his aunt wound round his finger and treats both Sophie and me as if we are conquests he has already won. The only person he is even prepared to respect is you, and I doubt he’s made up his mind about that yet. He clearly despises the schoolteacher.”

“He is certainly an arrogant young cub,” Solomon allowed. “Do you think he said what he did about Miss Jenson because she’s one of the few females he can’t cozen?”

“Possibly. Though I doubt he’s cozened Sophie Chadwick either. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Constance leaned her cheek briefly against Solomon’s shoulder, needing the closeness. “Can you see him taking the time to compose our anonymous letters?”

“No. Nor can I see his caring about anyone’s kindness or false accusations against poor Nell Dickie—though it’s true he was in the shop at the time.”

Constance straightened and opened her handbag. “Which reminds me, Miss Mortimer did receive a letter, and hers is in an envelope without a postage stamp.”

“So, it was hand-delivered, too,” Solomon said.

“It would seem so.” The direction was hand-printed in capital letters, presumably as the others had been. And inside, the letter was clearly of the same type, with glued bits of newspaper attached to notepaper. “The envelopes and the paper look to be the same kind the Keatons sell in the shop.”

“What does it say?” Solomon asked.

She smoothed it out in her lap.

You are responsible for them all. It is you who will pay.

Solomon gazed at it while the horse trotted on without any guidance. “ Could it be a warning from her faithful companion?”

“I don’t see how it helps Miss Jenson gain power over her, let alone inherit a lot of money. And if it’s a warning—wouldn’t she just speak to her? She’s not really subservient, is she?”

“She doesn’t say much,” Solomon remarked. “But if they are such good friends, why has Miss Mortimer not confided in her?”

“To stop her worrying, or so she says.”

“Or because she doesn’t trust her?”

Constance frowned. “I would say she does. They certainly seem to understand each other, communicate without speech, like old married couples and young siblings.” She glanced at him, for she hadn’t meant to bring up the subject of David just yet, but since she had, she said, “Did you do that? You and David?”

“Yes. I think so, anyway.” His throat moved as he swallowed, and she leaned against him once more. “Now he is a stranger I don’t know if I even like. I don’t know what happened to him, what it did to him.”

He had told her once that he’d had nightmares about such things as a child. Now he was afraid again that the nightmares were true. And she could not tell him that they weren’t.

“It hurt you too,” she reminded him. “And he is strong, like you. We’ll sort it out. Meanwhile, he is safe.”

He shifted his gaze from the road to her face, and she was relieved to see the smile in his eyes. “Where would I be without you, Constance Silver?”

“Reduced to merely raking in thousands of pounds from trade,” she said flippantly, “without any fun at all. Or you might have traveled the world as you were going to before I hauled you off to rescue Elizabeth Maule.”

“I still wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Where shall we go for our honeymoon?”

She smiled, just because he was speaking of marriage again. And he had bought her the tea set. “Venice.”

“Why not? I’ve never been there…”