Page 28 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

And he was. The sergeant on duty sent a minion scurrying for Inspector Omand. To Solomon’s relief, because he didn’t have time for another round with the hostile Napier, the messenger came back to conduct him straight to Omand’s office.

To get there, he had to walk through an open office of desks, from one of which Constable Napier stared at him in open disbelief.

The man was about to stand up and no doubt cause a scene, but fortunately Omand appeared in the doorway at the end of the room, coming forward to meet Solomon with hand outstretched.

There was nothing Napier could do in the face of his superior’s obvious welcome.

“Mr. Grey,” the inspector greeted Solomon as they shook hands. “A pleasure to see you again—I hope! Come in and sit down. I’d offer you tea, but it’s pretty nasty by this time of the day.”

Solomon assured him that tea was not required and sat down on the hard visitor’s chair, placing his hat on the desk in front of him. “Perhaps your constable told you I was interested in the case of Herbert Chase?”

Omand blinked. “Actually, he did not.”

Napier, of course, had his own agenda, which seemed to consist largely of outshining his rough old inspector. Omand, a man of amiable demeanor, was both shrewd and experienced, but Napier found him slow and plodding. Which was far from the truth.

“No matter. I have some information that you may not have come across and probably should be made aware of. You know that Chase was a merchant losing money hand over fist?”

“Indeed.”

“And not quite the clean potato.”

Omand inclined his head.

“I understand that Chase was seen in the Crown and Anchor drinking with a sailor who left before him, and then shaking off a second sailor who tried to talk to him and left after Chase.”

Again, Omand nodded, though since some of this information came from David, it might well have been new to the inspector.

“I have a suspicion,” Solomon continued, “that I know who the first sailor was. Unfortunately, I am involved in another case in the country and don’t have time to confirm or deny it, but I want you to know who I think it is.

His name is Abel Drayman and he was once a sailor on Chase’s ship, the Mary Anne .

Back in 1844, the Mary Anne brought back a large cargo of stolen spices from China and the East. Chase and Drayman had a very physical disagreement that ended in Drayman’s being hustled onto another ship heading out of Marseilles in order to avoid being charged with Chase’s murder.

Chase, of course, was not dead, but it kept the matter from authorities who might then have poked into the cargo’s origins. ”

“But Drayman was afraid to go home,” Omand said thoughtfully. “So he bore a grudge.”

“A large one, I imagine, by the time he learned that Chase had never died in the first place. He is not, I understand, a gentle man. When Chase saw him in London, it certainly alarmed him.”

“So Drayman and Chase met in the Crown and Anchor? Would Chase not have known better than to meet such a person there?”

“My guess is he had little choice. He certainly dressed to blend in.”

“Blackmail?” Omand guessed. “Either Chase wouldn’t or couldn’t pay, or Drayman always intended to kill him. What of the second sailor? An accomplice?”

“A convenient scapegoat, I believe. Though I suspect he raised the alarm faster than suited Draymen.”

“Which is why they both ran. The second sailor should turn himself in for questioning.”

“If I ever see him,” Solomon said politely, “I shall pass that on. I shall be going out of town tonight or early tomorrow, though, so I leave it all in your capable hands. I imagine you can find a missing sailor far more quickly than I.”

“If he’s even in the country. I don’t suppose you have any clues as to where to begin looking?”

“In dockside brothels, according to his old captain,” Solomon said, rising to his feet and offering his hand once more. “Whose name is Blake, and he stays with his daughter in Bloomsbury. Thanks for your time, inspector. Good afternoon.”

As he retraced his footsteps through the outer office, he felt Napier’s malevolent eyes on his back. It made his flesh crawl because there was no reason for it.

Was that the nature of whatever hatred swirled in Sutton May? Unprovoked and reasonless prejudice? It bore thinking about.

In the meantime, he had a house to view.

*

When Constance drove the inn’s gig up the carriageway to the front of the manor house, she felt quite safe. Until the notion entered her head that she was being observed from behind those rows of windows, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

As she climbed down from the gig and handed the reins to the groom who had run round from the side of the house, she was very aware of the aching bruises on her arm and stiff shoulder.

Was there real malevolence in this house?

Or was she just fanciful because of the incident last night?

If she was right that Miss Fernie had pushed her, then she was perfectly safe at the manor house today.

Miss Mortimer and Miss Jenson were discovered in the drawing room, arranging daffodils in separate vases and arguing. Constance was glad to see no sign of Peregrine Mortimer at this stage, since she wanted to speak to the ladies first.

The pair halted their argument at once to welcome Constance with gracious and apparently genuine smiles.

“No Mr. Grey today?” Miss Jenson inquired.

“He has gone to London for the day,” Constance said, slightly surprised that they didn’t already know. She sat in the offered chair and regarded the two expectant faces before her. “I’ve been speaking to Constable Heron, who told me about items that have gone missing over the years.”

“What items?” Miss Jenson asked.

Miss Mortimer frowned. “He hasn’t become involved in the matter of Faye Keaton’s wretched shawl, has he?”

“Oh, no. He is not talking about crime, as such, just about things that have got lost. He mentioned a bracelet belonging to you, Miss Mortimer.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Did he? How on earth did he know about that?”

“Then you remember the bracelet I mean?”

“Of course I do. It was a twenty-first birthday gift from my father, and really quite valuable. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless as to leave it in London.”

“Is that what you did?”

“I must have, for I never found it in this house or in any of my bags.”

“Did the staff of your London house not find it?”

“The house and servants were not ours, merely hired for the Season. My father wrote to our man of business, but the bracelet was never found.”

“When was this exactly?”

“Oh, thirty years ago at least! Not long before he died.”

“Could you describe it for me?” Constance asked.

“It was a double circle of tiny diamonds, the two strands connected by a ruby. A rather beautiful thing. I was touched that my father had taken such effort over a gift for me.”

As a mere daughter? “Was the bracelet much admired in the village?” Constance asked.

“To be honest, I had not many occasions on which to wear it here.”

“Then who did see it?”

“I wore it to dinner with the Lances at Chettering—that would be the parents of the current Lance crop. The old vicar was there—long before Mr. Raeburn’s day—as was Helen Fernie.”

Miss Fernie again.

“I understand Mavis Cartwright was your mother’s maid. Did you have no personal servant of your own?”

Miss Mortimer’s face seemed to close up. “No, not then. Mavis served both of us. If you want the truth, I did not want her to leave us.”

“It appears to be something of an open secret why she did.”

Miss Mortimer’s chin went up. Her eyes turned arctic. “I won’t have you judge her.”

“I?” said Constance before she could help herself.

“You suspect she stole the bracelet in revenge for being dismissed.”

“Actually, I thought you might have given it to her,” Constance said mildly. “In compensation for her being dismissed.”

Miss Mortimer blinked rapidly, then gave a crooked smile. “She would not take it. Because my father had given it to me. I gave her a little box instead. She had always admired it.”

“Then you always knew who the father of her child was?”

“Everyone knew,” Miss Mortimer said wryly.

“One cannot keep secrets in Sutton May. There is no point in judging my father, either. Even I gave up on that. He had been brought up to think he could take what he liked, and he never saw his infidelities as betraying my mother. Nor even ruining girls like Mavis. A little money and a few presents over the years and his conscience was perfectly clear.”

“Do you still see Mavis? Or Alice?”

“That would not, alas, be proper.”

Constance could not tell if she was serious. “Who does visit Mavis?”

“The vicar, of course. A few of the charitable ladies.”

“Like Miss Fernie?” Constance asked.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Miss Jenson snorted. “As if poor Mavis has not suffered enough!”

“You don’t care for Miss Fernie?” Constance said quickly.

“No, I do not,” Miss Jenson retorted. “She has all the compassion of a-a fish!”

“Yet she visits a woman spurned by much of the village,” Constance said, “and she has not been sent a letter to remind her to be kind.”

“You really think that is the main purpose of the letters?” Miss Mortimer asked.

“Yes, I think it is. The letters say nothing about old sins, so far as we can judge, only about odd instances of mistake or temper…”

Miss Mortimer shook her head. “I really cannot see Helen’s sending letters in such a way.”

“Oh, I don’t believe she sent the letters,” Constance said. “I did wonder if the two things might be connected, but…” She stood abruptly. “I need to go home and think.”

What she really needed was to go over everything with Solomon. Missing him was an ache that never quite went away except when he was with her.

“Goodbye,” she remembered to say to the old ladies, who were looking both amused and baffled by her haste.

She hurried down the stairs, thoughts rushing through her head while she tried to grasp some important, elusive idea that would explain everything.

Stairs.

Her neck prickled. Instinctively, she grasped the banister and glanced behind her.

Peregrine Mortimer smiled at her from the landing.

Her heart lurched, for it was an ugly smile and there was no one around to see what happened next.