Page 44 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

Good God, it’s Lord Rawleigh! And from his fatuous smile, he was three sheets to the wind. If not four.

“He was,” said the first constable on the scene, marching up to his colleagues to show them the knife. “ And he was armed with that. There were three of them.”

“And that one,” Solomon said, going forward to Drayman, “is the murderer of Herbert Chase. That’s the knife he used, and that is Chase’s watch. It’s engraved.”

The policeman who appeared to be in charge went to Drayman, barking a couple of orders to his men, who went to gather up the other fallen thugs. The sergeant took the watch and presumably read the engraved name, for his breath certainly caught.

He turned to Solomon. “And you are?”

“Solomon Grey.” With a civil inclination of the head, Solomon presented the policeman with both the cards he’d had the forethought to bring with him. One displayed the headquarters address of his far-reaching and respected business empire. The other said Silver & Grey .

“There’s two of you,” Drayman gasped from the ground, his fearful eyes darting from Solomon to David and back.

“This is my brother,” Solomon said. It gave him a little frisson of pleasure. “Mr. David Grey. He helped me apprehend Abel Drayman.”

The sergeant closed his mouth.

“What on earth,” asked the first constable hopelessly, “am I to do with all of them now?”

The sergeant frowned at the now-subdued young men who were sheepishly trying on fallen hats and passing them to each other in search of their own. “They caused an obstruction and breach of the peace and stole two Black Marias.”

“And captured a murderer,” Constance pointed out, “thereby saving the life of my affianced husband, Mr. Grey, and his brother.” Clinging very tightly to Solomon’s hand, she bestowed her dazzling smile on the sergeant.

“If I were you, I’d send them home to sober up.

If you need them as witnesses for the court, you can reach them through Lord Rawleigh here. ”

The sergeant swallowed. “Lord Rawleigh,” he repeated.

“That’s me,” Rawleigh said, beaming. “Been to a party, you know!”

The young men laughed, and one threw an arm around Rawleigh’s shoulders. “Come on, old fellow, time for bed!”

“What an excellent idea,” Solomon murmured.

*

It was rather later than they had intended the following day before Constance and Solomon managed to look at their potential new home. For one thing, their late and adventurous night meant they slept in, and for another, Inspector Omand had demanded statements of them.

Fortunately, he did not mention the presence of Solomon’s brother at the Crown and Anchor that night, and neither did they.

Since Drayman had been charged with Herbert Chase’s murder, there was no point.

They had the evidence of the watch and the weapon, and Solomon told Omand about Captain Blake, who would attest to the story of Chase and Drayman on the Mary Anne , which provided the motive.

Solomon explained that he had sent a message to the address Omand had provided, in order to entice Drayman out of his lair.

“To the Crown and Anchor?” Omand said in disbelief. “Did you imagine that would be any safer?”

“Well, yes. By the time I arrived I imagined there would be a police presence, but no one at Scotland Yard would listen to Mrs. Silver’s pleas.”

“No one on duty at Scotland Yard had any reason to believe a woman alone after midnight in perfect health with such a wild tale,” Omand excused his colleagues. “The nearest police station would have been better.”

“I shall remember for next time,” Constance said gravely.

“Preferably without causing a riot of the rich and privileged,” Omand added severely.

And Constance wanted to laugh again. “It was hardly a riot , inspector! And I didn’t cause it. Your own constable did by arresting one of them. I merely helped move it on.”

“Yes, well,” Omand said hastily, “talking of moving on…”

There was only one nasty moment, just as they were about to leave Omand’s office.

“As a matter of interest,” the inspector said, “what was your interest in this whole affair?”

Solomon smiled. “Merely a concerned client,” he said.

Their concerned client was still sound asleep in Solomon’s house on the Strand, as though a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from his mind.

“Is he going to stay?” Constance asked in the carriage, on their way to view the house.

“I don’t know. Neither does he. The legalities will have to be sorted out, of course, but he is owed half of the inheritance from my father, plus half of the income from the plantation, which is not huge unless you compare it with a seaman’s wages.”

“Will that make financial difficulties for you?”

Solomon shook his head. “No. But it will give him time to decide what to do. I have suggested he might like to study art. He is thinking about it.”

“His sketches are remarkably good.”

“When we have our own house,” Solomon said, and Constance felt another little thrill at the knowledge they would soon be living together, married, “when we have our own home, I thought I would give David the house in the Strand, if you agree.”

She blinked. “Of course I do.” She hesitated, then said, “He may not stay there, Sol. He has been traveling for most of his life.”

“I know. But he should have somewhere to come back to. Whether it’s here or Jamaica, or both. Or neither. Look, this is the place, on our left…”

It was part of a short, residential street with an old tree growing in the middle of it. The facade of the house was oddly pleasing to Constance, and her heart beat foolishly fast as she crossed the threshold hand in hand with Solomon.

The house had been empty for some time. It smelled old and musty, but its proportions were gracious without being massive.

It was nothing like her Georgian mansion in Mayfair, or like Solomon’s modest dwelling in the Strand, and that pleased her.

The staircase curved in a sensual, sweeping way.

And there were enough rooms for them each to have a private space, bedchambers for guests, as well as a suite of their own and attic bedrooms for servants. And storage.

Constance was silent as they made their way back downstairs. They inspected the large kitchen, which needed to be modernized, and returned to the big front room.

“What are you thinking?” Solomon asked, a trace of anxiety in his voice that she had never heard before. Once, he would have hidden that.

So she returned his honesty. “I was thinking that never in my life have I had so much space to call my own…” She smiled, spreading her arms and spinning like a dancer.

“To share only with you. It feels like a good house, Solomon, a welcoming house that we can fill with our own friends, our family, children…whoever and whenever we choose.”

She came to an abrupt halt, sliding her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest and closing her eyes while the dizziness receded.

“Could it be home?” he asked.

And she smiled again. “I think it already is.”

*

They were married very quietly the following week at St. Mary’s Le Strand church. Their only witnesses were David, Constance’s mother, and, because they had been responsible for their first meeting, Lady Grizelda and Dragan Tizsa.

Constance hadn’t truly expected the Tizsas to come, and she was touched that they did. Mostly, she was stunned to be married, to be no longer Constance Silver but Mrs. Solomon Grey…

She clung very tightly to Solomon’s arm as they emerged from the church. And that was when the gust of cold wind seemed to blast happiness through her. Beside her, Solomon breathed and relaxed, and she knew he felt it too.

They all walked around to the unassuming hotel where they would spend the night, and where they had reserved a room for the informal wedding breakfast. After all, the entire staff of her establishment were desperate to celebrate—and they did, greeting the newlyweds with wild cheers and showers of rice.

To Constance’s delight, Solomon’s closest staff from St. Catherine’s also appeared to pay their respects.

More surprising was the presence of those she had never imagined were their friends, like members of Lady Grizelda’s family, Lord and Lady Trench and Lord Forsythe Niven, and like Sir Nicholas and Lady Swan.

She almost cried to see Elizabeth and Sir Humphrey Maule, and Lord and Lady James Andover.

They were all part of Silver and Grey’s journey.

“Are we still Silver and Grey?” Constance said suddenly to her husband. “Grey and Grey just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” She tried to make it a joke, and yet the sudden fear of losing what had become so dear bothered her.

Solomon put his arm around her, for that was perfectly acceptable now too. “We will always be Silver and Grey.”