Page 10 of Murder in Moonlight
“Had you much to do with slaves when you were there?”
“In the sense that I was supposed to be learning to manage a plantation, yes. But I was young and foolish, and more interested in enjoying myself.”
“In what way?”
Winsom winked. “Ladies, you know. I was sorry to leave them, but the violence was certainly a wake-up call to me. I had to think seriously about what was right and wrong. And about what I was doing, and what I wanted to do in the future.”
“Which port did you leave from?”
Solomon’s question was a bit abrupt, but he could feel hope draining away from him.
“Port Royal, in the autumn of 1831.”
Solomon picked up his glass, holding Winsom’s gaze. The date was all wrong, if it were true. “And your ship? It wasn’t theGallant, was it?”
Winsom frowned. “No, I don’t think so. So long ago, I barely remember…It was a merchant vessel, some bird’s name or other.HawkorAlbatrossor something.Cormorant?” He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just an old mystery. Around the time of the revolt, a boy was seen being dragged on to theGallantagainst his will. Iwondered if you had seen anything, that’s all. It was something of acause célèbrefor some time.”
“No, all the violence I saw was ashore. I saw nothing like that.”
Solomon shrugged as if he didn’t care. He still wasn’t sure he believed him.
“Why was the boy being dragged?” Winsom asked, apparently thinking about the matter. “Didn’t he want to leave?”
“I don’t suppose he did. His family was still on Jamaica. Itmighthave been a forcible rescue. Or the story might be made up. Either way, the boy was never seen again on the island.”
“That is sad.” Winsom smoothed his brow and leaned forward to clink glasses. “Too sad for an evening with friends. Shall we rejoin the ladies?”
*
If Constance hadnot been aware of the approaching male voices, she would still have known from the sudden excitement of the other women that the gentlemen were about to join them.
It was like her own exclusive establishment when her salons full of girls heard the ringing of the doorbell. In this situation, the agitation felt both odd and wrong, for apart from young Ellen, all these women were married and perfectly used to seeing their husbands. The reason behind the tension could only be anticipation of someone else’s husband. Or one of the unattached men—the young, dramatic Randolph Winsom, the forceful Ivor Davidson, or Solomon Grey.
Interestingly enough, it was Grey that drew all female eyes without his having to try. So she was not the only woman attracted by his mere presence. And there was the novelty, of course. None of them except Mrs. Winsom had met him before today—just how had that meeting come about?
“What about some music?” Mr. Winsom said jovially. “Ellen, entertain us with the piece you were playing the other day.”
Obligingly, Ellen went to the piano. Ivor Davidson followed her to turn her music for her. A brief spurt of irritation crossed Mrs. Winsom’s face. Constance wondered if she had anything against Davidson, or just thought Ellen too young. Though a quick glance at the elder daughter, already married and apparently expecting her first child, reminded her that Miriam Albright must have been married when she was barely eighteen years old. She was younger than Randolph, who was still only twenty.
Ellen glanced up at Davidson a few times, but he did not appear to notice. He gazed at the music, turned the pages at the right time, and behaved with perfect courtesy.
Ellen played very prettily, though she shyly refused to sing.
“Good thing,” said her brother with a grin as she stood up from the piano. “Constance, you sing for us.Youhave a lovely voice.”
Although irritated—she wished to be free to listen and learn and ask questions—there was little Constance could do except comply gracefully. She had hardly been brought up with such accomplishments, but as soon as she could afford it, she had made it her business to learn them, part of her strategy to move into the higher end of the oldest profession, and it had been useful before now. Many Society hostesses might have envied the refined entertainment of Mrs. Silver’s lower salons, to say nothing of her guest list.
To her own accompaniment on the piano, she sang a French air she had learned from a naval officer, remembering to alter the words subtly in case anyone understood. Only Solomon Grey showed a glimmer of amusement, but then, he probably spent a lot of time on the docks. Next, she sang a jollier English song that made everyone smile, then stood up to make way for Mr.and Mrs. Albright, who performed a duet they had clearly been practicing.
“You are a lady of much talent as well as charm,” Davidson murmured, sitting down beside her. “What on earth do you see in poor old Randolph?”
“Is he poor?” Constance murmured. “He is certainly a gentleman.”
Davidson, taking that to mean he was not, flushed. “It was a joke,” he muttered. “I’m very fond of Randolph. Of all the Winsoms. What is your connection to them?”
“Oh, I have none but friendship,” Constance said, smiling, and pretending to listen with pleasure to the Albrights’ duet.
