Page 22 of Evidence of Evil
Irvine began to look flustered. “I did not say so, sir. I have no reason to believe she wasdiscontented. Merely that she was…lookingfor something. For God, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Solomon agreed. He doubted he would get much more sense from the man, and the town gents were heading around the house toward the back door. He tipped his hat to the vicar. “Many thanks for your insights, sir. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Irvine returned, looking slightly bemused as he continued his way to the front door.
Solomon sprinted after the visitors, catching up with them on the path before they reached the back door. They must have heard his quick footsteps, for they both turned sharply to face him.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said politely, slowing to a halt and touching the brim of his hat. “My name is Grey. Am I correct in thinking I address members of the Metropolitan Police?”
“You are,” said the older man. He looked a little downtrodden in a worn overcoat, his expression lugubrious, although his eyes were bright with intelligence. Solomon guessed he was frequently underestimated, and resolved not to make the same mistake. “I’m Inspector Omand, and this is Constable Napier.”
“How do you do?” Solomon said. “I wonder if I might have a word? My wife and I are currently staying with the Maules, over at The Willows.”
My wife and I. It felt very odd saying those words, and not just because they were untrue.
“I heard there were visitors,” the constable said, looking him up and down. He was a very different specimen from his superior. Much younger, he was also better and more smartly dressed. He positively reeked of ambition and arrogance, even before he checked out every feature of Solomon’s face and allowed his twitch of contempt to be seen. “And you say you are aguestof Sir Humphrey? You’ll forgive me if I confirm that with his household.”
“There is nothing to forgive, constable,” Solomon said. He turned back to the inspector. “You will be aware of the rumors, the accusations against Lady Maule? I am trying to help my friends by finding out the truth of the matter.”
“With respect, sir,” Inspector Omand said as the constable opened his mouth once more, “that is our business, not yours. Do you have information for us?”
“I’m not sure,” Solomon said lightly, “being unaware of what you know already. Do you have any reason to suppose Lady Maule’s guilt?”
“Plenty.” Constable Napier smirked, earning a glance of irritation from his superior, which seemed to pass him by.
Solomon pursued the weakness. “But she has no possible motive.”
“No motive?” sneered Napier. “Against the woman who was once engaged to her husband?”
So that was it.
From old business habits, Solomon was used to keeping his expression neutral, whatever surprises were flung at him. “I could more easily understand that as a motive were the boot onthe other foot. Miss Niall had more reason to be jealous of Lady Maule.”
“We work on evidence, Mr. Grey,” Inspector Omand said shortly. “Not supposition.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. According to Cranston, the head gardener at The Willows, there was a wheelbarrow track leading to the place where she went into the water. It strikes me she could well have been brought there by such means.”
Omand was scowling at his underling, who should, presumably, have found this information for himself, though he addressed Solomon. “And where did these tracks come from?”
“Cranston was too upset at the time to look, but they certainly came from the direction of the path to the road that leads here—and to the village if you turn left instead of right.”
“Cranston never mentioned tracks to me,” Napier said dismissively.
“Well, you got to give people time to talk,” Omand said. “Not bully them so that they only want to be rid of you as fast as possible. You’re a clever lad, Napier, but you’ve a lot to learn. Thank you, sir, for that information. If there’s nothing—Hello, who’s this?”
Constance had emerged from the kitchen door, easily managing her wide skirts through the narrow space. In her elegant dark-green gown and bonnet and black gloves, she still somehow dazzled like the sun.
He looked hastily away to discover Constable Napier’s none-too-friendly eyes upon him. “Has Sir Humphreyemployedyou?” he demanded. “And you think that entitles you to use the front door like—”
“Like what?” Solomon asked softly. “Like a gentleman?”
“Fancy clothes don’t change what you are,” Napier said with undisguised contempt that finally drew his superior’s alarmed attention.
“And what is that?” Solomon asked with interest.
“Napier,” Omand barked before his underling could speak the word so clearly on the tip of his tongue. “Forgive my lad, sir. He’s naturally suspicious, which comes from the job, but he doesn’t yet have the experience to spot a gentleman from a trickster out of twig, if you understand me. Kitchen, Napier—see if you can’t learn something this time instead of showing everyone how cleveryouare.”
Napier, his face burning with resentment, stalked away so quickly he almost forgot to tip his hat to Constance.
