Page 37 of Evidence of Evil
PW – father, fear
There were pages of them, and there was no time to read them all. Would anyone notice if Constance took it with her? She set it on the desk while she rummaged beneath. The letters seemed to have been stuffed in anyhow. Some appeared to be from family and friends, with certain parts ringed or marked in some way, probably by Frances herself.
“Look,” Solomon murmured.
In the bottom drawer of the desk, he had found some rather racy sketches and books. But he had drawn them out to reveal what was behind. In the candlelight, a small treasure trove sparkled. Rings and bracelets, small crystal perfume bottles, cameos, small items both valuable and otherwise.
Jewelry she did not wear? Or things she hid from her family? Did she just not like them? Or had she stolen them?
Meeting Solomon’s gaze, Constance raised her brows, then returned to the letters.
One seemed out of place, on print-headed paper, such as a business would use. There was no clue as to what kind of business, no professional description such as a physician or solicitor might use, just the name—L. Dunne—and a London address across the top.
Holding the letter nearer the candle, she scanned it, and her stomach dropped. Something to do with tracing a child who had been adopted.
“Sol?” she said hoarsely, and he rose to read it over her shoulder. “She found Elizabeth’s baby.”
“She found—”
He broke off abruptly, for the door to the passage had suddenly opened and a man walked into the room.
*
Solomon saw atonce that it was John Niall. No doubt the young man was aware only of intruders and had acted on instinct, for he dropped his candle, which immediately went out, and sprinted across the floor to attack.
Solomon threw up his fists, ready to defend himself and Constance. “Go,” he growled at her, in the faint hope that she could somehow get out unrecognized, shin back down the tree, and flee to safety before John—or the crashing sounds of their inevitable fight—raised the alarm.
But he should have known better.
Before John even got close enough to take a swing, she stepped between them, holding a pretty little silver-mounted pistol in her elegant, gloved hand.
“Halt,” she said quietly.
John all but skidded into stillness, his wide eyes lifting from the pistol to her face. His tight lips sagged. “Mrs. Grey?”
“Forgive me, sir,” Constance said quietly, hiding the little pistol once more in whatever pocket she had taken it from. “I find it best to halt such unexpected situations before they get out of hand. I can see you are wondering what on earth we are doing in your late sister’s rooms.”
“I can imagine what you’re doing.” His gaze flickered to the window. “And how you got into the house to do it.”
“You have used the route yourself, perhaps?” Solomon said smoothly, his fists back at his sides but still poised to act if necessary. He changed position so that Constance was no longer between him and John.
“Myself?” John said. “No, I never had cause, to be honest. But I know how Frances got out and in again when she was a girl. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Anything,” Constance said, “that might give us a clue as to what happened to your sister.”
“You could have asked,” John said haughtily.
“And what would have been Colonel Niall’s response?” Solomon asked. “Or yours?”
John shrugged. “The same, no doubt. I have no intention of allowing any scandal to break over my sister’s head.”
“It has already broken. She was murdered. People will always assume, rightly or wrongly, that she and her family are to blame for that.” As Solomon and his father had been blamed in so many ways for David’s disappearance…
John ran his fingers through his hair in a somewhat harassed manner. “You are right, of course. But still, I have to look after my father as best I can.”
“And you think the best way to do that is to prevent him or anyone else from discovering the truth?”
“Some of it,” John said steadily. Dropping his gaze from Solomon’s, he regarded the open drawers of the desk. “So what have you discovered to our detriment?”
