Page 83 of Evidence of Evil
Solomon knew she spoke to ease the curious tension in the room, which she was extremely good at. But the words drew Laing’s attention. Just for an instant, and his expression was unreadable. More sorrow than panic or anger. As if the lantern was the last memento he had of his lover? Or was he justreluctant to return it now, while the police were still poking around and one of the mysteries surrounding the death was what had happened to Frances’s lantern?
“They have lots of everything,” Laing said lightly. “But you are right. I will take it back tomorrow.” As Murray left by the back door with his lantern, Laing turned his gaze back to Constance. “How does your ankle feel? Are you still in much pain?”
“It feels much better with the bandage,” she replied.
Laing glanced from her to Solomon. “I suppose you are still investigating Miss Niall’s death for Lady Maule? Is that why you were up at the Grange?”
Damn…Solomon shrugged. “Yes, though it was a waste of time. We didn’t find anything.”
“Except a rabbit hole,” said Constance, “or whatever it was. Those policemen actually came up to The Willows this evening, intending to arrest poor Lady Maule.”
Laing’s idly drumming fingers on the table stilled. “You mean they didn’t?”
“Thankfully, no. Their information was incorrect.”
“Well, that is a relief. They were here this afternoon, asking questions about her, about her past. Obviously, I could tell them nothing except she had come initially as the governess and I knew nothing against her. I have always found her a most pleasant lady. I am glad she is still free, though one can’t help wondering what on earth they thought they had against her.”
“Lies, I daresay,” Constance said amiably. “There are many lies and deceptions surrounding Miss Niall’s life and death. If only they were not so wretchedly impenetrable.”
Good girl. Solomon breathed again.
“Then your investigations do not prosper?” Laing asked sympathetically.
“Quite the opposite,” Solomon said, flicking one hand toward Constance’s ankle, still propped up on the kitchen chair.
“Ah, let me fetch you a cushion for your ankle, ma’am. And perhaps a blanket?”
“No, no,” Constance said. “It will be too short a drive to get cold.”
“Although the cushion will be welcome,” Solomon said.
At once, Laing rose and left the kitchen, leaving the door ajar.
Solomon looked at Constance, who gazed back, eyebrows arched. They did not speak, in case Laing overheard them. And yet to say nothing must surely seem unnatural… Not that it would matter once they had left the cottage. Solomon had every intention of driving straight down to the village and rousing Inspector Omand from his no-doubt-uneasy slumber.
On its own, perhaps the Fairfield lantern was not enough evidence against a trusted man, but among Laing’s private things, Solomon was sure they would find proof of the liaison. If they did not give him time to destroy them.
And with all of that, Sarah Phelps would surely break her silence.
“You know, it really does feel much better,” Constance said in light, admiring tones, even though he could feel her rigidity next to him. He covered her hand in her lap for an instant, giving it an understanding squeeze.
“All the same, I think you’ll be glad of the cushion—and I will be glad of the gig.”
“Are you calling me fat, husband?”
“I would not dare, wife of my heart.” The bantering words came easily, almost as if he meant them.
Laing returned to the kitchen, clutching a plump cushion, which Solomon rose to take from him with thanks. From outside came the clop of hooves, the rumble of wheels coming along the lane and onto the road.
“Your carriage awaits,” Laing said with a smile. “Don’t forget your lantern.”
Solomon lit it with a spill, as Murray had the other one. Behind him, he heard the change in Constance’s breathing and whipped around to see that Laing had lifted her from her chair. She did not cringe, and surely her odd stiffness would seem natural in a lady being handled by a man not her husband?
Solomon, who was not her husband either, was conscious of much more powerful emotions. He wanted to snatch her from Laing’s hold and knock him down for daring to touch her. Only fear for her held him back. The man held her, could hurt her, throw her… The blood rang in his ears and his stomach twisted into knots.
Somehow, he managed to move forward, to open the kitchen door for Laing to pass through with his burden.
“You see?” Constance said cheekily. “Dr. Laing carries me easily. He does not find me fat.”
