Page 41 of Evidence of Evil
Oh yes, it was time to get up.
He turned once more and eased himself out of bed and into his trousers. As he padded toward the washstand, a soft knock sounded at the door. He opened it to discover a smiling maid with a tray of coffee.
“Good morning, sir. Coffee for Mrs. Grey, as promised, and for yourself in case you want it.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking the tray from her and kicking the door shut. He must look ridiculous with his nightshirt half caught up in his trousers.
When he turned back, Constance was awake and watching him with laughing eyes.
“Very fetching,” she commented.
“I aim to please. Allow me to pour your coffee.”
As she sat up against the pillows to receive her cup, she was damnably alluring in that ridiculous, frothy garment she called a nightgown, with her slightly tousled hair and rosy morning skin. Despite their late night, she looked well rested and eager—to proceed with their investigation. Obviously.
“Do you think John really will send the maid over this morning?” she said, and sipped her coffee with a sigh of pure bliss.
Solomon took the other cup and decided to ignore his comical appearance by lounging at the foot of the bed, his back against the bottom post. “I hope so. Otherwise we’ll have to sneak into the Fairfield kitchen, and I’m not sure how that will be regarded.”
“What of the letter?” she asked with obvious reluctance. “About the child and the adoption. Do you think I should show it to Elizabeth?”
“Would she want to know?”
“She didn’t when she gave the baby up. She needed only to be sure he had gone to a kind and safe home, but no more. It was too painful. She was afraid of going there just to see him. She insisted a clean break was best for the child, and the only way she could go on. But things might be different now.”
Solomon took a considering mouthful of coffee. “May I see the letter again?”
She opened the drawer in her bedside table and passed the folded letter to him. He read it more carefully this time.
“Who is this L. Dunne? Is he even trustworthy?” she wondered aloud.
“Yes. I have used them myself. They are a branch of a trusted firm of solicitors that specializes in investigations. What worries me about this is the fact that they are giving confidential information to someone with no right to it.”
“Perhaps the Nialls are their clients. I’m sure Elizabeth is not.”
“Sir Humphrey might be. No, something is wrong with this. I don’t know the signature here—it clearly belongs to none of the Dunnes themselves. It must be one of their employees.”
“Giving away information he shouldn’t?” Constance frowned. “For money? Or favors? I suppose it fits with what we suspect of Frances—she can get around anyone, one way or another. Only…she didn’t use this information, did she? She told Sir Humphrey that Elizabeth was a Covent Garden whore, and she told Elizabeth that she, Frances, was carrying Humphrey’s child, a clear lie. Why did she not use the truth of the illegitimate child to cause trouble?”
“Perhaps she guessed Sir Humphrey already knew about it.”
“How?” Solomon asked.
Constance sighed and drank more coffee. “I don’t know.”
Solomon folded the letter and tapped it thoughtfully against his thigh. “I think perhaps I should bolt up to London and see the Dunnes.”
Was that a flicker of disappointment in her eyes?
“Instead of seeing the maid?”
“Afterseeing the maid. She must know more than anyone about Frances.” He drained his cup and rose to his feet. “You’ll forgive me if I wash and dress?”
“I rather like the nightshirt, but do what you must. I shall preserve my maidenly modestly by studiously reading this book.”
*
Sir Humphrey providedSolomon with a railway timetable, and he discovered there was a train to London just before midday. He might just be in time to catch the Dunnes’ office, although he would have to stay the night in Town.
