Page 88 of Evidence of Evil
The appalled silence almost crushed Constance. The utter misery and despair of the woman to have committed such a mistake against the man she loved… No wonder she had embraced her reduced circumstances. She worked so hard to punish herself.
“He would,” Laing said. “His heart was too weak. Your digitalis kept him alive for years, and you never got it wrong. We talked about it. I never mentioned him or his illness to Frances.”
“She made it up,” Constance said slowly. “Like she made up stories about everyone, including Sir Humphrey and Lady Maule, just to get her own way. This was the perfect place to meet, close to Dr. Laing’s cottage and to Fairfield Grange, yet hidden from the road and from prying eyes. So she found a way to eject you whenever she wanted to be here, a way that would also keep you silent. Just part of her network of lies and petty power.”
“And I loved her,” Laing said hoarsely. “How could I love someone so hateful, soevil…”
Constance waved that aside. “She wasn’t all evil any more than she was the saint everyone made her out to be when shedied.” Frances had just needed someone to stand up to her, to give her the shock of reality she needed—and the freedom to follow her own dreams.She should have come to me.
How ridiculous. Frances had never heard of Constance. And Constance could only ever save a handful of the lost souls swarming the great, ugly city…
Something drew her eyes to Solomon, who was gazing at her with his dark, steady eyes, eyes that were too sharp and too beautiful for anyone’s peace.
The cottage door opened without warning and Constable Napier almost fell in, the inspector more leisurely and, for once, more grateful to be behind him.
*
“Didn’t you suspecthim?” Solomon asked Murray as the policemen took Laing away. They stood with Constance in the road, next to Sarah’s gap in the hedge. Sarah herself was bathing Betsy’s shot ear and murmuring comforting nonsense that seemed to soothe the animal.
“I was too wrapped up, too smug about thinking myself the better doctor than my master, even though he worked admirably long hours. It never entered my head that he was not seeing patients but was instead totally distracted by love.” Murray gave a short, bitter laugh. “Maddened by it, I should say. How can he have imagined he could get away with shooting you here in cold blood, yards from our cottage?”
“I think he suspected we had broken into the Grange,” Solomon said. “I presume he meant to silence us and blame our deaths on the same mythical thieves.”
“While destroying the evidence of the lantern,” Constance added. “I hope there is more proof in his cottage.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Solomon said. “He confessed to killing Frances before a room full of witnesses, and later to the police, too. Also to assaulting us.” Without warning, he lifted Constance by the waist and put her on Betsy’s broad back, then placed his hand beneath her foot to keep it steady.
Sarah gave the mare’s nose a last pat and exchanged curt nods with Solomon and Constance before she strode back into the yard.
“This will wreck Colonel Niall,” Elizabeth said, coming out a moment later with Humphrey.
“Laing has said he’ll plead guilty,” Humphrey said. “All the fight has gone out of him. No more needs to come out than that Laing killed her for love and is paying the price. Which he is. I suspect death will be a relief to him.”
“What will you do?” Solomon asked Murray.
“Take over the practice here, if I am allowed to. And if Laing hasn’t given everyone a disgust of doctors.”
Humphrey put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll support you all we can. Goodnight, Dr. Murray. I’ll send Betsy and another vehicle up to you in the morning.”
It seemed a very prosaic way to part, yet it reminded Constance only too well of her previous parting with the doctors only a hundred yards farther up the road. As Betsy moved beneath her toward The Willows, she found herself glancing over her shoulder and peering into the darkness of the hedges and fields.
The pain in her ankle had settled down to a dull ache. The desultory conversation around her seemed far away as her mind drifted. She was aware only of Besty’s plodding, of the warmth of Solomon’s hand beneath her bandaged foot, and the touch of his arm at her waist to keep her steady. It couldn’t have been very comfortable for him. Constance liked it, though. Awareness ofhim kept her awake when she was tired enough to fall asleep on Betsy’s back.
At The Willows, one of the returned stable lads was there to collect and care for the mare, while Solomon carried Constance into the house and upstairs to their bedchamber, the goodnights of their hosts ringing distantly in her ears.
“Why, Solomon,” she said sleepily, “this is so unexpected.”
“You know it isn’t,” he said, “so don’t try to bamboozle me.”
Smiling, she let her head fall against his shoulder. She must, she thought, be very tired indeed. She was relishing her own vulnerability in the arms of the man she was about to share a bed with. She remembered the touch of his lips in that Norfolk inn. She could not think, justfeel, all warm and fuzzy and sweet…
He set her down on the bed gently enough, though he immediately stepped back. She twisted around to give him access to the fastenings of her gown, and as he had done several times before, he dealt with them for her.
Why did it feel different? Why was shesoaware of his fingers at her nape, brushing the tingling skin of her back? Because he must be hurt too by his fight with Laing? No, although he was… But she could barely breathe, and her heart was pounding so hard he should have heard it.
His fingers fell away.
She closed her eyes. Now, Solomon. Now…What was she even hoping for?
