Page 40 of Ghost in the Garden
“Constance,” he said.
“I believe it’s my evening off,” Constance said to Angela. “We’ll talk later.”
As they crossed the garden toward the door in the back wall, they heard Angela locking the cellar door, and a moment later, the sound of the kitchen door closing.
“She’s still protecting him,” Constance said bitterly. “Even from that. Damn it, Sol, why did she hire us?”
“To find a ghost, not to find evidence of her husband’s crimes.”
“We haven’t even found the damned ghost.”
The fog seemed to be lighter, making the door in the wall visible through thick tendrils. Constance shoved the key into the lock too forcefully, and Solomon had to hold her back to make sure Lambert’s men were not waiting in the lane.
His mind was racing. What would Lambert do to get rid of a body of a hurry? There hadn’t been time to get out a horse and cart, even if the Lamberts kept them in this lane. But he could have slung the carpet over a horse’s back, or even a donkey’s, and already have vanished out of the lane.
Or would he have hidden it here, in one of the mews buildings?
He stopped dead, his heart leaping into his throat. “It’s still in the cellar. In one of the other rooms. She’s played us again. There’s been no real time for anything else. All she needed to do in the short term was stop us going to the police tonight. By morning, it really will be gone.”
Constance gave a frustrated little groan. “You don’tknowthat, Sol. Do you really want to go to Harris with this before we’re sure? Come on, let’s see what’s at the end of the lane. Hurry.”
He allowed himself to be persuaded, not least because she was right. In the time it would take them to go to Scotland Yard, locate Inspector Harris—or even Inspector Omand—and drag him back here, the body really would vanish. In the meantime, they’d have lost their chance to find it if it really had been removed from the premises already. Why hadn’t he thought to look through the other cellars before storming out?
Until they reached the main road, an ambling, empty cart was the only vehicle they saw. Constance hurried up to a crossing sweeper, a small, thin lad who could have been anything between eight and twelve years old.
“Evening,” she said, slipping a coin into his grubby mitt. “By chance, have you seen a horse or a donkey pass this way with a rolled-up carpet on its back?”
“Can’t see anything in this pea soup,” the boy said disgustedly. “Take me life in me hands every time I cross. You going over, missus, or what?”
“We’ll both go over, and pay you twice, too, if you answer the question.”
“Did I see a donkey? Yes. I like donkeys. They smile at you and like their chins scratched.”
“Was it pulling anything?” Constance asked. “Carrying anything?”
The boy thought. “Had something on its back, sticking out on either side. Might have been a carpet rolled up, or a big roll of cloth, I don’t know. Didn’t look.”
“Who was with it?” Solomon asked.
“Old woman,” the boy said.
Constance’s jaw dropped. She knew who that was. It seemed he was wrong about the cellar. Unless this was a false trail laid to fool them?
“Which way did it go?” Solomon asked.
The boy nodded across the road. “Down into the Acre.”
“Good lad,” Constance said. “We’ll cross now.”
The boy took them over, sweeping the muck aside as he went. No vehicles passed them in the still-dense fog.
“No,” Solomon said firmly. “We’re not going into Devil’s Acre at this time of night. If the body’s really with that donkey, it’ll be to dump it in the river. Well go around the Acre. Who is the old woman? The one who let us into the kitchen?”
Constance nodded. “It might be. Ida Feathers, the cook. She’s devoted to Angela. Angela took her in when she was at her lowest, and keeps her on though she drinks like a fish.”
“Could she dump a body in the river?”
“She’s got strong arms. But she’s just as likely to dump it in the Acre. Another body would barely be noticed there, and the police rarely go in. Besides, not many would weep for Huxley Gregg.”
