Page 42 of Ghost in the Garden
“Perhaps it was already in the carriage.”
“That would certainly match the rest of our luck this evening.”
“She must be someone’s lover,” Constance said. “Only, why is it such a secret? Denise the maid sleeps in Robin the footman’s bed. I suppose they don’t want strangers in the house.”
“They accepted you,” Solomon pointed out.
“Angela wants to be more of a lady, to match Lambert’s rise in the world. Funny when you think about it that she chose me. I shall inquire about sweethearts.” She inserted her key into the garden door’s lock and turned. The ghost had indeed locked it behind her.
“How many inquiries do you intend to make in the five minutes it will take you to collect your things?”
She paused, her hand still on the key, and glanced up at him. “What things? I’m going inside to see who is in the house, so we know if it’s safe to go into the cellar again. I’ll save other questions for tomorrow.”
They were speaking very low, so that even someone in the garden would not make out their words. With difficulty, Solomon maintained a mere murmur.
“No. You can’t stay there now. The case is over.”
“Of course it isn’t,” she said impatiently. “We don’t know who the ghost is.”
“Hang the ghost! It’s Lambert we want.”
“That isn’t what we were hired for.”
Panic rose in him. “No. You’re going home tonight.”
Her jaw dropped. Even in the dark and the fog, he could see that. It made her no less beautiful. Or precious.
“I thought you were serious about our agency,” she said, a trace of anger in her bewildered hiss.
“I am. Just not to the point of findingyouin the cellar next time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can look after myself and have done in worse houses than this. I need to go back, both for the ghost and for Gregg. The ghost will be back on Saturday, if she follows her pattern. We should be ready and waiting in the cellar.”
“Saturday is two days away. We’ll make plans in the office tomorrow.”
She stared at him, nothing friendly in her eyes now. That hurt. “Are you laying down the law, Solomon? I thought this was a partnership.”
“It is, and I want to keep my partner, however annoying she is.”
A glimmer softened her eyes. “Don’t be foolish. You know the only sensible way forward is for me to return. I can guarantee Angela has not given me away to Lambert.”
“Are you blind to her? Or just idiotic?” he said disastrously. “Get your things if you must, but I’ll only wait five minutes before I come in and get you.”
She took the key out of the lock slowly. Just for a moment, he thought he had won.
“All evening,” she said, so low that he had to bend nearer to hear her at all, “you have ignored what I say. You have given me orders without discussing anything. Now I am supposed to give up our case? If that is your idea of partnership, Solomon, it is not mine.”
He ignored the injustice of that, for danger pressed in on him, an entirely different danger to any he had faced before. He had never cared so much before. He had forgotten how.
“Constance, you can’t trust Angela or her protection,” he said urgently. “She betrayed you.”
“Everyone does, in the end.”
Pain hit him so hard he stepped back. That was what she thought of him? “Your mother was wrong,” he blurted. “You would not cross the street to be with me, would you? Because there is always someone more interesting, more dangerous, just around the next corner. Are you really dissolving our partnership overthis?”
Her head flew back. Her eyes blazed like a cat’s in the darkness. “A partnership involvespartners. It seems we were never that in the first place.” She whisked herself inside the garden door, even as he reached for her, and shut it in his face. He barely even heard the key turn in the lock, only her muffled footsteps marching away from him.
*
