Page 9 of Ghost in the Garden
“Oh, she doesn’t mind that at all,” Constance said. “She’ll like it even more now you got rid of Boggie for her with such ease.”
Solomon said nothing.
“He’ll be back,” Constance said restlessly.
“Perhaps we should look into that instead of the Lambert ghost. You will be too unprotected in that house in any case.”
“I’m as protected as I ever was. Besides,” she said, gazing up at him challengingly, “it’s not just about the ghost anymore, is it? It’s making Lambert pay if he had anything to do with that building collapsing.”
“We can do that without your being in his house.”
“We’ll do better with his wife around to answer questions.”
Solomon swore beneath his breath. “Constance, if you ask questions like that…”
“Don’t be silly. I shan’t ask. We’ll just talk. What do you know about the collapse?”
“The roof caved in, crashed through rotted floorboards, bringing masonry with it. The whole place was riddled with damp, rot, and neglect. The pointing was gone; bricks were loose and damaged. It should have been pulled down, not housing all those people. Only, of course, those tenants had nowhere else to go for shelter.”
Curiosity replaced the determination in her eyes. “How do you know all this?”
“I’m on the board of a housing charity. We encouraged the parish inquiry into Gregg’s negligence.”
“Then you know him?”
“Not personally, but I know he collected the rent with threats, even put it up a month before the building came down and killed at least eighteen tenants, maiming several others who’ll never work again.” With an effort, he controlled the surging anger. “I never heard the whisper of a partner. Could your mother be wrong?”
“It’s possible,” Constance said, “but I would doubt it. She hears things no one else does. Always did. People like her, talk to her.”
“You don’t.”
“We’ve got no illusions about each other, that’s all.”
But still Constance worried for her. He wondered if that went both ways.
Chapter Three
“Idon’t wantyou to go,” Solomon said bluntly the following morning, when she had rejected all his subtler arguments. “It isn’t worth the risk.”
“Don’t go soft on me, Solomon,” she mocked. “I might start thinking you care. I brought you Janey to make the tea and guard the office while you’re out asking questions, and I’ll meet you at the corner of Tothill at eight tonight.”
“I don’t like it,” he said, his determined, dark eyes holding hers.
Constance was not unmoved by his care, though she would never show it. “We agreed to be partners running this business. If I’m good at anything, it’s avoiding risk, and we can’t turn down our first commission just because someone possibly unsavory is involved.”
She could see from his face that he knew she was right. Though she couldn’t help being glad he didn’t like it. He was a chivalrous soul at heart, was Solomon Grey.
“You will be careful,” he said, glaring at her.
“As will you, poking into matters that annoy dangerous people. Take my footmen if you need them. Janey will—”
“I have my own dangerous people,” he interrupted. “You come out of that house at the first sign of trouble.”
“Of course,” she said, pulling on her gloves. As she closed the parlor door, she wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or amused. She certainly felt unusually on edge, but that was more to do with her mother than with the Lambert case.
“I’d love to see you doing the slaving for a change,” Janey said, grinning in the hallway. “Don’t pull her hair with the comb, and don’t forget to polish her shoes till she can see her face in ’em.”
“I won’t, if you do your job here. Do exactly what Mr. Grey tells you.” Constance paused, her hand on the door latch. “Janey?”
