Page 53 of Ghost in the Garden
“Yes, but you own that house,” Constance said. “You said it was your security.”
“Well, it’s a roof,” Juliet said. “But you always told me I’d never get rich in Seven Dials. I’d get bugger all for selling it and all.”
“You can’t fence on Solomon’s turf. He’s a law-abiding man.”
“He’s a good man. Not necessarily the same thing.”
“In this case, it is. I mean it, Ma, you’ll have to be straight.”
Juliet stared at her. “You run a house of ill repute. How isthatlegal?”
“Solomon does not own my house. Are you going to sell the place in Seven Dials?”
“Not to Boggie, I’m not. Solomon thinks your Lambert’s behind him. I don’t make enough to interest a man like Lambert. If he’s going straight as everyone thinks, what’s he want with a fence?”
“But you own a building with lots of rooms,” Constance said slowly. “Solomon is probably right.”
Discontentedly, she threw herself into one of the armchairs. Although relieved to find her mother away from Boggie, she did not want any witness between herself and Solomon when they met again. Her stomach still twisted with anxiety. Had they just argued? Or was their partnership truly broken?
He was looking after her mother…who was indirectly associated with the case. She had nothing to contribute except…
The sound of his key turning in the front door latch had her springing up before she could think. Would he be cold and angry? Or apologetic? Which should she be?
Foolish panic overtook her. Would he assume her presence meant she had left the Lamberts’ house? Would they quarrel about her going back? Again? How far should she dig in her heels and how much would he resent it? She had been silly to allow friendship with a man to become so important, and yet if she no longer had it…
The door was pushed open.
“Constance,” Solomon said in surprise. He carried a rolled-up newspaper in one hand. “Is everything well?”
His unreadable mask was back in place, but just before it came down, she was sure she glimpsed a storm of emotion.
“Perfectly,” she replied, as carelessly as she could. “Angela has given me the afternoon off, while Janey and Lenny Knox, of all people, follow her about her business.”
“It seemed a good idea at the time. So long as no one recognizes Knox. Lambert ruined him quite deliberately for fighting for a decent wage. It wasn’t even for him.”
“People tend to die for opposing Lambert,” Juliet remarked. “Looks like we’re all in the same boat. If you’re right that he’s behind Boggie.”
“They’ve found Gregg,” Solomon said, spreading his newspaper on Constance’s desk. “In Devil’s Acre. You were right.”
Constance looked at him quickly. It was his only acknowledgement of last night’s disagreements, though it was hardly the main one. Because her mother was there, watching them like some curious if overfed bird, she hastily dropped her gaze to the newspaper.
The murder of Gregg, after the outcry of the collapsed building and before the inquiry could apportion blame, was big news. The police had said little, but the reporter’s speculation was rife, concluding that some angry survivor, or a family member of someone who died in the disaster, had taken the law into their own hands. The tone of the article was decidedly sympathetic to such a motive, and foretold that the killer would never be found.
“Understandable,” Solomon murmured. “But not entirely fair. I’ve been speaking to his solicitor and to Sir Nicholas Swan, who knew Gregg years ago. He was born a gentleman and did not always associate with the likes of Lambert. Until about a year or so ago, he was just a decent man trying to make an honest living. He cut a few corners, always in pursuit of the quick profit, trying to outdo his brother, who inherited the family’s estates. Then he began to invest in slum properties because they cost little and turned a quick profit. The first time he partnered with Lambert, and after that it was on his own, officially, but Kemp—the solicitor—believes Lambert was pointing him toward properties, including the one that collapsed, and kept some sort of unofficial finger in the pie.”
“He was just Lambert’s tool?” Constance asked.
“Not just. He clearly made no effort to walk away, but Kemp suspects there was an agreement. That Gregg’s bank accounts will show that he made comparatively little, considering the flow of rent.”
“He was paying a percentage to Lambert?”
“To whom he leaves everything in his will. There is some evidence that Gregg was trying to move out of slums into Belgravia and the like, but so was Lambert. They were partners in those ventures.”
“And now Lambert has everything,” Constance murmured, “slums and mansions, all respectably inherited, with no blame attached for the disaster. Why would he kill Gregg, though? He was the perfect scapegoat and clearly useful in introducing him to better Society and the business of the wealthy. Which, according to Angela, is his goal.”
Solomon shrugged. “Perhaps Gregg had had enough and threatened to tell everything to the inquiry. Perhaps Lambert just needed an influx of money for some other venture.”
“Cold,” Juliet commented. “And bad for business.”
