Page 64 of The Trick of the Treasure
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Solomon had neverbeen so terrified as when he had seen her lying there on the floor of Clarke’s house, the back of her head soaked with blood, already matting her hair. Her hat had been knocked askew and tumbled off, probably, when she fell forward. Only that one vocal groan had given him hope, until he felt her breathing. His heart had almost broken when she reached for him like a child seeking comfort.
His anger at her recklessness had vanished into that mess of fear and pity and love. And sheer relief when she began to sound more like herself. Still, head wounds could be nasty. His own father had died of one, falling from his horse. He too had seemed to recover, and then died that night. Leaving Solomon truly alone in the world.
He still remembered that odd, rootless emptiness, different from the gradual loss of David, and yet just as all-encompassing. He had had to work hard to overcome that fear, to make his own decisions and spread his wings.
Constance was too young, too vital, and much too precious to be allowed to die. And so he carried her inside, to the vocal anxiety of her household. One of the women, Sarah, led him upstairs to Constance’s bedchamber, with Constance nattering reassuringly all the time.
“I’m fine. I just had a bit of an accident, and Solomon is making a huge fuss. I’m perfectly capable of walking, Solomon—do put me down.”
“You be quiet, ma’am, and let the gentleman carry you up,” one of the other women said sternly. “Joseph’s gone to fetch the doctor, and you are going to your bed.”
“I most certainly am not!”
“You most certainly are,” Solomon said firmly, laying her down. “I’ll wait through here while your friends help you undress. Absolutely no corset,” he added by way of instruction.
“Why, Solomon!” Constance mocked. “What doyouknow about a lady’s corsets?”
“You’d be surprised by what I know,” he said, walking into what appeared to be her private sitting room.
Pacing while he waited, he distracted himself by gazing around her boudoir. Two armchairs and a comfortable chaise longue. A neat, businesslike desk with lamp and writing materials. A bookcase with a wide variety of volumes, from novels to philosophy and travel and various scientific treatises. A constant surprise, was Constance Silver.
The decoration of the room was tasteful, uncluttered, and yet feminine. Soothing, cool blues and warm creams. An atmospheric landscape in oil hung over the fireplace. A watercolor still life on another. A couple of statuettes stood on the mantelpiece, a vase of hothouse flowers on a small table, another on her desk.
The women emerged. “Well, we got her into bed,” Sarah said. “We’re relying on you to keep her there, at least until the doctor has been.”
“I will,” he promised, already in a hurry to reassure himself of Constance’s wellbeing.
She was propped up on a sea of pillows, wearing a wispy lace nightgown of the type he remembered only too well fromthe Maules’ house, when they had pretended to be married. And now they really would be, if only he could keep her safe long enough.
As though she read his mind, she said, “It has happened before and we have discussed it before.” She held out her hand to him. “It is the life we chose, Solomon.”
He took her hand and sat on the side of the bed before he kissed her fingers. “I know. I just wish you had waited for me.”
“So do I—now. I only meant to watch the house until you came, but the door was open and I knew something was wrong. I couldn’tnotgo in. If only we had been earlier, we might have saved him.”
“I don’t think so,” Solomon said. “Not unless we had gone last night, and I confess it never entered my head that Clarke and Samuels were the same man.”
“Has Lloyd dismissed us?” Constance asked ruefully.
“No, but I had a visit from Sydney, in self-righteous indignation that you were in a brothel.”
“Well, so was he until I threw him out. He and Ben Devine appeared in the train of an amiable young lord who is a regular visitor. They, however, were drunk and insulting. But I knew it would rebound on Silver and Grey. I’m sorry, Sol.”
“There’s no need to be. Lloyd actually sent Sydney to fetch us because Miss Audrey Lloyd has apparently vanished.”
“Miss Lloyd who visited Clarke’s invalid sister,” Constance said slowly. “And that’s odd, too. Why didn’t the sister hear the commotion? If Clarke was shot, there must have been a devilish explosion…”
“She wasn’t in the house,” Solomon said. “While you and the neighbors were talking to the constable, I nipped upstairs to look for her. To be honest, I was afraid I’d find her dead like Clarke himself—unless she was the one who shot him. But if he really has a sister, there is no sign of her ever having lived in thathouse. The second bedroom was almost entirely empty, apart from an old seaman’s chest and a few tools.”
“Then Miss Lloyd lied to us… That sweet, vague lady who lives for her charities. And now she has disappeared.”
“Interesting, isn’t it? Also interesting is that there was an open valise on the bed, with clothing and personal items strewn about the bed and the floor.”
“As though he had packed his valise to leave,” Constance said, “and someone else emptied it out, searching for something. For the treasure?”
“If so, they may have found it. Although I doubt from the descriptions and the photographs that he would have been able to pack it all into that valise, even without the clothes.”
