Page 52 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“They wouldn’t have fit in there. Wherever he stored them, I suspect they’ve already been sold or melted down, along with the rest of the spoons. That one got left behind.”
It was unlikely we’d find anything further, but I was keen to continue looking. The sound of voices in the courtyard changed my mind. We were too exposed. We’d found the evidence we needed, so there was no point continuing to look for stolen goods when they would have been moved on.
We waited for the men to disappear into the stables then we slipped out of Faine’s flat. We didn’t speak until we’d left the Red Lion well behind us.
“I should probably give this spoon to Lord Kershaw when I see him at the hotel,” I said. “He can decide whether to press charges or not.”
“Hold on to it, for now. It proves our theory about thieving from the Hall, and we don’t want the thieves to know we’re aware of their operation. Until we discover if the thefts are related to the murder, we won’t say a word. Besides, we’re not sure if Kershaw himself is the third thief.”
“I don’t believe he orchestrated the burglary to collect the insurance money,” I said. “But I agree that we shouldn’t tell anyone. I want to see if the thefts continue now that Shepherd is dead, and I want to find out for certain who the third man is, the gentleman, as Crippen called him.”
“In a village the size of Morcombe, there wouldn’t be many who sound cultured. The mayor, perhaps, or a doctor.”
“Or the vicar.” I nodded toward the church and its neighboring vicarage.
We passed the window of the teashop where we’d listened to the gossip about the Wentworth family from the four women. It was busier today, and the proprietress was occupied behind the counter and didn’t see us. Two of the other women sat at a table in the window, though, and recognized us. They smiled and waved. We went inside and greeted them.
“You must have enjoyed your previous visit to Morcombe to be returning here so soon,” said Mrs. Smith, the elder of the two. “The weather isn’t as nice today, but at least it isn’t raining.”
“Won’t you join us?” asked her companion, Mrs. Clayborn.
“Not today,” I said. “We were curious about the bridleway, and Mr. Faine’s attempts at encouraging Lord Kershaw to reopen it. Was anyone else equally vehement in their desire to have it reopened? Someone with influence in the village, perhaps?” Without specifying ‘a gentleman’, I wasn’t sure how to describe the man we were searching for.
The two women looked at one another. “Not that I can think of,” Mrs. Smith said. “Mr. Faine was the driving force behind the campaign. Most who agreed with him were local traders and shopkeepers. I suppose you could say they have influence.”
It wasn’t the sort of influence I meant.Drat.
“The campaign may fall apart now, anyway,” Mrs. Clayborn added.
“Why is that?” Harry asked.
“Some of the zeal seems to have gone out of Mr. Faine’s efforts. There was supposed to be a village meeting last night, but he didn’t even bother to go. He was drunk at the Red Lion.” The women exchanged looks again, this time full of disdain for the inebriated Faine.
We thanked them and left the teashop.
“Why would Faine no longer be interested in campaigning against the closure of the bridleway?” I asked, trying to think it through. “It was a fake campaign, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want it reopened. He wanted it closed so they could move their stolen goods through the woods with ease. Could it be it no longer matters, now that Shepherd is gone? Has the thieving enterprise fallen apart without him?”
“Faine and the third man could try to continue it.”
While Faine’s sudden disinterest in his campaign was a mystery, I was growing more convinced of Reverend Pritchard’s involvement as the third man, the one Mr. Crippen had overheard arguing with Shepherd. He sounded like a cultured gentleman, and he’d been in the vicinity of the woods at the time. He also had a murky past that he was trying to keep obscured. A thieving past, perhaps?
If I had to make a wager on the third man, I’d put all my money on him. The problem was, how to find out for certain?
Harry suggested we speak to him again. As a seasoned criminal with no reputation to lose, Faine would be a difficult nut to crack, but Reverend Pritchard might be more easily manipulated into admitting guilt.
His housekeeper refused to let him know we wanted to speak to him, however. “Unless it’s an emergency, he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He needs peace and quiet to write tomorrow’s sermon. He pours his heart and soul into it, he does. Very devout is our Reverend Pritchard.”
Out of curiosity, I asked, “What qualifies as an emergency for a vicar?”
She looked uncertain for a moment before declaring, “A crisis of faith.”
“We’ll come back later,” Harry said.
“He’ll be preparing for the serviceallday.”
“Then he’s very devout indeed.”
As we walked away from the vicarage, I muttered words of frustration under my breath. I felt sure we could make him talk.
