Page 26 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
“Upton, Paul Upton, curate. I take it you’ve met Mr. Walker?” Paul raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Mr. Culliver was just handing me his reins and stating his business,” Walker said dryly.
As estate steward, Walker was garbed in a swallow-tailed frockcoat and embroidered waistcoat, his doeskin breeches and high boots matching that of any gentleman. Anyone with half a brain and eyes in his head would recognize that he wasn’t a stableboy—if they looked past his skin color.
Paul’s opinion of the solicitor dropped several notches, but he would reserve judgment, for now. He tried to be fair. “Mr. Walker is Wycliffe’s steward, practically part of the family. He’s a busy man. Young Georgie there will look after your mare.” Paul nodded at the young boy running up at Walker’s signal. “I’ll introduce you to Quincy, the butler, and return directly after I finish my errands to take you to the cottage.”
Amos Culliver wore a city man’s side whiskers, a tailored riding coat that fit his portliness, and an expensive top hat. He did not appear the least abashed at insulting Walker. “I appreciate that.” He removed his hat and followed Paul back to the portico.
By the time Paul had the solicitor arranged and had returned outside, Rafe was striding up the hill from the orchard. He waited for Paul to catch up.
“Mrs. Walker figure out that notebook?” the massive bailiff asked without further ado. For his new position, Rafe had exchanged his soldier’s coat for an aging tweed country coat.
“Meera says the records will be of help should she open an office in the village, but they’re more useful as evidence than as a means of identifying anyone who might want to steal it. Some of the names are likely false. Miss Edgerton described her patients by weight, height, and age. I might identify the names of locals, but knowing that they asked for headache powders does not get us anywhere.” Paul jabbed his worn boot heel into the recently leveled dirt of the drive.
Rafe ran a big hand over his ginger curls. “I’m not learning much from the apple pickers. One of them has a London accent, which is a bit strange, but your sister says he’s learning, and he isn’t afraid of climbing trees, if needed.”
Paul nodded in the direction of the new coachman. “Have you talked with the driver? He’s new too. As is the architect working on the tower and the furniture dealers.” He glanced at the hedge concealing the lower entrance to a once-abandoned keep. “I think all the tower’s construction crew is from Birmingham, but I wouldn’t swear to it. And I’m not certain why their homes bear on the case at hand.”
“Doesn’t, yet,” Rafe admitted. “I’m scouting, learning the lay of the land. The captain said the driver just turned up at the door, which is suspicious. His accent is London too.”
Paul frowned. “Do we know where Mrs. Porter came from? If Miss Edgerton was her teacher and they lived in London...”
Rafe nodded. “She’s close-mouthed, but if I put it to her that way, she may tell me. Who is the fancified gent you were just talking with?”
“A Mr. Culliver, solicitor for Miss Edgerton’s estate. You and Mrs. Porter may need to move into the manor, unless he’s here tomake arrangements for the cottage. Oh, and the captain says the inn definitely belongs to the manor. There is no question of paying rent to the bank.”
Rafe’s broad face broke into a beam. “That’s the first good news I’ve had this week. So Fletch and I just need to work out an agreement with Walker?”
“Appears so. Maybe you can make up an apartment in the ruins so you can oversee the work while living on the premises. Mrs. Porter should be safe enough living in the manor. I need to take Mr. Culliver down to the cottage. Will you be there shortly?”
“Let me take him down,” usually genial Rafe said with a touch of grimness. “I don’t think the widow is ready to move out. Maybe I can help her work out an arrangement.”
“Good idea. He’s having his tea. If you’ll wait until he’s done, that gives me time to warn her,” Paul suggested.
“I have a notion she won’t be happy. She’s settling in and searching for clues. And expecting replies from all those letters she sent... She has all the old ladies telling her stories of Miss Edgerton over tea and crumpets.” The big man didn’t look particularly unhappy about the situation.
Having helped solve a few murders recently, Paul’s mind immediately leapt to who benefitted most from Miss Edgerton’s death... And that appeared to be Mrs. Porter.
SEVENTEEN: VERITY
What Verityreally wanted to do was tear up floorboards, but it had belatedly occurred to her that Miss Edgerton could just as likely have hidden papers beneath the boards on the side Mrs. Underhill was using. And so far, she hadn’t had a moment alone to search anywhere.
Should she trust Rafe with her teacher’s last words? Why shouldn’t she? Let her count the ways... But they all boiled down to not trusting men. Listening to the old ladies currently occupying her kitchen only confirmed her nightmares.
Men had all the power. Women had to work around them. She knew that from wretched experience. She and her mother had been powerless to prevent Uncle Warren from turning their beautiful home into a counting house.
“Well, my Sadie says as her Herb gives her enough to feed the young ‘uns, right enough. But she don’t want no more babes. It’s hard on a body, it is. And what would happen to her childern if she wore out and died?”
Mrs. Underhill patted her friend’s hand. “We all understand. Annie’s mama oncet helped me when I was having that terrible bleeding and couldn’t get outta bed.”
Verity really didn’t wish to hear these tales, but they thoughther a widow and aware of married women’s troubles. Surely, if these women talked so freely among themselves, they had nothing to hide? Unless amanlearned...
Wolfie barked at a knock at the door. Rafe had left the gate unlocked for her visitors.
Verity gestured for Mrs. Underhill to stay seated and unfastened the door latch for the handsome young curate. He was a man, but she felt comfortable speaking with him. “Mr. Upton, welcome. I fear you are entering a bit of a hen fest.”
He took off his cap and bowed as if she were a proper lady. “Rafe sent me to warn you that a solicitor has arrived about Miss Edgerton’s estate. He’ll bring him down shortly. I wanted to reassure you that whatever happens, you are welcome to stay in the manor until you decide what to do next.”
