Page 29 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
His stride was twice that of hers. He forced himself to take small steps. “And a kitchen. And a place for me to sleep. I’ll have to live on the premises.” Which meant finding a killer so he could leave the widow alone. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave her, but he wanted her safe.
“What about your position as bailiff?” She actually sounded concerned.
“I shouldn’t think killers normally haunt the streets. I can handle a few drunkards. Hunt mostly wants me to train hishounds. The soldiers he’s hired have been doing a fine job, so there’s not much for me to do but finish up. They’re good dogs.”
“Am I walking too fast?” he asked in concern when he thought he’d slowed to a crawl and she fell behind again. “Did Mrs. Walker treat your foot?”
“It’s healing. Broken bones take time,” she said dismissively. “I’m trying to imagine this as a real village and not a dead end.”
He was inordinately pleased that she was considering his future. “It may never be,” he warned. “But this is the best offer I’ve found.”
He glanced in the lighted tavern as they passed. Henri had a crowd. Men stood outside, sipping from their mugs, presumably waiting for Henri’s wife to begin singing. Someday, he hoped to have a pub serving his own brew.
They reached the sprawling, aging inn and stopped to study the exterior. Several stone extensions had been added on to the original timber & wattle. The rotted thatch sagged. In the evening gloom, it didn’t look promising. Despite that, he was excited about owning his own place. Ideas circled.
“New roof, good coat of whitewash?” she asked dubiously.
It needed far more than that, but he wouldn’t discourage her. He took her elbow, led her inside, and lit the lantern so they could study the lobby. Workers had carried off the worst of the debris, leaving the worn floor clean. The tall scarred counter waited for a guest book.
Verity limped to the arched doorway on the left. “The pub? Good trestle tables. Will the rats nibble our toes if we eat here?”
She could speak—when it wasn’t about her.
“I have big boots.” Rafe set the basket down and tested the sturdiness of the table legs. “Solid oak, I wager. Honest folks around here if they didn’t carry these off.”
“Too large for most homes. The chairs or benches appear to be gone.” She climbed up to sit on the table and poked inside the basket.
“Probably for firewood. Easier to cut up and carry. I’m waitingfor a chimney sweep before I look in the kitchen.” He handed over a meat pie and opened the cider jug. “I don’t even dare start a campfire.”
“You’ve spent years eating like this, haven’t you?” She nibbled at her crust.
“This is luxury. Will you come eat in my pub when it’s ready?”
“Women will be allowed?” She tasted the cider he handed her. “I’d likely starve unless I hire help. I suppose I must learn to cook if I stay. I was hoping Miss Edgerton would teach me.”
If it meant she’d express her thoughts, he should give her alcohol more often. “I might need a separate dining room for ladies,” he said through a mouthful of pie. “Why haven’t you learned to cook?”
She shrugged. “I was more interested in books than food. I like numbers. I could probably keep your accounts should you ever have income to track.”
“I’ll feed you for free, if you do. I hate numbers, and if others invest, bookwork will be required.” He fed Wolfie part of his pie and watched the hound prowl the corners. Apparently no rats had taken up a home recently.
“You are giving a thief time to break into the cottage, aren’t you?” she asked, sipping her cider as if it were tea.
“You’re much too perceptive. Who taught you that?” Unconcerned, he finished off his pie and wiped his hands on a cloth he’d brought for the purpose.
“Life, I suppose.” She handed him part of her pie. “Or maybe I’m just naturally curious. You left the back gate unlocked—to keep the thief from climbing the apple tree again?”
Damn, but she saw everything—even that he was still hungry. No one had cared about his comfort for a very long time.
He owed her honesty, he supposed. “No point in riling our neighbor by forcing thieves to use her yard. I assume there’s nothing of real value in the cottage except you. Just don’t know how closely they’re watching. This may be for naught. I have Henri taking note of who comes and goes from the tavern, but helooked pretty busy with all these new workers around.” He glanced at the enormous pub. “His bar is small. I’ll have difficulty filling a place this size.”
“He doesn’t serve food. People need to eat.”
That made sense. And if he had his own brewery... “I wish I knew somewhere safe to leave you so I can watch the house from the woods.”
Finishing off his piece of pie while she politely nibbled at her portion, Rafe prowled about the pub, picturing a bar and customers. With what he’d learned of brewing, he could have men coming from the city just to buy his ale.
Verity sat silent for a while. Rafe suspected that was a dangerous sign. She had an active mind but seldom spoke it. He really needed to know more of her history, but unlike most women he knew, she was close-mouthed. She had secrets, but he could not see how she might have murdered the teacher.
