Page 78 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
“Out of curiosity, how did Miss Edgerton know about your elixir?” Verity tried not to put words in the woman’s mouth. She had a horrible notion of what happened now that she grasped how venal people could be. She wanted truth.
“Your mother appreciated my compound,” Mrs. Clement said proudly. “She was a good woman.”
And had spent the better part of her last years in bed with her medicines. Tensing, Verity merely nodded. “And Miss Edgerton objected?”
“Threw out my bottles, she did! I was glad to see the back of her.”
“That was after my father died, wasn’t it? My mother was bedridden with grief. You stayed but Miss Edgerton left.” Verity struggled to put the words right. “Why did my uncle not let you go too?”
“Cause he needed me and Clem,” The woman said proudly. “That baggage yelled and threatened him, said as how she meant to call the law if he turned everyone off. But me and Clem saw how we could finally get hitched, so we said we’d tell the Runners she was lying.”
Standing behind Verity, Rafe squeezed her shoulder. Drawing strength from his touch, she filled the teacups, while she put together the next question. It wasn’t easy skirting around the issue of her father’s murder. “I’m surprised that my uncle didn’t turn out me and my mother too. He didn’t like us much.”
Mrs. Clement shrugged. “The tart threatened him, said she had some sort of evidence, said if anything happened to you or your home, she’d lie, if she must, to see him hang. Stupid fool believed her.”
It hadn’t cost her uncle anything to leave Verity and her mother alone. As in everything, he’d simply taken the easiest route. Brave Miss Edgerton had kept them from being flung into the streets.
“And then I died,” Verity said softly. Her uncle must have believed everyone, including Miss Edgerton, had forgotten invisible Faith Palmer after ten long years.
Mrs. Clement grimaced. “That was a nasty fire, I heard. Don’t know how you escaped. Luther said as you was in there.”
“Luther was in a pub and didn’t see anything,” Verity said in scorn. “So why did you visit Miss Edgerton all the way out here if I was dead?”
Caught by surprise, the prisoner replied without thinking.
“His Royal Pomposity wanted that painting, just like we told you. We was only following orders. You can’t hold us for getting back what belonged to him.” She sat back, satisfied she’d said all that needed to be said—while verifying everything Luther had told them.
“So my uncle sent you to retrieve a painting, Miss Edgerton refused to give it up, and then what happened?”
“The stupid boy didn’t like being refused and wouldn’t go back. So I had to do it.” The old woman wrinkled her forehead. “It was like she was expecting me. Luther must have said something, ’cause she said she’d ordered more of my elixir. She meant to have it examined by an apothecary.”
“Did that upset you?” Verity tried to sound sympathetic.
Mrs. Clement waved a careless hand. “Makes no matter to me and my customers what some rattle-pate says.”
“But you still didn’t have the painting, and you couldn’t go home without it?”
The prisoner scowled. “It shoulda been simple. I mixed a sleeping powder, enough to keep her out while Clem and I searched. But a visitor started pounding on the door, and we had to leave. I didn’t do nothing wrong, and we never found any painting, so you can’t accuse us of stealing. You gotta let us go.”
The old witch’s “powder” and ignorance had put Miss Edgerton permanently to sleep.
Trying not to turn into a watering pot again, Verity glanced back at Rafe. He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.
Captain Huntley nodded at the footman standing guard. “Take the prisoner back to the wine cellar. We’ll let the judge decide whether it’s murder.”
They led her away, screaming vile curses.
FORTY-FIVE: RAFE
Terrified after learningof his employer’s death, Clement admitted to no more than the accident of killing Verity’s father and “accidentally” setting the cottage on fire. Neither man nor wife admitted to ransacking the cottage, but they were the only ones searching for the painting. The real villain was dead. Rafe left the gin-soaked lout in Hunt’s hands for transportation to assizes and better minds than his.
With the crimes solved, a far more important task lay ahead. He didn’t know if a rough military man could finesse his argument as nicely as Verity had done with her interrogation. He was a man of action, not charm. But he had an actual plan in place, which gave him some confidence.
He found Verity, as he’d feared, wistfully studying Miss Edgerton’s cottage. Since she hadn’t objected to his earlier reassurances, he tried the trick again, laying a hand on her shoulder and rubbing sympathetically. “Her heirs need the blunt. They authorized Mr. Culliver to sell everything, including the botanical plates. Mrs. Prescott had hoped the plates might help in finding her teacher’s killer, but when they’re printed, she’ll sell the book to her fellow students who remember their teacher with fondness.”
“Good to know her memory will go on.” Sadly, she turned to stare down the empty village street. “It was lovely having a home, but I couldn’t keep up the garden. I hope the new owners will allow Patience to take what she needs before they destroy it.”
“Better,” he said, hiding his immense relief that she was as practical as he thought. “Captain Huntley is offering for it. Now that the manor has funds, he wants it to properly house their steward.”
