Page 32 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
Her mind couldn’t conjure more metaphors. So, fine, she lacked imagination too. She pushed open the gate and limped into the front garden. She didn’t recognize the floral night scents, but they were growing familiar and comforting.
Rafe hadn’t unlocked the front door but ran around the side, following his hound. Did she do the same?
He had pocketed the key when they left, so the side it was. She tucked the awkward knife into the basket and left it sitting inside the gate. Wielding her cane in one hand and the lantern in the other, she followed the flagstones through the garden. She need only open the lantern if she wanted to see, but she was hesitant to do so. Instead, she held her hand to the house wall and limped down the walkway, trying to make sense of a puzzle created by too many skittering thoughts.
An apple picker with a London accent. A man who resembled her uncle’s footman. A merchant opening a store where there were no customers. A solicitor eager to sell the victim’s cottage. A fight over who was here when her teacher died... Miss Edgerton’s death upon Verity’s arrival...
Perhaps she would end up like the woman in the market who went about pounding her breasts, crying everyone wanted to kill her.
They had proven that Miss Edgerton had been involved in dangerous practices and poisoned with her own herbs. There was utterly no reason it had anything to do with Verity. OrFaith.
Guilt ate at her, making her unreasonable. She’d stolen a fortune, let people believe Faith Palmer was dead, and vanished. No one could possibly have followed her or even been looking for her. Had Miss Edgerton heard of Faith’s death? How could that possibly matter? Would she have grieved?
In the back garden, she found only an open gate and Wolfie. The hound loped up to lick her hand. Fine, Rafe had gone chasing after thieves and left his dog as guard. Who was she to worry?
The back door was wide open. Opening her lantern, she scanned the doorstep for bodies or weapons and finding nothing, stepped inside.
“Marmie?” she cried in distress, seeing pots and flour strewn across the floor. The disorder didn’t cause as much alarm as her missing pet. “Marmie!”
The kitten mewed from the depths of the ransacked kitchen, and Faith staggered in relief, casting the lantern light over Rafe’s once-neat work space. The light fell on what appeared to be the pantry contents tossed to the floor, along with all the utensils on the fireplace. The hidden shelves had been exposed. Thank goodness Mrs. Walker had taken all the poisons. Anyone could have walked off with them. Had that been the reason for the break in? The thief had wanted medicine? Poison?
They hadn’t needed to make such a muss, if so. Perhaps someone hated her. Or Miss Edgerton, since Verity had very little opportunity to make friends or enemies. Her stomach knotted as she searched for her crying kitten.
In relief, she found Marmie under a soup pot. She wanted to kick whoever had been so cruel, but she supposed they’d done her a favor. With the door left open, a frightened pet might have disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. She cuddled the terrified kitten and fed him a shattered biscuit from the floor.
Clinging to the kitten, leading the dog, she peered into the front room. Wolfie didn’t seem alarmed, so she assumed the thief had departed—leaving a mess of this cozy room as well. Cushions and books had been tossed. Cinders coated the fireplace, as ifthey’d stuck a broom up the chimney. The wood in the firebox had been emptied.
Someone had been searching for something.
The front door latch rattled and Wolfie yipped a warning.
“Mrs. Porter, it’s just me,” Mrs. Underhill called.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Verity opened the door and stepped aside to let her companion enter. “We have had a burglar. Rafe and I stepped out for a while and when we returned...” She gestured at the chaos.
Someone had been watching to know when the house was empty. Surely they would not have broken in if she’d been here...? She shuddered and wiped the notion from her mind.
“Oh, my, oh mercy me.” Holding the basket abandoned at the gate, Mrs. Uphill clutched her shawl to her chest and surveyed the damage. “You should come back to my daughter’s with me. This won’t do. This is terrible. Whatever has become of this world?”
As much as Verity longed to hide in safety, she didn’t think sleeping on the floor with children and an infant wailing would be conducive to rest. Besides, she couldn’t bear being driven from another home, if she could prevent it. “Rafe has chased off the thief. Let us clean up a little until he returns. Unless you’d rather return to your daughter’s? I can certainly understand.”
“No, no, I cannot leave you here!” The stout woman released her shawl and began setting cushions back in place.
The lady might be an uncommunicative bore, but she had courage and kindness.
“Thank you, Mrs. Underhill, you are a gem. I will try to restore order to the kitchen so we might at least make tea.” She didn’t think she’d seen the tea canister tossed.
They were still hard at work when Wolfie yipped again and pawed at the back door.
Terrified to open it, Verity rummaged in the abandoned picnic basket for the knife and held it unsteadily as the latch rattled and the door opened.
Rafe strode in, clutching his arm.
TWENTY: RAFE
“We needto take you to Dr. Walker!” Verity cried, cutting off Rafe’s bloody sleeve. “This looks deep.”
Her eyes were deep wells of fear. He hated doing this to her. “Don’t fuss. Just send Wolfie to fetch Fletch. He’s at the tavern.” Wincing, he grabbed a dish towel to staunch the bleeding. “Open the door and gate. Wolfie knows what to do. Wolf, fetch Fletch,” he commanded.
