Page 45 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
Both Lady Elsa and Rafe turned to watch her leave and shook their heads negatively.
Verity didn’t trust her instinct to follow. Half the old women here wore black gowns. She was so far out of her depth here—fish out of water died, didn’t they?
She refused to die until Miss Edgerton’s killer was found. So she needed to dive into strange waters and learn to swim with everyone else.
Taking up a knife, she took a seat on the bench carried up from the chapel. She needed to stay off her foot anyway. She propped it on the trestle of the table, followed instructions, and learned to maim carrots before tossing them into a boiling pot of broth.
When the pot threatened to boil over, she almost related to the vegetable.
By late afternoon, the mist had cleared and the day grew warmer, giving her new hat a chance to dry. All the food had been consumed and “tasting” the apple juice had depleted a dozen jugs. The chimney sweep had created enough soot to blacken everyone in the village. So much for their lamp black.
Tired, discouraged, but admiring the amount of work completed in the kitchen, Verity went in search of Rafe so he could see the miracles the village ladies had wrought and thank them before they left. She found him on the top floor, holding an enormous timber in place while his soldier friend nailed a braceinto the wall. Covered in grime, he looked jubilant—and exhausted.
She knew better than to remind him that he’d been shot and lost a lot of blood. The man was as stubborn as herself. Instead, she brought up a concern that had worried her for hours.
She waited until he’d climbed down from his ladder before whispering, “The woman in black skirts we didn’t recognize hasn’t returned. I want to check on the cottage.”
He frowned. “You can’t go back there on your own. We have people in place to watch.”
She could go easily, without his permission, but she wouldn’t have mentioned it if that was her intent. “It will only take a few minutes. People are starting to leave and it’s hard to keep track. Everyone is black at this point, and you said we didn’t have enough people to watch the gates.”
He grimaced and yelled up at his partner, “Errand. Take a break, taste some apple juice.” He followed her wearily, wiping at his face with an already filthy handkerchief.
In the kitchen, she showed him the newly working pump so he could wipe himself off and thank the women polishing the final surfaces.
After genuinely admiring the work accomplished, he strode toward the back door, accepting a mug of juice one of the women handed him. “We need to alert Henri or one of the other men we trust, tell them what we’re doing.”
“Henri’s helping Patience haul barrels of cider back to the manor.” She hobbled after him. She’d learned a lot about the town and manor inhabitants this day. “I’ve told Lady Elsa I’m running back to the cottage for a shawl. I don’t want our culprit taking notice.”
“Half the people in that kitchen had black on them,” he noted.
“We can stop at the tavern and ask if anyone passed by clean going one way and dirty the other,” she said brightly, hiding her disappointment. They hadn’t really thought this through as theyought. Well, at least she had him resting and taking liquids. Now, if she could only persuade him to put his feet up...
“Upton’s deacon is an elderly chap eager to sit in the tavern and take notes of anyone passing. He knows everyone. We’ll ask about your woman in black skirts. The captain has a deaf-mute helper sitting in the trees behind the cottage. Clever lad has a rope rigged to catch anyone coming and going from the manor path and a bell to sound an alarm, since he can’t shout for help.”
“I’m glad Mrs. Underhill’s daughter could take Wolfie and Marmie for the day. I would never have thought of anyone poisoning innocent animals!” Of course, that was a bird-witted thing to say. The killer had poisoned a lady already.
Verity checked over her shoulder to see if anyone followed. She was more accomplished at slipping down shadowy city alleys than an open village street.
Rafe stopped at the tavern to check with Deacon Jones and his list of passersby. He pointed at one of the items on Jones’s list and raised thunderous eyebrows. “Lady in black?”
“Only attended church once,” the balding deacon said. “Never learnt her name, but she sat with that lout Clement. Heard the captain threw him out but don’t know where he went.”
“If it’s the same person, she was at the inn earlier, telling Lady Elsa she needed beans and marjoram for the stew. I don’t know where she went after that.” Verity winced. Had she already failed? She didn’t know how to behave outside her cellar walls and London alleys. “I assumed she was one of Lavender’s sewing ladies.”
“Nope, I know them all,” Jones claimed. “If she don’t go to church or the tavern, I won’t know her. Could be Papist, I suppose.”
“Well, if she’s the person who stole my hat and shot Rafe, I’ll snatch her bald.” Guilt at her own failure had made her unreasonable.
Rafe dragged her back to the street. “You’ll stay far away from her if she’s in the habit of carrying a pistol.”
Troubled by her outburst, Verity didn’t argue. She never said horrible things like that. Or the old Faith hadn’t. Did this new person she was becoming go about making threats on the basis of meager evidence? Irrational or not, it had feltgoodto express her fury after so many years of quiet inconspicuousness.
Her uncle wasn’t here. She was allowed to speak her mind, wasn’t she? If she still had one, leastways.
“If the thief can carry a pistol, why can’t I?” she asked, waiting to see if Rafe would explode at her daring suggestion.
“Because they’re unstable and dangerous and you’re like to shoot off your good foot. If you want a weapon, I’ll find a dirk you can carry. I’d prefer that you ran, but I can see you might be at a disadvantage in a race.” He glanced down at her cane. “Although that’s quite an adequate weapon if used properly.”
