Page 4 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
At the door, Wolfie yipped, and Rafe caught the jingle of reins and clop of hooves. His canine companion had a fear of wheels. Rafe had impulsively rescued him after an artillery cart had run over his paw—not considering how he’d feed an animal this size
“Huh. The village doesn’t get many carriages.” Henri set down a mug.
The tiny tavern had only one small window, and that was in the rear. Fletch ambled over to peer out the door. “Some portly gent and a widow. Nice rig.”
Holding the last of his most excellent ale, Rafe watched over his friend’s shoulder. The curricle halted in front of a mercantile. Before the driver could descend to help his passenger, the widow climbed down on her own with the aid of an elegant ebony walking stick bearing a handle that gleamed silver in the sunlight.
Rafe admired her sturdy curves, but the black veil falling from the wide brim of her preposterously elaborate hat prevented seeing more. He couldn’t tell her age, but a lonely widow in town... might be reason to linger. Women seemed to like him, but available ones were hard to come by in rural England.
“That’s the manor’s banker, Bosworth.” Henri came from behind his counter to look out. “No notion of why he’d drop a lady off here instead of at the manor.”
Rafe wasn’t in any position to look atladiesof any age. And he’d had more than his fill of greedy, cheating money men. If he was to hold onto his hard-earned blunt, he needed to invest in something substantial instead of castles in the sky for a change. .
He slapped his mug down on the bar. “Let’s get this over with, Sarge. We can put a tent up for the night, if naught else.”
And scavenge apples for dinner. The bread and cheese Henri had offered, no matter how enjoyable, hadn’t begun to fill his empty belly.
THREE: VERITY
Faith—nowVerity Porter—thanked the kind banker, Mr. Bosworth, for transporting her. She all but leapt out of the curricle into what she prayed would be her new home, one completely different from her old one. If her former governess was happy in this tiny village... so could she be.
The past ten days had not fully knitted the bones in Verity’s foot, but her new walking stick suited the identity she was trying on. She might not know exactly who she was any more, but she had acquired a new name and was about to find a new home. Limping clumsily, she climbed the stairs to the mercantile. The kitten in her cloak pocket stuck its small head out, and she soothed it—and her nervousness—before entering the shop.
These past days had been a nerve-wracking, terrifying trial by fire, quite literally, but safety was almost at hand. A week of astounding accomplishments had given her a semblance of confidence. But she was still raw and a little fragile, and now her plotting had delivered her far outside familiar environs. She needed the reassurance of an old friend.
Miss Edgerton had promised to give her guidance should she ever escape London. It had taken time for cautious Faith to gatherher wits and create a bold new persona, one with the courage to buy a coach ticket and leave behind all she knew, but having little choice, she’d done it. She wasn’t witless. Once she’d verified that her uncle was still alive, she knew she couldn’t tolerate being his lackey any longer.
She watched Mr. Bosworth turn his carriage around at a sad, dead patch of weeds in the middle of the rutted street. He’d pointed out the drive to Wycliffe Manor as they passed, as if she might know the owners, but she knew no one except her former governess.
The mail coach from London had been a horrible journey, but she had remembered Miss Edgerton did her business in Stratford, so Verity had stopped there. After she’d brought the contents of her satchel to his bank for deposit, the banker had been very helpful and informative. Wealth had many uses. He’d promised to tend hers carefully.
She let her eyes adjust to the dim interior of the store until she located the gray-haired, diminutive shopkeeper behind the counter. He watched her with suspicion, rightfully so, she supposed.
“Good afternoon, sir. I am Mrs. Porter. My former governess, Miss Edgerton, has asked me to call. Could you direct me to her home?”
He appeared reluctant to do so. She’d never lived anywhere except the city, but she recognized the clannish protectiveness of a small community. The wharf area wasn’t that different from a small town.
“And would you have any flowers or sweets I might take to her as a gift? I’ve traveled a considerable distance and was unable to bring much with me.” She’d left her new piece of baggage by the door—a lovely tapestry to hold the remains of her childhood and new acquisitions for her future.
“Aye, she likes these here.” He poured a paper of licorice candies. “You’d have to ask Mrs. Lavigne for flowers, but she’s up to the orchard today. Besides, Annie has a yard full of flowers.”
Annie? The lovely, softspoken, well-educated governess she remembered had been reduced to Annie? Come to think of it, she had never known Miss Edgerton’s first name, only that it began with A, since that was how she signed her letters. Faith/Verity had been fifteen when her father’s death had ended her schooling.
Since then, their correspondence had been limited to those times when Faith could steal stationery from her uncle’s office. Unwilling to cost her governess too much in postage, she’d kept her letters to a single sheet, and Miss Edgerton had returned the favor. Although, since the post mostly belonged to her uncle, Faith had paid for it with his coins.
“Then the candies will do, unless you know of anything else she might like?” The tiny spark of the personality she’d crushed for ten years lurked behind her veil.Faithwould have smiled ingratiatingly because she had little to spend.Verity—was trying on her mother, who had impressed with wealth and generosity.
“I’ve some of the manor’s first apple crop here.” He pointed at a basket on the counter. “Reckon she’d like a taste of those.”
“And so would I, excellent. I’ll take two. If you will just direct me, I’ll be on my way.” She left coins on the counter in excess of her purchases.
“Picket fence with the roses, just past the green and across the road. Tell her I expect her elixir to arrive in Monday’s delivery.” He bowed, all smiles now.
“You are a gentleman, sir, I thank you.” She’d ascertain his name another time. These past days, she’d lived in dread of being arrested for theft and had traveled apprehensively with strangers to an uncertain future. It was lonely being dead to all she knew. She had exhausted her bravery.
Miss Edgerton had been offering a safe haven for years. At least she knew one person in this wicked world who accepted whoever she was. Verity hoped her wise governess understood her circumstances once she explained.
She tucked the gifts into her cloak pocket and rubbed Marmie’s now-clean head. Without the sack of coins, her satchelwas much lighter. She limped down the dirt street in the direction of the weedy patch of dirt implausibly called the town green, studying her surroundings with interest. This might be her new home. Curtains twitched as she passed but she encountered no one on the rutted street. Accustomed to the crowded noise of the city, she didn’t know how to take the emptiness of the village.
