Page 58 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
Thea—Miss Talbot—nodded uncertainly. “The Prescotts are friends of my family who helped with the sale of my grandmother’s estate. My parents, their parents—you know how it is.” She gestured helplessly.
Rafe did, indeed, know how that worked. It was how he’d ended up in Gravesyde—knowing someone who knew someone. It didn’t mean they knew them well.
“I cannot see how it matters,” Mrs. Prescott said stiffly, ignoring the hand her husband held out. “Yes, my name is Seraphina. Miss Edgerton taught at the school I attended. Therewere many other teachers and students. It’s been nearly twenty years since I left. It is not unusual for friendships to arise from exclusive schools. It is the whole point of them.”
Rafe understood that too. Fletch had been one of his fellow students, although their school could scarcely be called exclusive.
Before hair pulling and eye scratching could commence, Rafe intervened. “It matters because you knew Miss Edgerton, you did not mention it, even after her death, and you were here the day she died. That is more than anyone I have interviewed can say.”
Having accepted her husband’s hand to rise, the lady, looking aghast, burst into tears and raced from the room. Her husband followed her out.
“Well, that certainly didn’t turn out as expected.” Hurriedly, the heiress left the table to follow her acquaintances.
“She wants those sketches for a reason,” Verity said grimly.
The solicitor looked pained. “I suppose now she will not offer for them again. You do the heirs no favor.”
“Do the heirs care only for the money or might they desire justice for the death of a beloved family member?” Verity folded her napkin and rose. “If you will excuse me?—”
“Sit down,” Rafe roared, startling her. He’d been staring at Verity’s bosom all evening. Her nervousness drove him over the brink. She’d been raised as a lady, far above his reach, had her father not been killed. And now, the death of her governess had left her bereft again. He disliked coincidence. Worse yet, he disliked the confusion she caused in his normally sensible brainpan. He wanted to shake her or hug her and couldn’t do either.
She stared at him in astonishment, as did the others. He’d just behaved as a sergeant with new recruits. No matter. He wanted at the bottom of this confounded mystery so he could go back to life as planned.
Minerva tugged Verity’s hand, drawing her back to her seat. “You cannot miss one of Elsa’s fabulous puddings. Let us see what the sergeant has to say.”
Thank all that was holy, Verity reluctantly sat. Well, at least she’d stay safely in the manor tonight, if only to avoid him.
The solicitor raised his graying eyebrows. “Surely you do not believe one of the heirs is desperate enough to cause Miss Edgerton’s demise?”
Rafe gathered his thoughts. He wasn’t accustomed to ordering about civilians who didn’t work for him. But if he was to be bailiff, however reluctantly, then he needed to order about gentry as well as the lesser sorts. If Hunt wanted to boot him from his position for his offensiveness, Rafe was fine with that.
The reason he wanted his own inn was so no one could cast him out, as the bank and the army had. He needed to remember that.
“I think that you, Mr. Culliver, arrived with a potential buyer in an unholy hurry,” Rafe stated. “Have you heard from the heirs yet?”
Instead of looking insulted, Mr. Culliver merely seemed annoyed. “My office is in Stratford, only a few hours away. I was notified of Miss Edgerton’s death immediately. Captain Huntley offered me a room upon the request of Mr. Bosworth, a mutual acquaintance. Bosworth also informed me that Mr. Sullivan here was in search of a suitable site for his business. There is nothing mysterious about my arrival.”
“Thank you. Have you had any other inquiries about the property?” Rafe noted Verity hiding her surprise at his question. Good. Perhaps she’d stay put and listen. He was convinced she held more clues she wasn’t aware of—or hid.
The solicitor also looked surprised and eyed Rafe with interest. “You believe the lady died because of her property?”
“Given that she was murdered so someone might search the place, and then it was set on fire, that seems a plausible assumption.” He needed to learn better questioning techniques than shouting. Tricky.
The lawyer nodded. “I see. Indeed, I have had another inquiry,from London, but the person is unknown to me and has not presented himself. The inquiry came through a London solicitor.”
“Two inquiries? Is that not odd?” Verity paled. “Do you at least know the person’s name?”
He lifted his shoulders. “No, that is not how this is done.”
Rafe studied Verity. “Did you have someone in mind?”
“The men in the painting,” she answered unequivocally. “Who else?”
He experienced a surge of relief at this sensible reply but still thought she held answers, even if she was unaware of them.
“Former lovers, students, gardeners, and herbalists,” Minerva ticked off potential buyers on her fingers. “Miss Edgerton and her garden, presumably, were well known outside the village.”
“And other than our drunken apple picker and Mrs. Prescott, none of those folks were here the day she died. If we cannot prove their guilt, we are back to looking at the village folk. Someone must know something.” Out of habit, Rafe glared at the servant reaching for his empty plate before he could refill it. The footman quivered and removed the china anyway.
