Page 59 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
“If someone can vouch for the Prescotts whereabouts at the time of Miss Edgerton’s death, I daresay we can exclude them.” Rafe glanced around the table.
The French artist at the other end of the table shrugged. “They were with Thea most of last Saturday. They explored the manor attics in search of fabrics that might have survived damp and insects. I do not believe either would have left the manor covered in cobwebs and dust.”
Rafe hadn’t really expected the sophisticated couple to know poisons, much less visit the humble cottage to kill a teacher. But Verity had shown him that he should not assume anything.
“If Clement murdered the teacher, then his wife might tell us how. She could be staying with relations in the area. I suppose I should start scouring farms.” And raise the ire of potential customers for his pub. Rafe was beginning to see the fallacy of believing he could be his own man.
He was also thinking the mysterious woman in black was far more likely to be a poisoner than the clown Clement. Hiding was definitely suspicious behavior.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Upton offered. “We can start asking questions after services.”
Cautiously, Verity suggested, “We might do it under the guise of asking if people have relatives or boarders who look after their children, in the interest of knowing who might help with the school and transportation.”
Minerva brightened. “Excellent notion. I will set a few of the church ladies to it. The locals tend to be suspicious of outsiders.”
Rafe nodded approval but noted Verity still seemed anxious. “Anything else? Now is the time to speak.”
“Not to be annoying, but we should probably question the Prescotts about who actually wants those sketches and why. Former students are likely involved. It’s just...” She stared at the cake set in front of her and didn’t complete the thought until Rafe tapped his knife on her plate. She grimaced. “It is foolish and grasping at air.”
Impatiently, Rafe encouraged her. “I am grateful for any and all suggestions.”
“Only to cover all possibilities, even the most unlikely...” She gave a little sigh. “I don’t wish this to be all about me, but just in case...”
“Personally, I think this is all about you, so continue, please,” Rafe demanded.
That earned him a glare, but at least she gathered her courage. “Captain Huntley’s new coachman from London... He was here last Saturday. I only caught a glimpse of him, mind you, but he resembles my uncle’s footman. Perhaps he is a brother? The servant’s name was Luther...”
“And the coachman is Arthur,” Upton added with a touch of urgency. “The similarity... How long will it take a message to reach the captain in Liverpool?”
Rafe understood his concern. The Huntleys might be traveling with a killer, one about to make his escape.
SUNDAY
THIRTY-FOUR: VERITY
After church the next day,Verity was overwhelmed by parishioners inquiring about the new school. Even one of the farmers asked, although she had a suspicion he was on the hunt for a wife who might take care of his motherless offspring.
She had thought herself plain and dowdy and firmly on the shelf. She was a trifle dazed at the preposterous notion she might not need to spend her life alone. She should have heeded Miss Edgerton’s invitations much sooner, instead of clinging to the familiarity of her father’s home.
She’d been spineless.
Now that she’d realized it, she was determined to grow a backbone. Did stealing her uncle’s money count as an act of courage? Probably not. Returning it might have been. It would have also been stupid. Oh well. So she wasn’t simply plain and clumsy but clever and criminal. And homeless,again.
“You’ve attracted a new admirer,” Minerva whispered teasingly as the widower walked away.
“I’m not much inclined to mother children half my age.” Verity hid a blush that anyone had noticed.
“Ah, I had meant to ask, when is your birthday? We’ve takenup celebrating birthdays since we’ve learned some of us never had parties. Davy’s is next Saturday, and we’re to decide how to celebrate that won’t terrify him into hiding.” Minerva indicated one of the little boys leaving with the tutor.
“Oh, mine is that Friday!” Verity exclaimed without thinking. She really was bad at hiding who she was. She hastily bit her tongue. There were disadvantages to being dead. She hadn’t celebrated a birthday in ever so long, that she’d quite forgotten about it.
“Then we should have an extra cake made for you! I’ll tell Elsa. Come with us and help choose which of our attic artifacts should be transported to the inn.”
She resisted. Rafe was intent on questioning everyone in the chapel yard. “It’s not my place to make the sergeant’s choices,” she demurred.
Verity missed sharing meals with him in the cozy cottage. After her quiet life, the manor company was a trifle... excessive. She almost longed for her lonely cellar and the company of a good book. But she was done hiding.
Steeling herself, she turned to the gentle Valkyrie of an earl’s granddaughter to ask if she wished to gather seeds and roots from the cottage garden, in case Mr. Sullivan bought it. Patience jumped at the opportunity.
