Page 20 of The Tart's Final Noel
Minerva
“Church first,”Paul insisted as they drove the battered buggy through Stratford in the direction of the steeple.“There’s bound to be a curate around.I’ll introduce myself, ask if the rector is in.I suspect a curate will know the orphans’ family better.”
With the promise of the solicitor’s young clerk meeting them at Beanblossom Cottage, Minerva was eager to find an end to the mystery.Unfortunately, her husband made sense, as always.They needed to present themselves to the rector, if possible, and learn more about the Turner family.
The gothic spire was the prettiest part of the blocky stone church.They found the curate harvesting the last rose hips in the yard.An older man, with thinning gray hair and a burgeoning belly on his thin frame, the curate nodded at Paul’s introduction.
“Heard of you.The rector is visiting in London this week or he’d speak to you.Your vicar complains you are holding back the tithes from the rich manor folk.”He didn’t appear overly concerned, just interested.
“The manor folk live off a trust they don’t control and have few funds of their own.They tithe time, food, and labor for the well-being of the community, as they can and as they should,” Paul replied evenly.
Minerva could have added spitefully that the vicar expected a curate to live on goodwill, alone, but these were Paul’s fellows.He didn’t interfere in her librarian duties.She offered him the same respect.
Although, at some point, he’d have to be curious on how she spent her salary.Well, without Willa, it wouldn’t be on bread.He’d soon notice missing toast.She fretted that it might be too late for them to communicate about domestic issues.They had both learned independence as children.
But solving mysteries...That’s what had brought them together.
“We’re actually here at the manor’s request,” Paul continued.“The carriage we arrived in,” he gestured at the drive, “lost a wheel outside Gravesyde and crashed yesterday.The driver died and no one recognizes her.We are hoping someone will identify the vehicle or this sketch.”He produced Arnaud’s image of the woman.
The curate removed spectacles from his pocket and examined the portrait.“Excellent work, but I can’t say I know her, sorry.”
“The two children she had with her are also unidentified.They say they are a Daniel and Daphne Turner from Beanblossom Cottage, but no one in Gravesyde recognizes them.We are trying to determine where they belong.Might you know the family?”
The curate nodded toward the graveyard.“We just laid their mother to rest a few days back.Her solicitor paid for a decent burial, but there were no mourners.”He wrinkled his nose as if he’d say more but resisted.
“What name was she buried under?”Minerva asked.She hadn’t missed Mr.Browning calling her a “mistress.”
He looked relieved at the question.“Smith, Peggy Smith.We knew her as the Widow Turner, but I assume a solicitor knows best.”
Paul grimaced.“Do you recall the solicitor’s name?What firm he represented?”
“Not rightly.He spoke with the rector, and I just followed orders.”
Minerva refrained from rolling her eyes.A woman would have asked and remembered.But if she remembered correctly, the rector was a widower.Perhaps the housekeeper...?But they wouldn’t be seeing the rector this trip.
“Were the children baptized here?Under what name?”Paul brought out one of his ever-present tools—just a small knife, this time—and began cutting rose hips to add to the curate’s basket.
Thankful for her gloves, Minerva snapped off the hips and listened.
“Turner,” the old curate answered, sounding puzzled.“After her burial, I asked if I should notify the registrar of an inaccurate entry.The father signed the baptismal papers under Turner.Neither of them were a member of the parish originally, so we had no reason to believe they weren’t married.They bought the cottage just before the boy was born.”
“Were the records changed?”Paul asked with a frown.
“I believe the rector spoke with the solicitor and was to take it up with the bishop.”The curate looked uncomfortable with the notion of changing his records.
“Did the parents ever say where they married?”Minerva inquired, her suspicious mind circling.They needed to ask Browning if it was legal to change the records.
“I really didn’t know the couple well,” the man said apologetically.“He was often away, a soldier, I believe.She didn’t have a carriage and had to walk to services, which didn’t happen often enough because she was sickly.”
And had babies who fretted and got ill.Mothers without servants had a hard time walking anywhere.
“This is helpful, thank you.Although Smith isn’t any easier to trace than Turner.Might you make us official copies of the birth records in case we find their family?That would help tremendously.”Paul handed him his card.“We’re to meet a solicitor at the cottage, so if you would just send the documents to me when they’re ready?”
Brilliant!So even if the records were changed, they’d have a copy of the original documents.Minerva didn’t like the path her thoughts had taken.
Paul slipped the curate a coin for the service, then took her arm to steer her back to the carriage.
“Now he will think you are richer than he and start looking for a new position,” Minerva murmured in amusement as he handed her up.
