Page 24 of The Tart's Final Noel
“Which is what I’ve been saying all along,” she sniffed.“How does anyone ever catch wrongdoers?”
“Not easily,” he concluded wearily.
They repeated their performance at a few more houses without any more success, although the older inhabitants were far more hospitable than Mr.Parsons.They all had tales to tell of Willa but none added to their limited knowledge beyond reminiscences of the Bartletts and buns.
“We’re halfway home,” Brydie noted as they emerged from the last cottage on the lane.“Do you need to go back to the inn to fetch your horse?I’ll be fine walking on.”She had one bundle of buns left she thought she’d earned after this day’s work.
“The horse will be fine with Rafe.Chicken thieves and killers roam the night.We need to find a horse for you.”Damien took her arm and led her over a stile to the footpath that connected with the carriage road, proving he hadn’t forgotten his way around in his years of absence.
“Horses cost much too much: to buy, to feed, to care for.With Arthur leaving for school, we’ll have no one to tend the stable.Rob can manage the pony before school, but no more than that.I have two good feet.”Brydie tried not to shiver inside her cloak.
Just because Damien thought he ought to take care of her didn’t mean she ought to allow him to do so.She’d seen what had happened when Kate had been left a widow with three young children.She’d been helpless to handle the farm.They both had been.They were only just now finding their feet.
“I’ve savings set aside.”He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his warmth.“I won’t let you go hungry if the court can’t return my mother’s investments.We won’t need much to live on since the property is free and clear.”
“Good thing, since we won’t earn much by living in Gravesyde,” she replied with tired humor.“Once Jacques has his shoe business set up, do you think he might rent the house from you?Then we could live closer to where we work.”
“You’re thinking about Willa’s bakery, aren’t you?Do you really want to be a baker?”
He knew her too well.“I’d never given it a thought before, but I like baking.Only, buying her house is about as likely as Verity adopting those children.The real owners will come along sooner or later.I was thinking more of the inn and your office.”
“Willa’s family might not want a house where a member died so violently.And Willa’s reputation...I’m expecting men to come knocking at her door any time now.Fletch says he wasn’t her only...visitor.”Damien spoke frankly.
Brydie tried to puzzle out what he was telling her, but her mind was on baking.“I cannot imagine Willa knew many men.She went to bed early to get up and bake bread, so she didn’t spend time at the tavern.Or church, now that I think of it.I suppose the former soldiers up at the manor might hunt bread for some reason.You don’t think one of them...?”
Damien sighed.“Sorry, I shouldn’t talk about such things with you.”
“You should talk abouteverythingwith me,” she cried.“We cannot have secrets.”
“I don’t know how,” he complained.“We’re not married.You’re an innocent lady who should not have even known Willa.I would be far more comfortable if you baked bread at home or the inn.I don’t know how Willa found her male customers, and I fear no woman is safe there.”
Brydie stopped in the middle of the dark lane with bare tree branches scratching in the wind above their heads.She’d grown up in a small community, but she hadn’t buried her head in the mud.She simply had to get past her shock to grasp what he wasn’t telling her.She ought to punch him again.“Mrs.Essex told us someone offered a king’s shilling for Saturday night.What does that mean to you?”
Damien tried to drag her on.She planted her feet and refused to move.
“To take the king’s shilling generally means to join the army,” he said.“It may have meant something else to Willa.She did not live on just selling bread.Must I say more?”
Brydie thought about it.“Most of the soldiers who camped on manor land are gone.Hunt hired the few remaining.Are you saying...?”She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.
“I am saying nothing except Willa had male friends.”Damien dragged her on.
Male friends—puzzle pieces clicked.Willa had been abarque of frailty?Here?In Gravesyde?
This time she followed—because he was talking.
“The captain and his friends are making discreet inquiries of manor employees and guests who may have visited Willa.But why would any of them kill her?She had next to nothing, and we can’t see that anything has been stolen.”
“If there were documents in that desk, they’re gone,” she reminded him.“That may be all the killer sought.In which case, I doubt it was one of the soldiers.Most of them are illiterate.Verity has been talking about an evening school to teach them, but there are only so many hours in the day.”She was much more comfortable talking about schools.
“I won’t rest easy until we find who did it.”Damien stopped outside Brydie’s home and held her close.“Which means we must be suspicious of every man in town.Don’t go anywhere without me.”
He was her reality now.Forgetting Willa, Brydie hugged his neck and kissed him boldly, then stepped away.“I might as well tell you not to go anywhere withoutme.Women can kill, too, and a jealous wife— Perhaps the Uptons or the mail will bring us news in the morning.I trust they’ll be picking the post up before they return home.”
He winced at mention of a jealous wife and stuck to a safer topic.“Fletch said he’d take our post in the morning, but it could be after Christmas before we hear anything.Go knit gloves for the children and stay home!”
Brydie hurried toward the warm kitchen but threw over her shoulder, “Shawl!I’m knitting you a shawl, old man!”
WEDNESDAY
