Page 55 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“Captain,” the lad said, recovering himself. “I may be falsely accused of murder, but I will not be guilty of slovenliness.”
“You’ll be guilty of wasting my time if you don’t answer my questions,” James cut in. “Two people saw you on the stairs behind Mrs Pinnock. Were they lying?”
“Well, actually, Captain,” Marrowbone interjected, attempting gravitas, “Mrs Canards has since retracted her statement. Said it was dark. She couldn’t be certain.”
James’s eyes narrowed. “So it rests on Miss Vale’s word alone?”
“You see!” Henderson crowed, seizing the chance. “It wasn’t me. And if Miss Vale insists it was, one must ask why. Why lie unless she’s the one with something to hide?”
James stilled. “That’s a grave accusation.”
“It’s a logical one,” Henderson shrugged. “If it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Mrs Pinnock—because someone pushed her, that much is certain—then who else remains?”
For once, James found himself robbed of words. The lad’s crude reasoning rang uncomfortably true.
His mind flew back to a sunlit walk by the river, Flora at his side, her voice earnest as she’d insisted that an angry ward was as viable a suspect as any. He had dismissed her outright, unwilling to let suspicion of another ward cast a shadow on her innocence. And by doing so, he realised grimly, he might have blinded himself to the truth.
“Where can I find Miss Vale?” he snapped at Marrowbone who gave a sulky shrug of his shoulders.
“How should I know?” the constable muttered. “I was running around all morning looking for this fella, not keeping tabs on the guests at the inn.”
The inn; James closed his eyes against his own stupidity—of course she was at the inn.
“I’ll just be on my way,” Mr Henderson said casually, as he attempted to discreetly shuffle toward the door—an impossible task when wearing a barrel for a skirt.
“Not so fast,” James cautioned. “You’re not yet exonerated—and there’s the little matter of bribery that Marrowbone needs to discuss with you.”
“Bribery?” the constable looked impressed. “Why, you’re a lad of many talents, I’ll grant you that, Henderson.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” James murmured aloud to himself. “Is there anyone in this village with an ounce of sanity?”
“Said the man talking to himself,” Marrowbone muttered slyly, taking out his note book to jot this down.
James cast him an appropriately droll look, before heaving a sigh and making for the door. He did not have time for the constable’s antics—he had a murder to solve.
Once outside the stables, he made straight for The King’s Head, comforted only by the thought that Flora was safely at her grandmother’s—one less worry to weigh him down.
But as he hurried along the path, a figure darted out of the greengrocer’s and collided with him so hard that James nearly lost his footing. A paper bag burst on impact, scattering boiled sweets across the cobbles.
“Apologies, Captain,” Mr Goodwin gasped, staring down in dismay at the sticky trail. “I wasn’t watching my surroundings—I’m in such a rush to get ready for the stage. You’re the second person I’ve barrelled into today. Nearly knocked Miss Bridges clean over.”
“Flora was here?” James snapped to attention.
“She was looking for Miss Vale,” Goodwin confirmed, crouching to scoop up a sweet from the cobbles. He sniffed it, blew the lint away, then popped it in his mouth without a qualm.“I told her she might still catch her at the inn—she’s packing, you see. Off to Bath, to fetch Mrs Pinnock’s kin.”
“Good Lord,” James exhaled, his worst fear confirmed.
“I know,” Mr Goodwin agreed with a misty smile, clearly misinterpreting. “Such a caring soul, Miss Vale—off to all that trouble for her mistress. I hope when I get my fortune, I have servants as loyal as she.”
James barely restrained himself from shaking the man. Loyal? If Goodwin had the faintest notion of what danger Flora might be in—
He did not wait to explain. With a clipped nod, James lengthened his stride toward the inn, every muscle taut with urgency.
James burst through the doors of The King’s Head, somewhat startled to find the entrance hall devoid of any chaos. At the front desk, Edward was dozing, chin tucked to chest.
“Did you see Miss Bridges?” James snapped, rousing the lad with such force that Edward nearly fell off his stool.
“She went upstairs a few minutes ago—to call on Miss Vale,” the footman stammered, blinking himself awake.
