Page 18 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“That’s marvellous,” Flora exclaimed with excitement.
“Even better, the gentleman who wrote the letter had threatened to collect what was owed in person,” the captain finished, his handsome face breaking into a proud grin.
“We have a suspect,” Flora breathed, relief making her giddy. “What did Lord Crabb have to say?”
“I haven’t told him yet,” Captain Thorne replied, a little bashfully. “I wanted to share the news with you first.”
As Flora had never been at the top of anyone’s list for anything, she found herself a little overcome.
“You did?” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I mean, thank you. That is very kind. You’re very kind.”
And loyal, she added to herself. The open jar of wolfsbane in the cupboard weighed heavily on her conscience. It was ludicrous to keep such important information to herself, especially now that he had proved his steadfastness.
Still, Flora hesitated. She did not want to test the captain’s gallantry past its limits. It would be only natural for a man to wonder at the serendipity of it all—her vengeful outburst, her skill with herbs and potions, the wolfsbane in the cupboard, the same poison that tainted the brandy…
“There’s something else,” Captain Thorne continued, his tone grave.
“Oh?” Flora raised a curious brow, though she felt the blood drain from her face. Did he somehow already know? Was his mind as capable of omniscience as his shoulders of magnificence?
“During the course of my search, I came across some correspondence between Sir Ambrose and a Mr Treswell,” the captain said, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair awkwardly. “Sir Ambrose had applied for another increase in your allowance—on account of your grandmother’s illness.”
“Grandmother is in the rudest of health,” Flora stated, confused. “And I don’t know what you mean by another increase; there hasn’t been any change at all to what I receive from the estate since he took charge of my affairs.”
“As I suspected,” Captain Thorne sighed, then explained further. “I believe Sir Ambrose was feathering his own nest with your fortune.”
“Why,” Flora gasped. “That cretin. Why, I hope—”
Flora paused, her cheeks pink. She had been about to wish all kinds of ill upon Sir Ambrose—momentarily forgetting thatill had already befallen him. She glanced up at Captain Thorne, whose mouth was quirking with amusement at the corners.
“I mean,” Flora clarified, adopting a calmer tone. “What reprehensible behaviour.”
“Indeed,” the captain nodded. “I have taken some of his financial ledgers to read through; from a cursory glance, I can already see that he gleaned monies from other fortunes he was made trustee of.”
“Perhaps that might be the reason for his demise?” Flora suggested, keen to add another suspect to their list. “A vengeful ward?”
“We can consider it,” the captain answered, eyes dancing. “Though we might keep that theory to ourselves for now, Miss Bridges, and focus on our London gent instead.”
Flora opened her mouth to protest at keeping another—perfectly viable, in her mind—suspect secret, when realisation dawned upon her. If they were to reveal that Sir Ambrose had been pilfering her funds, it would only add weight to the whispers that she had killed him.
“A very good plan, Captain,” she agreed, averting her eyes with embarrassment.
“We’ll have to make up a list of recent male arrivals to Plumpton,” the captain continued encouragingly. “Though I hope you trust me enough not to add me to it.”
Without thinking, Flora replied, “Oh, I do. My grandmother always said blue eyes are hopeless at deception.”
The captain’s brows rose in amusement, and heat crept over her as she realised she had been gushing.
“Not that yours are… hopeless. Nor do I believe in old wives’ tales. I mean—well—oh, you know what I mean,” she sighed, willing herself to stop digging the hole she had created.
“If I’ve interpreted you correctly, Miss Bridges,” the captain grinned, “you mean that you trust me—I am honoured.”
Flora found herself smiling shyly back, a warm flutter of longing unfurling in her stomach. This was quickly joined by a jolt of guilt—she ought to tell him now about the jar of wolfsbane in the cupboard.
She opened her mouth to share her secret—but the captain was already taking a timepiece from his pocket.
“I am due to meet Mrs Fitzhenry with Lord Crabb shortly,” he said, with some reluctance. “We’re going to try to get a list of visitors to the cottage in the lead-up to the murder. With any luck, we’ll find our London gent amongst them.”
“It would be wonderful if the whole affair could be wrapped up that quickly,” Flora smiled wanly.
