Page 69 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
Mrs. Penrose gestured to a stack on a small silver tray on the left edge of the table. “Right there. I brought in a few more that came this morning. I don’t believe the mistress has read a one yet.”
I walked around the desk and sat down in the chair beneath the inscrutable gaze of Mrs. Penrose.
“Would you care for some… tea?”
“Coffee if you have it. And some sandwiches if there are any. I know it’s early but I’m half starved and I fear we have a great deal of work to do.”
The older woman turned to go then paused at the door as my words struck her. “We, maid?”
“Unless you’ve something more important than finding Sir Edward’s killer?”
She sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I’ll be back in a trice.”
I grinned at her, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of excitement in her eyes. I had a plan. A mad one, but was hoping that it would work.
CHAPTERTHIRTYAn Unlikely Accomplice
TWOhours and two strong pots of coffee later, Mrs. Penrose and I had gone through all the condolence notes, comparing the handwriting from the blackmail letter to those delivered since Sir Edward’s passing. I reckoned that whoever killed Edward knew him, and anyone whoknewhim would feel compelled to send a condolence note to his poor grieving widow. After all, society had its rules, and while murder might be outré, it was even more reprehensible to shirk one’s social responsibilities. A reasonable enough assumption to my mind, though Mrs. Penrose remained skeptical of the notion. However, midway through the first pot, she came around to my way of thinking.
I bit into a cucumber-and-cress sandwich, staring at one of the more recent letters before handing it over to my semi-unwilling accomplice. “Thoughts on that one?”
“The vicar? Have you lost your wits, maid?”
“Probably.” I laughed, licking the remnants of the sandwich from my finger. “Most likely actually. But you can’t tell me that doesn’t match. Look at thet’s.” I laid the page down in front of her on the table, tapping the suspect letter.
Mrs. Penrose leaned forward, adjusting her spectacles asshe studied the script. She smelled of bread and jam. A rather pleasant thought. A far cry from the last few housekeepers we’d employed who carried a whiff of brimstone about them and looked at me like I was the very devil herself. It was a wonder we kept any staff at all, but from all indications Mrs. Penrose knew precisely what sort of troublesome woman I was and cared not one jot. She’d seen me at my worst at Tamsyn’s wedding, the details of which remained mercifully foggy, and still found an ounce of sympathy for me. She sighed with a shake of her head. “He’s pompous, that’s for certain. And conniving. But I still find it hard to believe he’s a murderer. Murder is work, and that man never cared for the condition.”
I snorted back a laugh, biting into a second cucumber sandwich, grateful that Mrs. Penrose had avoided any animal flesh. If anyone around this village was a witch, it was her, as she somehow possessed the power to know precisely what I needed—wanted—without a single word. “Mrs. Penrose…?” I asked suddenly. Tamsyn’s words about the pig came to mind again. “Mrs. Penrose, would you know anything about a bottle underneath my bed?”
She looked affronted at the accusation, except for the slightest bit of pink flushing up by her ears. “Why on earth would there be a bottle beneath your bed?”
I frowned and shook my head. Perhaps I didn’t want to know after all. I cleared my throat. “Never mind me. What about the others?” She leaned across, quickly dismissing my questioning, and shuffled through the piles of letters. We’d divided them into three categories: Definitely nots, Probably nots, and Maybes. She placed the vicar’s card reluctantly in the latter pile.
And now there were three: the vicar, an earl who lived in Cheshire, and Sir Edward’s solicitor. While the writing wasn’t an exact match toanyof them, there were marked similarities in the script, as if they’d all attended the same school.
I blew out a breath, staring at the letters laid out together, wishing that I were as clever as all those bright young things back in Exeter believed. In this instance, I felt a giant fraud. All of the condolence stationery was far finer than that used for the blackmail note, but that was to be expected. Who would use their best paper to threaten someone? I chewed slowly on an anise biscuit. Not my favorite—but it fit my mood.
“Do you have any idea who might have had something over him? You’ve worked here for years, haven’t you?”
“Thirty. I worked for the old master as well, remember.”
“At least now you believe me it’s no curse that did the killings.”
She gave me a mutinous look, but her eyes told the story, and I admired her all the more for it. It was the mark of a strong mind to be willing to change it when given incontrovertible evidence. And frankly, a threatening blackmail note was as good a proof as any of human intervention.
“This one, I’ll grant you. But I still don’t think it’s the vicar who done it,” she added gruffly before taking a sip of her coffee. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Perhaps even Mrs. Penrose had limits to her open-mindedness.
“No, no, I actually agree with you for once. I don’t think he’s the killer either. But I do think he’s the blackmailer. He has to be. Why else would he have been sniffing around the estate so soon after Edward’s death? You cannot think the man actually meant to console Tamsyn. He didn’t even bring his prayer book.” A detail I had almost forgotten until this very moment.
Mrs. Penrose let out a surprised laugh. “You know, now that you mention it, that did strike me odd as well.”
“Will you tell Tamsyn when she comes down that I’ve gone to call on the Pellar?” I gathered up the blackmail note and the letter from the vicar, tucking them into the pocket of my smart riding jacket.
Mrs. Penrose nodded. I bussed a kiss to her cheek and breezed out of the room wondering briefly if Tamsyn would hate me terribly if I poached her housekeeper. Then again, I supposed she owed me after all we’d been through.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONEMissing Vicars
ITwas nearly midday before I tracked down Ruan, unable to wait for him to come to me. He’d likely be cross to discover I’d left Penryth unaccompanied, but I wasn’t about to delay any longer to satisfy his transient moods. Besides, I now had two reasons for my haste to find him. First, I was inordinately curious about whether he’d found the woman from the crossroads. Second, I’d grown giddy with my own discovery. I’d done it. I’d found something to lead us on a new angle, and I’d done it all on my own. Oh, fine. I had some much-needed assistance from Tamsyn and Mrs. Penrose—but nevertheless I had donesomethinguseful in the handful of hours we’d been apart.
