Page 10 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Nine

Brydie

“I rather love having a horse and carriage and riding out of the wind.” With Damien’s aid, Brydie’s sister climbed down to the manor drive from the barouche Damien had appropriated from a scoundrel who had robbed him of his inheritance.

“Be kind to your new friends and listen to Brydie.” Kate hugged her children, who had scampered down first. Then, carrying her sewing basket, she marched up the drive, leaving them in the inn yard.

“We should probably drive her up to the manor when the weather turns bad.” Damien helped Brydie out next.

“We are so used to walking, that we don’t think twice about it, as long as Lynly is kept warm.” She shooed the children toward the kitchen door, but Lynly lingered to feed the horses apples. “Have you chosen a room for your office? Arthur can help you haul furniture, if you’re ready.”

“I’m in no hurry. Since Rafe has to stay at the inn while Fletch is out of town, I told him I’d try searching Mrs. Willoughby’s house more thoroughly.

Although, since I am told no one showed up last night, the killer may have found what he wanted.

” He held the horses as Verity and the orphans approached.

Carrying a basket of eggs from the henhouse, Verity led her two fledglings to admire the animals. “Tomorrow is market day. Willa used to provide bread for the mercantile to sell to the farmers’ wives. We might talk with them, see what they know,” she suggested.

Brydie brightened. “I could have a baking day, bake a dozen loaves or so, and sell them tomorrow so we don’t seem too intrusive? Should we make a list of questions to ask?”

“Excellent idea,” Damien agreed. “As long as I’m at Willa’s with you, you should be safe in her kitchen, if you don’t mind not observing the proprieties. Will you have enough flour?”

Brydie snorted at the idea of propriety.

She’d been helping her fiancé clean out his family home all week without any companion.

They may have been a little naughty, but Kate’s cautionary tale didn’t allow for more.

They had yet to even cry banns. “If I can use some of Willa’s coins to buy more flour, I should have everything I need.

Do we donate her treasures to the church for a funeral? I can add what I earn from the bread.”

“Tricky question until we learn more. Mr. Cooper is her only representative at the moment. It may be his choice. I have a notion he needs funds, but he doesn’t seem anxious to take anything of Willa’s.

” Damien reached into the barouche for the bag they’d brought from the farm and handed it to Daniel, who was daringly stroking a mare’s nose.

“Play clothes, so you may visit the hens and horses and let Rob lead you astray.”

The boy beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

Not to be outdone, Lynly pulled out another satchel. “And I brought Sunday clothes and play clothes and Miss Princess. She needs her hair fixed though.”

She opened the bag to pull out a rag doll with yarn hair and handed it to the wide-eyed Daphne. “We will make her new clothes and she can be your dolly.”

With tears in her eyes, Verity sent all the children off to the kitchen.

“That was generous, thank you. I can ask Lavender to sew some simple garments but not knowing if I can keep them, it’s hard to know what I should do.

They only have the one pair of shoes each, and they’re almost too small.

I cannot help feeling someone is selling everything they owned.

Good shoes might bring a thief quite a few coins. ”

Verity had lived in poverty for years. She would know the value of such things. Brydie tried not to think badly of people, but she feared the innkeeper was right.

“Paul sent me a note saying he couldn’t work on the coffins today,” Damien said.

“He and Minerva have taken another of Arnaud’s sketches of the nanny and gone to Stratford in hopes of finding out more.

If they see Fletch, perhaps they can all investigate.

Jacques is learning to make small shoes instead of boots.

He can practice making them for the children.

We’ll figure out how to pay him—perhaps he can do charity work in lieu of rent while he’s looking for customers. ”

He led the horses to the stable.

Jacques was Damien’s French valet, but he desperately wanted to make gentleman’s boots. Damien’s father had left a shoe shop, which Damien refused to enter if he could avoid it. The Lord worked in mysterious ways, Brydie decided, especially in Gravesyde.

“I do hope Damien finds enough legal business to keep him busy,” Brydie said as she watched him go. “He is keeping occupied by creating plans to renovate Sutter Hall, while he waits to see if he can reclaim his mother’s money. But he’s accustomed to traveling about, negotiating contracts.”

“He’s found what he needs here,” Verity assured her. “And it isn’t as if Gravesyde doesn’t offer enough to do. He need only choose his task. I have to take these eggs in so Rafe can make breakfast for our new guests. For him, having guests is almost as good as Christmas.”

“Does Mr. Cooper have any plans? Will Rafe let him leave once we hear from his family?” Brydie followed Verity toward the kitchen.

“Mr. Cooper talked to Henri about trading last night. Now that Patience is increasing, Henri wants to stay home more. But Henri is very clever and knows how to make a profit. I’m not so sure Mr. Cooper does, or that he even means to stay.

He told Rafe if he had to pay for being imprisoned in the inn, he’s leaving. ”

Interesting, but none of Brydie’s concern. Seeing Damien returning, she waved Verity off. His welcoming smile melted her heart every time. He looped his arm around her waist, and she loved that she didn’t feel like a towering giantess beside him.

“It’s a pity everyone is so busy. We ought to organize Willa’s effects into some order, keepsakes should family ever arrive, charity donations, bits that might be sold to cover expenses. . .” Brydie suggested as they strolled the lane to the bakery.

She had dealt with far too many deaths and funerals in her life. She knew what was expected. “The church ladies are seeing to her laying out once Meera is done with her, but we don’t know if her coins should be used for a proper funeral.”

“We’ll let Cooper decide,” Damien concluded. “Although I seriously doubt he knows enough about his family to have any notion of what they might like to keep. I thought my family was bad, but we only had each other to ignore. He has a whole host of siblings he hasn’t even met.”

Brydie disapproved of an able-bodied man who neglected family. “Isn’t it rather odd that he’s had two cousins die recently, even if they’re distant or not really related? One killed while he was supposed to be attending the funeral of another?”

“The world is full of people and people die. He cannot be in two places at once, so I don’t think you can assume he goes about murdering his family, especially since he doesn’t seem in any position to inherit anything.

” At Willa’s bush-shrouded front door, Damien produced the key Rafe had confiscated.

“We need to have someone trim this shrubbery if we’re to come and go for a while. ”

Brydie glanced at the key he returned to his pocket. “Perhaps the intruder did not return last night because the door was locked. Do you think Willa left it open while she slept? Or did she leave the key outside for the killer to find?”

Damien frowned. “I’ll make a note to ask Fletch about her habits.”

Had Fletch and Willa been stepping out? Willa had been older than he, but Fletch had no family and was no doubt lonely.

More interested in baking than Major Ferguson, Brydie donned an apron and examined her remaining ingredients. “I do worry that Mr. Cooper is not exactly what he seems. I suppose I don’t like coincidence that he just happened to arrive the night Willa was murdered.”

“You think someone knew he was arriving and wanted to find something before he did? Since Cooper wrote to say he was on the way, she might have left the door unlocked for him,” Damien acknowledged. “And if Willa had Oswald read Cooper’s letter to her, the entire village knew.”

Brydie puckered up her nose, knowing he was entirely right. She simply rather believe a stranger was guilty.

He gestured at what might have been a butler’s pantry in a manor house, but instead, held all the pans and bowls and utensils a busy bakery might need. “Did you and Minerva search all the cabinets?”

“Even on top. But I didn’t go too far in the cellar.

I was afraid of rats.” After lighting the kindling to start the ovens warming, Brydie set out all the mixing bowls she could find and began measuring.

Baking for a week would be a lot easier this way than with one bowl that only held enough ingredients for two loaves, at best. When she was married.

. . She dwelt on that pleasant dream while Damien clattered down the stairs to chase rats.

She winced at a pistol shot. He carried a small firearm with him, she’d learned the hard way. As much noise as that made, all the rats would flee, which was the point, she supposed.

After he’d been down there a while, she heard him come up the stairs again. “A cat would be simpler,” she called over her shoulder, so she didn’t have to see minced rat carcass.

“The spiders down there are probably larger. I’ll find the rat holes and fill them.

But it looks like she has a trunk full of every letter anyone wrote to her, plus some old family papers.

I’ll sort through to see if there is anything that indicates a deed or will.

” He left coal dust behind as he traipsed through the kitchen to heave the rat out the back door.

“You’ll mop your mess before we leave,” she called over her shoulder.

She’d set aside six bowls to proof near the ovens before Mr. Cooper straggled in around noon.

She could hear him talking to Damien in the front room and poked her head around the corner to ask a question that had nagged at her.

“Mr. Cooper, did you notice a buggy on the road when you rode into the village?”

He narrowed his eyes as if in thought. “Don’t believe I did. It was after dark when I arrived though.” His eyes widened again. “If you mean the one that crashed, she was out much too late for driving that road. My horse stumbled in those ruts.”

Brydie nodded, satisfied, and returned to her baking. How many loaves did Willa usually bake for market? Brydie seldom paid attention, but she thought she remembered her having buns as well. She’d need eggs for those. Did Willa have a henhouse hidden in the jungle of her yard?

Donning a ragged shawl hanging beside the door, finding a basket in the larder, she stepped into the gray day. Perhaps Willa had an herb garden. She could make savory buns as well as sweet. If she meant to spend the day baking, she might as well make what her own family needed as well.

Weeds and winter-bare bushes overhung the nearly-buried stepping stones, but the path was better than fighting through the underbrush of the rest of the yard. At one time, the family must have had extensive gardens—back when they could afford help.

The henhouse was little more than a tumble-down shack with the roof nearly caved in. She could hear a hen clucking in the tall weeds. The path was cleared, so Willa must have used it. The doorway was a bit low for Brydie’s height, but she ducked under the lintel to look for a nest.

A hard arm crossed her throat and dragged her inside.

Before the arm’s owner could speak, Brydie shrieked at the top of her lungs and began kicking.