Page 16 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Fourteen

Minerva

Minerva winced as the loose carriage wheel hit a rut and they nearly bounced into the ragged hood over their heads. “I can see why the post rider was eager to cut Gravesyde off his route. We need some wealthy landowners to pave the lane.”

“And charge tolls no one can afford. I’m pretty sure toll keepers don’t take apples or sheep in payment.” Paul grinned even as he attempted to steer the old mare around a half-frozen rut.

“We’re dreaming if we think we can lure customers here to buy Lavender’s dresses and Sofia’s perfumes.” Minerva scowled at the smoke rising from the manor’s chimneys. An earl’s family simply did not have the proper mercantile connections.

“Or Jacques’s shoes,” Paul agreed. “We are not too far from the Birmingham road. Perhaps that stretch of Gravesyde’s lane can be paved, once the bridge is rebuilt, but the paving would have to extend all the way through the village to reach the manor drive.”

They were avoiding thinking of murder and kidnapping and the causes thereof.

Minerva was convinced the children had been stolen for reasons unknown.

She and Paul had spent a restless evening tossing ideas about in the luxurious chamber Bosworth had provided.

The banker’s hospitality did not include discussing possibilities for murder.

He’d retired to his office shortly after dinner and hadn’t been seen again.

Another jolt caused a rattle between the cushions.

Minerva slid her gloved hand between them to be certain the springs weren’t coming unattached.

Her fingers closed around a tin. Twisting it back and forth until it loosened, she pulled it out, frowned, and pried off the lid.

Inside were what appeared to be a few pink-coated candies.

“Digestives?” she suggested, holding them up for Paul to see.

“Candies of some sort?” He shrugged, thought about it, and scowled. “Don’t taste one. We are assuming the driver was drunk, but she could have ingested something that disagreed with her. Let’s ask Meera what they contain.”

“Looks like candy to entertain the children. They seem to be fine.” She sniffed the small sugary pellet.

“Ugh. Might be anise in the coating.” She snapped the lid shut.

She hated anise but it might be a flavor the children enjoyed.

Someone had tried to make them happy with candy.

It could be a clue to who had sent them away.

Her husband drove the buggy into the inn yard around noon.

No one emerged to greet them. Paul helped Minerva down, handed her the mailbag, then led the horse around to the stable.

She’d been dying to root through the post in hopes of finding anything useful, but her proper husband had insisted the bag should be delivered to the postmaster.

This was one of those times when her pragmatism clashed with his propriety.

Brydie’s eldest nephew hurried from the lobby to take the heavy bag and heave it onto the counter. “I’m to help Mrs. Russell,” he said in explanation. “So I’ve been trying to watch the inn while Mr. Russell is questioning suspects.”

“I take it that means Rafe hasn’t found who killed Willa yet?” Miranda shuddered. It would be a gloomy Christmas if they all had to huddle indoors to stay safe from the attack of a knife-wielding madman.

Arthur shook his head. “Should I look in the mailbag for responses from Mrs. Willoughby’s family?”

“Paul thinks we must deliver it to the postmaster. He’ll be in shortly and we can watch the desk while you carry it to the mercantile. Then Mr. Oswald can collect Mr. Cooper’s postage and officially hand the post to him.” She hoped he had the coins to pay. “That is, if Mr. Cooper is still here?”

“Mr. Russell is making him stay at the bakery.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps down the hall. “I don’t think he wants anyone around the babes.”

Minerva didn’t take long to ponder that. She smiled in delight as Verity rushed out holding the youngest orphan. The pig-tailed child was almost too big for Verity to carry, but the innkeeper looked happier than she’d been lately.

“Any news?” she asked anxiously, setting tear-stained Daphne down beside the hearth where Wolfie slept. The child petted the enormous hound without fear.

“We found Beanblossom. The trunk with all their possessions is in the carriage. There’s something you might do, Arthur, while we’re waiting for my husband. Carry it in?”

Verity didn’t look relieved but watched anxiously as the boy loped out to fetch the trunk. “Did you find their family? Do we need to send them on?”

Arthur returned with the baggage. Minerva shook her head and said nothing while the child eyed the old box but remained where placed. So the trunk wasn’t familiar? “Is Daniel around? He might like to see if we found all his books.”

Given a task to make the children happy, Verity departed to find the boy.

Arthur eyed the battered trunk with curiosity. “Is it because nothing ever happens here that an old box seems exciting? Maybe it should be saved for Boxing Day.”

“I promise, the only excitement in that trunk is for the children. The rest of our news is still as much a muddle as when we left.” Minerva watched out the mullioned window as Paul checked the carriage for the trunk, then hurried into the lobby, swiping off his tall hat as he did so.

“May Arthur carry the mailbag down to the mercantile so he can see if any of Mr. Cooper’s family has had time to respond? I can’t think they have yet, but hope never dies.” Minerva helped Paul untangle his scarf while he pulled off his gloves.

“We saw Fletch riding toward Stratford, one assumes to collect today’s post?” Paul gathered his outer garments and hung them on the hooks by the door. “That’s more likely to hold a reply.”

Arthur nodded. “That’s why I’m minding the inn and not the hardware.”

“Then trot the bag down to Mr. Oswald for me, thank you. Have him tell you if there’s anything for Mr. Cooper so you can let him know.”

Minerva wished she knew more of Mr. Cooper, but he seemed exactly what he claimed to be, a traveling gentleman caught unawares. He must have traveled through Stratford to reach Gravesyde by evening. With the bridge out, he’d not have made it to any funeral in Birmingham, even if he’d been on time.

Finally overcoming her shyness, Daphne timidly kneeled beside the trunk, and Minerva’s heart broke all over again at the sight of that beautiful, abandoned child. How could anyone lose such precious children?

By the time Verity arrived with Daniel, the little girl was tugging uselessly at the top. Once Daniel joined her, Paul unfastened the latch and opened the lid. Both squealed in excitement.

Verity closed her eyes in what appeared to be a brief prayer. “Thank you, thank you so much! I hate to see children unhappy. Sit down in the pub. I’ve sent for tea. You must be frozen through.”

“Let us all gather by the hearth in there.” Waiting until the children had filled their arms with belongings, Paul carried the trunk into the pub, where they could watch the excitement while they talked. It was a trifle like Christmas and Boxing Day combined.

Between them, Paul and Minerva explained what they’d discovered in Stratford while they sipped hot tea and nibbled on Rafe’s scones. Minerva knew a good wife would ask for the recipe, but the chances of her ever trying it. . .

One of the kitchen maids carried out bowls of cabbage and sausage soup before Verity was done asking questions.

“I must say, I prefer the hospitality here to the stifling one we received at Bosworth’s home,” Minerva said in appreciation, warming her insides with the soup. “He is so ungraciously formal that I want to blame him for everything that goes wrong.”

“I’m fairly certain he would have been recognized if he’d stolen the Beanblossom silver and the children,” Paul replied in amusement.

“But he didn’t recognize the children or the driver or know anything about them?” Verity asked in desperation. “I just cannot believe such well-cared-for children were brought up by a gentleman’s consort. I supposed I am prejudiced.”

“If he provided her with a generous allowance, it’s not unheard of.

But giving the children his name and not giving it to her as well, that’s a trifle odd.

And having her funds go through a London trust instead of the local bank, where she might find help in investing or disbursing.

. . It’s as if she’d been deliberately isolated.

” Minerva savored her soup. Rafe was a most excellent cook.

“And no one recognizes the driver who died? I hate to be such a fuss-pot, but I am terrified someone will show up to claim them, and I will have no way to prove if they are kidnappers or a relation.” Watching the children anxiously, Verity left her soup half-eaten.

“No one in Stratford recognized the sketch of the driver. Let’s see if anyone here does.

Today is market day, so there will be more people in the village than usual.

I trust Rafe is showing the sketch about?

” Paul scraped his bowl clean. “It seems unlikely the nanny was driving this way unless she knew someone here.”

Like Willa? A mistress, a nanny, and a prostitute. . . Minerva rubbed her temple to rid herself of ridiculous notions that a city mistress might know a rural prostitute and the nanny. . . Was a procurer? It takes one to know one might apply occasionally but was not a reliable adage for a courtroom.

The children had barely touched their luncheon and were blissfully engaged in emptying the trunk all over the floor.

Daphne hugged her doll with one arm while happily pulling on a pair of nearly new slippers.

Daniel had donned his school coat and now organized his books in an order known only to him.

“Rafe is more concerned about catching a killer.” Verity fidgeted while she watched the children.

“He and Brydie are interrogating anyone who visits the market. I simply don’t want to believe a murderer would stay around after committing his dirty deed.

He’s probably long gone. But the nanny. .

. That’s different. Surely she knew someone here.

” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper.

“Meera thinks the nanny may have had some kind of fit, but I keep thinking two deaths in one night must be related. Only, I cannot fathom how. Did the killer see the driver was dead and rode in to kill Willa? That’s foolish. ”

Exactly where Minerva’s errant thoughts circled, for no logical reason whatsoever. Maybe Willa and the nanny were sisters? There was some small resemblance in age and the black hair. But Cooper had said Willa was an orphan.

“Since the buggy went off the road, can we know for certain if it was driving away from Gravesyde or toward it?” Now that she was warm and full again, Minerva pondered the puzzle.

“We might make a case that the mysterious driver killed Willa for some unknown reason and was racing to take the children back to Beanblossom.”

“It makes about as much sense as anything else, except no one around here claims to have seen the driver.” Paul rose to join the children at the hearth. “The lady driving the carriage that took you away from Beanblossom was your nanny? Did she say where she was taking you?”

At mention of the nanny, Daphne’s terrified expression returned. Daniel frowned and shook his head. “Elton told Nanny to take us where. . . baterds. . . like us belong.”

Minerva winced. The child didn’t even know the word, must never have heard it before.

“I was scared, so we hid.” His lower lip trembled. “Daphne cried and they found us and he hit her.”

Verity raced to crush them both in her arms, and Minerva almost wept.

“This Elton may have been the thief who filled the cart with stolen goods,” she said softly. “Surely no respectable solicitor or estate agent would have hit children.”

“No respectable solicitor or agent would have left children with a powerless servant. Someone official was there to arrange the funeral. He must have given orders to the servants.” Paul did not generally show anger, but his voice held it now.

“Unless the servants were in league with the official.” Minerva sometimes hated her suspicious mind, but she’d grown up with men who plotted war. “The neighbor said she saw an elegant carriage.”

Paul grimaced and spoke soothingly to the weeping children in Verity’s arms. “Did your nanny say where she was taking you?”

Daniel frowned. “To mama’s family, if we quit crying and went to sleep.”

The tin in Minerva’s pocket rattled, and she tried another tactic. She held them out to see. “Did she give you sweets like this?”

Both children wrinkled their noses and pulled away. Daniel was the one who answered. “They’re nasty. She took them away when we spit them out, called us ungrateful. . . baterds.”

“And then what happened?” Paul asked gently.

The boy shrugged again. “We fell asleep. Then the carriage broke and woke us. Nanny was still sleeping, so we ran away.”

“That was very, very brave of you,” Verity assured them. “Let’s have Mr. Upton carry your trunk back to your room where you can put things away. I’ll see if we can find better sweets while you rest.”

Left alone, Minerva studied the nearly empty tin. The children hadn’t eaten more than one of the candies each. The driver must have finished them off. The lid was sealed quite tightly. They hadn’t fallen out. Who had provided the candies?

“I’m going up to see Meera,” she told Paul. “I’ll be right back.”

The brilliant apothecary physician might tell her if they had a second murder on their hands. That just seemed to fit better into the tale of that night of tragedy. And scarier, if the orphans were in danger.