Page 20 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)
“For the children, for any children, my sister will cut off noses if necessary.” Unable to settle into the schoolroom’s small chairs, Brydie halted her pacing to think about it.
“Kate needs to take the children home at night to feed the animals and fix meals. Arthur cannot be left to roam alone and should go with her. But I—”
“Don’t say it until you talk with Damien,” Minerva warned. “He will not like you staying in town at night, unchaperoned.”
“I will have to be running the back of the inn all day. Kate can’t be in the kitchen and sewing gowns at the same time,” Brydie remonstrated.
“She can greet people at the desk, tell the staff what to do, but if Rafe is out and about, someone needs to take charge of the kitchen and pub. And night is when working men need their meals, if Rafe is to have an operating pub.”
“Let’s take one thing at a time,” Minerva suggested. “What questions do we need to ask and to whom? I can question the ladies helping decorate the chapel and plan Christmas services, but how much will they know?”
Verity turned a page in her papers. “I have started a list of questions. I want this villain caught and those poor orphans safe. I am not convinced finding their family will help in either case, but we need answers.”
“First, we have to find out where everyone was the night Willa died, and find witnesses to confirm their claims.” Minerva already knew what needed asking.
She doubted they’d gather satisfactory answers.
She’d been through this before. But collecting all the stray pieces eventually painted a picture.
“It would be good to know where they were in the days before the buggy crashed,” Verity added. “The ‘bad man’ Danny mentions was in Beanblossom then.”
“We must find the servants from Beanblossom. I have utterly no idea how we do that.” Minerva jotted another note.
“Have the solicitor’s clerk look into it,” Brydie suggested.
“I’ll ask Damien to inform Mr. Browning’s office that they should be more responsible for the estate and the children, now that we have some confirmation of their identities.
Perhaps, as a lawyer, Damien can pry the name of the family or trust from him. ”
They had their battle lines drawn and their ammunition prepared by the time the men returned from the cemetery.
“If we’re all up here, who’s minding the inn?” Minerva asked, a little belatedly, as they all trudged down the manor drive back to the village.
“Staff,” Rafe growled. “No one comes mid-morning unless they rode out before dawn. Not that we have guests arriving at noon, either. Takes time for word to spread that we’re open.”
“And word won’t spread until the post runs regular.” Fletch had gone to the funeral instead of Stratford this morning.
“Mr. Oswald can’t be expected to provide post boys and horses.” Carrying her large sewing basket, Kate had no difficulty keeping up, even if she was half a foot shorter than Brydie. They’d released her from the sewing room to help at the inn. “How long will it take to repair the bridge?”
Minerva nudged her husband to take the basket since the other men didn’t offer. Kate thanked Paul politely but held onto it. Minerva resisted the urge to see what Kate kept in there.
“Too long, if we want answers to our questions.” Impolitely, Fletch snatched the basket and strode down the drive with long lopes, leaving everyone behind.
“We need to find more clocks for him to repair,” Rafe observed. “Riding for the post isn’t helping.”
“I don’t suppose Brydie could be using your ovens to bake bread while she’s watching over the inn and keeping Major Fletcher from offending guests?” Minerva knew she asked too much, but she couldn’t keep frying bread in the mornings. “I do not seem to have found time to learn.”
“Your skillet bread is excellent, my dear,” Paul said generously. “I do not expect you to do everything, especially with the holidays.”
“Rafe only has the hearth oven. It’s practically medieval and not made for producing large quantities, especially if he means to cook anything else.
We must catch a killer and find out who owns Willa’s cottage so we can look for a new baker.
” Brydie restrained her impatient long strides to accommodate Minerva and Kate.
“If the Bartletts owned the cottage, and Margery Turner was their only daughter, then it’s possible the orphans own it.
” Damien adjusted Brydie’s cloak hood more warmly against the chilly December wind.
“Unless Cooper has been named Bartlett’s successor.
Has anyone written to see if the Bartletts are still alive? ”
“We have,” Minerva said. “But it will be weeks, if not months, before we have any response. Cooper is family, he’s an adult, so surely he can make decisions in the interim?”
Except Brydie was the only baker they knew, and she’d be watching over the inn. Minerva was almost desperate enough to offer to take her place, but a curate’s wife had more important duties. Paul would not appreciate indulging their need for bread over his parishioners.
“I’ll have a word with Cooper,” Damien suggested. “He’s not been doing anything useful that I can see.”
Fletch’s bellows from the inn sent them all racing down the drive.