Page 28 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Twenty-five

Minerva

“Verity said the attic intruder claimed to be a valet.” Still unnerved by having her cozy new home invaded by an evil miscreant, Minerva settled into one of her mother-in-law’s comfortable armchairs and scowled.

As head housekeeper, Mrs. Upton had created a compact apartment for herself off the manor’s kitchen.

“It would be so much simpler if she described a man who looked like Mr. Elton, or even Mr. Parsons, but her description simply isn’t enough for comparison. ”

Mrs. Upton filled her teacup and settled into her own chair.

She watched fondly as her son repaired the leg of a wooden table chair in her small dining area.

“As I recall, Mrs. Russell said the valet had a Roman nose, fleshy lips, and possibly a hint of sideburns, but it was quite dark and she only had a glimpse. And if she was frightened, she might not remember rightly. Does Mr. Parsons fit this picture? Did you actually meet Mr. Elton or are you relying on description?”

Paul stood and tested the chair to see if it still wobbled.

“Parsons has no sideburns and his features are rather distinctively angular and square. Elton. . . Rafe’s fairly accurate in his reports, but he only saw the man in lantern light.

He said Elton is an older, balding blond man, larger than the clerk he arrived with but smaller than himself.

Unrefined features, which reminds me of Parsons, but probably means weathered or tending toward jowls.

Parsons has a full head of black hair. A Roman nose is rather distinctive and doesn’t sound as if it fits either. ”

The logical exercise of describing potential thieves and killers soothed Minerva’s rattled nerves somewhat.

“If Mr. Elton arrived by carriage at the same approximate time as Verity’s intruder was in the attic, we must assume they are two people.

And Rafe says Parsons helped unload their luggage, so he couldn’t be at the manor either. ”

“Which probably means that the intrusive valet was not one of your suspects and is quite innocent.” Mrs. Upton rose to set the table. “You are all just overwrought.”

Or there was a third villain, which unsettled Minerva all over again. She tried to let the more experienced woman reassure her, but she couldn’t. “Two women died and the children almost did. We need to reassure Verity that the orphans are safe. She’s under a terrible strain.”

Even worse so because soft-hearted Verity wished to keep the children and feared whoever had a right to them did not really want them. The letter from Bath, that Verity had told her about, had not been reassuring in the least.

Minerva gathered the pieces of her shattered self-esteem and went out to the kitchen to ask if she might help with the food Lady Elsa always prepared for them.

The kitchen was its usual chaos. Dinner wouldn’t be served soon.

Wrapped in a gravy-spattered apron and carrying a large wooden spoon, Lady Elsa stopped to offer Minerva a taste of her. . . Minerva wasn’t entirely certain what it was but it had carrots and wine and bits of beef and was temptingly delicious.

“Like it?” The blond, buxom, beautiful earl’s daughter had once made Minerva feel like an ugly bug, but she had learned Elsa was as beautiful inside as out.

She beamed proudly at Minerva’s hum of pleasure.

“It’s French. Let us see if the company turns up their elegant noses at something that isn’t bloody rare beef. ”

“Will you be going up to dine with them so you may enjoy their reactions?”

“I think I shall. Anne is quite good at overseeing the staff, and my pastry cook has the puddings in hand. I’d like to hear more of what everyone expects from our Christmas feast.” Elsa wiped her hands on her apron. “I heard you had an intruder today? Who in their right mind robs a parsonage?”

“Possibly someone after the registry or the orphans’ birth documents.

Rafe has stationed men there in case he tries again.

We are staying out of their way. Did Verity ask you about the valets?

” Mrs. Upton may have dismissed Verity’s fear, but Minerva simply could not.

She had learned from experience that even children were capable of throwing grenades.

“Hunt asked me to watch for a servant with a big nose and a fat mouth and maybe a soldier’s sideburns. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that taking their meals down here.”

“That would have been too easy.” Minerva wrinkled her nose unhappily. “I’ll help serve Mrs. Upton when you’re ready. She and Paul need a little alone time. I might just come eat with the staff. Will they mind?”

“The visiting staff doesn’t know who you are and the others think of you as the curate’s wife and love having you to their selves.” Elsa chuckled. “You’ll hear more than you like.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. I’ll let you know what they’re expecting from Boxing Day.” Minerva let the cook go back to work and returned to inform Paul of her plan.

“They want coins and new uniforms for Boxing Day.” Mrs. Upton said comfortably from her chair.

“Lavender and her ladies have been working all hours on the maids’ dresses.

Henri has scavenged secondhand coats and waistcoats for the footmen that will have to be fitted.

They’ll have new knee breeches and stockings this year. ”

“Hunt says he can employ a large number of poorly dressed servants or a small number of smartly dressed ones.” Paul sat in the chair he’d just repaired, testing it with his weight. “He chose people over clothes.”

“Given how the rest of us dress, that was an excellent choice.” Minerva didn’t want to sit still.

She paced. “And I believe the dowagers intend to contribute coins for all the work everyone does serving them in their lair. If enough people contribute, the ones who want new clothes can buy them. Should I run up and check on Verity?”

She wanted this mystery over and done so she could celebrate her first Christmas with her new husband as the first curate the village had seen in years. It should be a time of joy and festivity. After all the years of war, she hadn’t had much of that.

She despised her helplessness now.

“I’d check on Brydie first, if I were you,” Paul warned. “She’s in a stew over dining with gentry in fancy dress. She hasn’t quite accepted that she’s more than a farmer’s daughter.”

“I think it’s partially her size making her feel awkward among strangers.” Glad of a task, Minerva grabbed a shawl for the drafty walk upstairs. “The locals accept her as she is, but she has this foolish image of gentry being refined and elegant. We simply need to disabuse her of that fustian.”

“I never realized that.” Paul frowned, considering it. “She’s always amazingly self-confident.”

“You don’t understand women well. Yet.” She kissed his auburn hair and fled up the stairs, determined to solve some part of their plaguesome problem tonight.

Upstairs, a maid told her she’d find Lavender still in the sewing room. Minerva had lived in the manor and knew it was late. Most of the sewing ladies should have gone home. Entering the darkened ballroom, she noted the tables of uniforms neatly laid out to be sewed on in the morning.

But someone was working late. Minerva could hear Brydie fretting and Lavender soothing her, so they were about somewhere. Now that the tower had been opened to the ballroom, Lavender had moved her own workspace and dressing rooms in there.

The door between ballroom and tower was open, although Minerva needed a lantern to traverse the vast expanse of floor cluttered with wardrobes and boxes of old clothes. Safely reaching the tower entrance, she peered in.

Tall, not-quite-statuesque Brydie practically shimmered in the dim light, wearing an emerald gown Minerva almost didn’t recognize as one of her sister-in-law’s.

On golden-haired Patience, the gown had been drab—probably because her bounteous bosom drew the eye.

Brydie’s rich auburn brought the color to life.

Lavender had concealed Brydie’s less voluptuous bosom with ruffles, but whatever corset she’d been given gave her cleavage Brydie hadn’t previously displayed.

Kate finished knotting a thread on the hem and gestured for her sister to turn around to face the mirror.

At the sight in the tilted cheval glass that was Lavender’s pride and joy, Brydie hastily covered herself with a jewel-toned shawl.

Minerva laughed and entered to tug the shawl down Brydie’s arms. “This is how you wear it.”

Brydie tugged it over her shoulders again and glared. “I shall freeze.”

Noting the gloves her friend often wore, Minerva dropped that argument and preceded to the next. Nothing stirred Brydie like a good argument. “You should have Meera prepare some of her hand cream for you. You will want to take off your gloves when Damien places his ring on your finger.”

Brydie hastily hid her hands behind her back. The shawl drooped down her arms again. Even solemn Kate laughed at that.

Eighteen and confident in her blond beauty, Lavender held up a seed pearl necklace. “You should wear emeralds with that gown, but these will suffice.”

“I am a thirty-year-old spinster,” Brydie grumbled, allowing Lavender to fasten the necklace. Minerva was almost too short to reach. “I should be wearing black and caps and sitting upstairs with the dowagers.”

Both Minerva and Lavender laughed. Kate shrugged. She worked in the sewing room and had probably never met the haughty dowagers.

“They’d eat you alive,” Minerva assured her.

“You need another thirty years before you could survive that lion’s den.

Besides, we need you at the table to make note of all the visitors.

I will be eating with the staff downstairs to make a list of any valets with big noses and fat lips.

” She almost giggled at the captain’s translation of Verity’s more circumspect description.

“Spies on every floor,” Lavender crowed in delight. “Everyone knows me, so I shall run up and downstairs, carrying messages, and no one will notice.”

“The men will,” Kate said, speaking up for a change. “You could wear a sack, and they’d notice.”

Lavender grinned wickedly. “But all they see is a silly chit to be seduced. My loving grandmother has made that very clear.”

“Lady Marlow is one of the lions,” Minerva explained to a wide-eyed Brydie. “I can’t say she’s wrong, though.”

Lavender shrugged. “I am not my mother. I don’t need men. If anyone is to do the seducing, it will be me.” She tugged a fold of Brydie’s gown, stepped back to admire her handiwork, and nodded approval. “You are a goddess. Go slay the dragon.”

“Will you be at the table?” Brydie asked Lavender anxiously.

“I suppose I shall, for a while, if only to watch Mr. Sutter’s eyes fall from his head when he sees you.

You are not to allow all the flattery to go to yours.

Gentlemen are trained to charm. You must see past the surface to find the evil that lurks within.

” Lavender rummaged in a dresser and produced long, white silk gloves.

“You should have bracelets, but these will suffice.”

Leaving Lavender and Kate to argue about finishing hems, Minerva steered her terrified friend from the sewing room.

“Do not think of yourself. Think of Daphne and Daniel and poor Verity. If you see or hear anything unusual, summon one of the footmen and send word to me. Paul and I will be only a staircase away.”

Brydie took a deep breath, shivered, and tugged her shawl around her, only remembering the gloves she clutched when she nearly dropped them. “I do not even know what is unusual.”

Minerva considered that. “Neither do I. And if Verity’s intruder is actually a valet, you won’t see him. But his employer is bound to be part of the company. Perhaps listen for anyone talking about Beanblossom or the children or asking odd questions?”

Brydie nodded. “I can do that, although with so many people. . .”

“Clare will see you placed near the most likely visitors. Rely on her. And when the ladies leave the men at the table, follow her lead. She’ll introduce you to anyone she wants to know more about. You’re in good hands.”

“Clare Huntley barely knows me as more than one of Rafe’s staff,” Brydie whispered as they reached the gaslit marble stairs in the central corridor.

Minerva chuckled. “Watch her. I always thought proper ladies were a useless lot. Clare is the perfect portrait of all the smiling, empty-headed, beautiful debutantes you may have imagined gracing London’s ballrooms. Then remember she survived being almost blown up in Egypt, rescued her nephew from avaricious relations, and someday, take a look at the books on the shelves in her study.

She may be quiet as a mouse, but she’s stealthy as a cat. She knows you, all right.”

Brydie looked puzzled at the mention of books but they weren’t Minerva’s story to tell. She had only discovered it because she was a snoop who liked putting puzzles together. Clare would let people know of her secret occupation when she was ready.

Sending Brydie off to her room to wait for the dinner bell, Minerva took the servants’ stairs up to visit Verity in the attic, and to check on the children’s safety. She had Mrs. Upton’s keys and hoped to find all the doors locked.

The lock on the one at the top of the staircase, going into the attic, had been loosened, and a piece of leather jammed into it to prevent it being locked again.

Someone intended to return tonight.