Page 37 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Thirty-three

Brydie

Brydie almost swallowed her tongue at the sight of Lynly and Daphne with their hair hidden under boys’ caps and wearing Rob’s outgrown shirts with rolled up breeches.

Anyone with half an eye and brain would know they were too clean to be street urchins.

But Verity had lived in London and had an eye for costume, so they were passable boys.

To her relief, Arthur and Kate had the four younger boys in hand.

They wore similar patched, loose-fitting clothes, even the heirs.

Brydie looked over their heads for Mr. Birdwhistle, but he wasn’t to be seen.

His presence would give away the fact that the heirs were present, she supposed. He probably wasn’t far away though.

Fashionable Verity had garbed herself in what appeared to be a maid’s black round gown and a mobcap instead of her usual beautiful bonnet. Beneath the cap, her expression was fierce. It had been her idea to separate the orphans to make it difficult for kidnappers to recognize them.

In rough cap and clothes, Daphne still looked like a blond fairy angel, but she was quiet, while dark-haired, skinny Lynly bounced and chatted, distracting from the younger girl.

With his curly, fair hair hidden and hot chocolate smeared on his mouth and nose, Daniel looked a little rougher. He clung to Arthur, his big blue eyes round as he took in the pub filled with holiday festivity.

Twelve-year-old Rob swaggered behind Arthur, with the two eight-year-old heirs, pretending he wasn’t as wide-eyed and swivel-headed as Daniel. Except for Arthur, all had chocolate on their faces.

Under the protection of Minerva and Brydie, Verity nervously tugged down Daphne’s cap and instructed her crew.

“Lynly and Daphne and I will go in first. Daniel, you and Rob wait here a moment with Arthur. Oliver and Davey, you need to wait for last and stay with Kate. That way, we won’t each see what the other is buying. ”

And anyone watching wouldn’t know which child belonged with whom, without the children understanding they were in danger. Brydie smiled at their excitement. Children ought to feel safe to venture into the world and explore.

For this reason, Brydie would do what she must to capture a kidnapper and killer. She would never be a proper lady thinking like that, but she preferred being useful.

Perhaps Damien felt a little bit like that when he was trying to protect her? She’d think on it, later.

Verity donned a smiling face but her fear was obvious. “We have been ordered to buy currant biscuits, and we are hoping there might be candies.”

As if they hadn’t spent half the morning plotting this, Brydie gestured at the crowded market. “Good thinking. If you hurry, there may be some left.”

The girls dashed eagerly into the pub to examine all the goodies on the three rows of trestle tables.

They exclaimed over crocheted angels and pinecone elves in equal excitement.

Brydie waited until they were deep inside the high-ceilinged pub before she discreetly followed.

Minerva fell in behind Arthur with Rob and Daniel.

Kate stayed with the heirs. Mr. Birdwhistle would follow eventually.

The enormous pub had been organized in three rows of tables, six tables long—eighteen tables of delight, plus the bar with cider and nibbles. The children barely knew where to turn.

At twelve, Rob was too old to rein in for long, of course, but he dutifully stayed close to his older brother while casting longing gazes to a table of baked goods. They’d given the children coins and told them to think of others, but Brydie didn’t expect them to make wise choices at their age.

She listened to the girls prattle, while searching the face of every man squeezing through the narrow aisles.

She’d not met Elton and wouldn’t recognize him.

But she could identify almost everyone from church or around the village or manor.

His lordship’s valet seemed to be enjoying serving punch and flirting with the women who stopped to have their cups filled.

Gillespie had Rafe’s convict clerk running back and forth from the kitchen with clean cups.

Mr. Jasper from the hardware was picking over a table of lacy collars, presumably for his mother.

None of these newcomers even looked up at the arrival of a gaggle of youngsters.

Brydie didn’t see Cooper, but that wasn’t unusual.

She was fairly certain he had pockets to let and only stayed because he had nowhere to go.

Perhaps he’d asked his family for funds when he sent his letters.

Surely, they’d have a reply soon. Even after learning of the orphaned children, he certainly hadn’t shown any concern that they might belong to his distant cousin.

He probably wasn’t even aware that she’d had children. A family man, he was not.

Mr. Oswald from the mercantile arrived with his wife.

A few farmers and laborers from the manor and the stable yard showed up.

Brydie wasn’t as familiar with these men, but she was thrilled that they’d been drawn into village affairs.

Still, she couldn’t revel in the fair’s success while scrutinizing everyone who might be the man who’d try to kidnap the children and had possibly killed their nanny.

“Should we have asked Rafe and Damien to stand guard?” Minerva whispered, catching up with her. “They’re the only ones besides Gillespie and the orphans who might recognize Elton.”

“Showing their faces would scare him off. They know that. But they're here, you can be sure of it.” Brydie glanced around, searching prospective hiding places. “Rafe won't let Verity and the children out of his sight.”

“Ah, that's how Kate became involved. Damien sent her.” Minerva did the same as Brydie, hunting hiding places.

“There's a place on the lobby stairs where we can see anyone entering the pub. One of the men will be there,” Brydie concluded. “Rafe may be patrolling, hoping to prevent Elton from entering.”

“It would be most excellent if he were captured before disrupting the fair.” Minerva smiled in satisfaction at the bustling scene. “We might even earn enough to buy fabric for altar cloths.”

“The chapel needs cushions more. We should write wealthier churches, ask if they have any old altar cloths in their closets that they're not using. The sewing ladies can fix anything.”

A half dozen men garbed in old army coats sidled in, uncertain of their welcome. Until recently, they’d lived in a camp by the river, homeless and unemployed. Hunt gave them what work he could and a roof over their heads when they wanted it.

“Oh, a chance to persuade them to church.” Minerva perked up. “Paul will be proud of me.” She abandoned Brydie and wove her way through the crowd.

It was almost impossible to keep track of all the people in the room now.

The aisles were packed. Uneasily, Brydie worked her way closer to Verity, who had the girls.

The boys were everywhere. She spotted Daniel at a table in the aisle by the bar and kitchen, watching one of the market women work a carved puppet on strings.

Arthur hovered nearby, pretending to admire fine handkerchiefs.

With Damien as an example, her nephew would grow into a strong, brave man someday.

Brydie would buy the children everything they wanted, if she could, but her purse was nearly empty after handing out coins to her nephews and niece.

Daniel turned to Arthur, pointing at the puppet in excitement.

Assuming he was well in hand, Brydie almost turned away—until the boy's smile suddenly shut down. She followed his gaze to a burly soldier in an overlarge greatcoat, wearing a cap pulled down over his forehead, in the aisle farthest from the mob at the bar. He blended well with the other former soldiers. Brydie didn't recognize him, but then, she didn’t recognize his companions either, except by their army coats. They hadn’t expected the soldiers to attend.

Besides Damien and Rafe, the orphans and Gillespie were the only ones who might recognize Elton.

Did she have time to look for the men? Not if she was the only one who had noticed Daniel’s reaction.

The aisles between tables were too crowded for her to navigate easily.

Looking for what was in reach, she grabbed a candle and flung it at Arthur’s shoulder.

He jumped and glanced around in surprise. She gestured for him to take Daniel out. She prayed he’d fetch Damien at the same time. Once assured they were easing their way toward the kitchen. . . smart choice, Arthur. . . she studied the situation.

Verity and the girls were on the far end of the room, nearly invisible with all the big men towering through the crowd. The suspect stood between Brydie and the girls.

A table of cakes separated her from the blond, burly man in haphazard uniform.

The beautifully decorated cakes were the prizes everyone hoped to purchase at the end of the day, for the benefit of the church.

The soldier was in the middle of the pub, studying the mob but not looking in the direction of Daniel and Arthur slipping out.

Brydie hated to be the one who cried Wolf but she couldn't reach Daphne and Verity to warn them. Children first, humiliation later. Heaven only knew, she’d embarrassed herself sufficiently for everyone to expect it of her.

She yanked off a glove and put two fingers to her lips and whistled the way she had once done to call pigs, back when they still had pigs. The result was effective. Every head in the room turned to her.

“Ask his name,” she shouted, pointing at the burly soldier on the other side of the cake table.

She didn't even have to explain. Everyone in the village knew they were hunting a killer. At her whistle, Damien burst in from the lobby and elbowed the crowd out of his way. Clare and the dowagers directed the women toward the walls, blocking doors and windows. Men eased between the tables to the center, where she pointed. Brydie prayed they wouldn’t be furious if she’d marked the wrong man.

Verity lifted Daphne into her arms. With the aid of Clare and the ladies, she and the heirs navigated around the far end of the room toward the kitchen. Brilliant Verity had her exit prepared.

Surprised and relieved at how swiftly everyone reacted, Brydie tried to guard the cakes from whatever happened next. The crowd had eerily silenced. The inhabitants of a village this small knew everything and everyone. They were protecting their own.

Surrounded, caught by surprise, the blond soldier sought the weakest link in the circle, and attempted to shove past the deacon's elderly wife at the cake table.

Small, round, motherly Mrs. Jones slammed his midsection with the bulbous head of her walking stick, then swung at his head. He ducked and dodged under the table. Not bright at all.

Brydie crouched down on the other side. “Hey there, big boy.” Before his surprise could even register, she grabbed the cape of his wool coat. She didn’t think the heavy oak trestle table would move if he surged upward but she wasn’t taking a chance of losing all their hard work.

She couldn't haul him out, but she could punch his snout. Repeatedly. He was still howling and trying to wriggle free when Damien joined her. Getting down on his hands and knees, her beloved grabbed the man’s head in a lock hold and hauled him out.

With Brydie on one side and Damien on the other, they let the culprit scramble to his feet and wipe his bloody nose.

The dunce tried to dive past Brydie. She punched him again and Damien wrapped his arm around his throat, jerking his head back.

Brydie winced. One wrong move, and she feared Damien would snap his neck.

Mrs. Jones and half a dozen other people guarded the table of cakes while Damien tussled with the soldier and dragged him into the relative safety of a broader aisle.

While the men struggled, tiny Minerva arrived with a carved wooden spoon and shoved the handle into the soldier’s back. “Hands up, soldier, you‘re under arrest.”

Brydie snorted in laughter. The entire crowd began to snicker at the curate’s wife saving the cakes with a spoon.

At the crowd’s mirth, the soldier gave up without asking why he was being arrested. While one of the farmers held his arms behind his back, the prisoner just glanced at the bar where Mr. Gillespie stood in shock and shouted, “Find Turner!”

The men would be waiting for him in the lobby if Gillespie tried to escape.

Damien hugged Brydie, and she nearly melted in the aftermath of fury and shock. “Elton?” she asked, knowing he’d recognize the thief.

“Yes. Will you teach me to whistle like that? You promised you would but never did.” He cuddled her against him, letting her choke on a laugh while crying into his broad, wool-covered shoulder.

For just this one moment out of time, Brydie clung to the security of Damien’s embrace. She had no idea what they’d done, but she prayed this was over.

“I love you, even if you bully me,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “But I think I understand why you do it now. If you can learn to pig whistle, let’s get married.”

He roared his mirth and led her through the excited, chattering Christmas crowd returning to their shopping.