Page 38 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Thirty-four

Verity

Verity’s heart swelled when Rafe stormed into the kitchen, observed the frightened inhabitants and weeping children, and swept up Daniel and Daphne to hug and reassure them.

She knew her husband ached to be with the other men, apprehending and questioning their would-be kidnapper, but the wonderful soldier she’d married understood that little ones needed to feel safe first. When he sat calmly at the kitchen table and balanced them on his lap, she thought her heart might explode with joy, and tears slid down her cheeks.

She may have chosen this man in haste, but she had chosen well.

“Do you know that man Miss Calhoun yelled at?” Rafe asked the children. “I know it’s hard to recognize faces when people are dressed differently.”

Daphne nodded silently. Daniel spoke for them both. “He’s Mr. Elton. He’s mean. He wouldn’t let us bring our toys when he told Nanny to take us away.”

“You are both very, very brave to come to us for help. Mr. Elton can’t take you or your toys away anymore. Do you want to go back to the fair? I’ll come with you.” Rafe held them, waiting for an answer, not forcing them to do anything if they were still afraid.

Verity didn’t think she could ever love this giant of a man more than in that moment.

He had terrified kitchen staff wringing their hands, waiting for orders, a magistrate at the manor wanting explanations, and a dangerous prisoner to question—and he made them all wait so two orphans could enjoy their first Christmas Faire.

Wiping hastily at their eyes, Daphne and Daniel scrambled down from Rafe’s knees. They took his burly hands and led him eagerly toward the chaos his once orderly pub had become.

“Daniel would like that puppet,” Verity stood on her toes to hug him and whisper in his ear before he could pass her by. “And a lace collar for Daphne, please.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “And you?”

“I only want you. I’ll stay here for a bit to see about dinner. Surely it will be safe to sleep here tonight?”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek since the mobcap covered her hair. “I’ll try to make it so.”

He didn’t seem to care that she looked like a ragamuffin.

Verity hastily threw aside the ugly cap after they left, collapsed on a chair, and took the strong cup of tea Miss Baker offered.

“Thank you. Thank all of you for staying and keeping the kitchen running. I don’t think I could have done this without your brave examples.

I know I am awkward and backward and not a proper anything, but if you can bear with me, I hope to learn to be what Rafe and the inn needs. ”

And the mother the children needed, but she did not dare express that wish aloud.

Arthritic Mrs. Hatter scoffed. “You are a lady, anyone can see that, even in those rags. You should go out there with the other ladies, buy the pretties you want so others can buy cakes. We’ll bake the finest cakes you’ll ever want right here.”

Verity hid her smile. The old women were still learning their way around Rafe’s medieval kitchen.

He’d be doing any cake baking. But the kind words stiffened her back bone.

“You’re right, I need to go back—as soon as we decide on a dinner menu for our hungry guests.

Rafe is likely to be at the manor. Do we have ingredients for stew? ”

She wasn’t of great use in the kitchen either, but she did have the long-ago experience of listening to her mother talk to their cook about menus. She’d learn her place here eventually.

“Tatties, carrots, good mutton. No one will go hungry. You go on. We can manage stew.” Mrs. Hatter shooed her out.

Stew, perhaps, because it just needed a fire.

Not rolls, Verity thought as she returned to the still-busy fair.

Perhaps one of the tables held baked goods.

Brydie would be a perfect village baker.

She hoped Fletch returned with mail letting them know who had authority over Willa’s cottage, but that would most likely take months.

The punch bowl had been emptied. Mr. Gillespie was gone, presumably to identify Mr. Elton.

Rafe had Arthur trailing after him, picking up items he or the children wanted and doling coins from his purse.

Rafe’s purse never had much in it, but his generosity knew no bounds.

They’d never be rich, but with any luck, the goodwill he generated would pay him back someday.

She’d been wealthy once. Love was better.

Mr. Birdwhistle had taken the manor’s heirs in hand now that the danger had passed. Oliver and Davey were normally silent, scholarly sorts, but even they were gleefully spinning tops and crunching candy, behaving as the children they were for a change.

Kate had Rob and Lynly. Verity knew the family had few coins to spare, and because Kate spent all her time sewing for others, she didn’t have a table to display her goods to earn more.

Lynly lingered at the cake table, gazing longingly at a small fruit cake adorned with dried cherries.

It had been so very long since Verity had given or received gifts—she couldn’t resist.

She leaned over Lynly and whispered, “Do you think your mother likes cherries?”

The child nodded eagerly. “She said my grandma used to make fruit cakes with cherries. I never knew her and our cherry tree died.” She held out a penny. “Do you think they’d sell slices?”

Verity gestured to the church ladies working the table, indicating the fruit cake.

She knew the cakes were selling well below cost for charity.

Motherly Mrs. Jones smiled at Lynly’s eager face and held up three fingers.

Before Lynly understood, Verity pressed two more coppers into the child’s palm.

“That’s how much it costs. Your mother should have a merry Christmas. ”

Joy illuminated her plain dark face. Lynly would never be a beauty. None of the Calhouns were. But they made up for it with the beauty of their souls.

Brydie returned from whatever errand she’d been on. Verity signaled her to take Lynly and her gift in hand so the cake didn’t get jostled by the crowd.

The pub was starting to clear out a bit. People had suppers to prepare. Rafe had released Daniel so he might admire the puppet show. Gleefully tugging at Rafe’s riot of red curls, Daphne was riding on his shoulders, high above the crowd.

They might not have caught Willa’s killer, but Verity assumed he was long gone by now.

Elton had undoubtedly been the villain who gave the children’s nanny the pills.

Whether or not it had been intentional, he would hang for her death.

Not a joyous thought for the season. But now that the danger was gone. . .

Christmas. They might finally experience the full joy of the season. She’d pray fervently in church tomorrow and tithe all her coins in gratitude for this moment of happiness.

Studying a sad young woman’s misshapen biscuits, Verity reached for her coin purse. The biscuits scarcely looked edible, but the seller had obviously tried her best. As she set down a shilling, a high-pitched shriek curdled her blood.

So much for that moment of joy.

Swinging around, she saw Daphne trying to burrow into Rafe’s arms, while screeching frantically. Had she been hurt? Shrieking wasn’t the behavior of a hurt child. Rafe sent Verity a look as frantic as the child’s screams.

Terrified, she scanned the crowded room for any perceived threat.

Lazy, easy-going Mr. Cooper was leading Daniel past the cakes, toward the front and the puppet table. Not alarming—until Daphne finally used her words and shouted, “Bad man! Bad man!”

And Cooper glanced up with a guilty expression.

Verity had survived some terrible ordeals, but she’d never experienced such terror as fear for a helpless child.

In her patched maid’s skirt, her frizzy hair escaping its pins, Verity was no prepossessing giantess, but she may as well have been as she impolitely carved a path past startled manor ladies and puzzled farmers, bearing down on Cooper with the momentum of a ship in full steam.

When Cooper saw her coming and scooped up Daniel, Verity shrieked at the top of her lungs like the worst fishwife. “Stop him! Stop him! Daniel, darken his daylights! Plant him a rammer! Scuttle his daylights!” She’d evidently spent too much of her idle youth teaching London’s street urchins.

The boy started swinging fists. Bless Daniel’s heart, he listened to her and not whatever promises Cooper made. Cooper! It was hard to believe the lazy gentleman might stir a muscle.

Carrying a sturdy eight-year-old was no mean feat. Carrying a struggling one required Cooper catching him in both arms before the boy wriggled loose. The villain raced for the exit, knocking over tables and shoppers in his rush.

Daniel continued to struggle and kick.

Finally understanding what was happening, ladies trapped between tables screamed for someone to stop him. Trapped in the back of the pub, Rafe roared in fury and frustration. He handed Daphne to a startled onlooker, then fought his way through narrow, crowded aisles.

Bewildered, the few male shoppers tried to grasp what needed to be done. None of them knew Daniel or Cooper. They saw only a small boy having a tantrum. They didn’t understand.

Verity finally fought free of the crowd and threw herself at Cooper’s back, grabbing his greatcoat capes and clinging helplessly. He tried to shrug her off as he shoved his way into the less busy lobby.

Fletch, carrying a heavy mail pouch in the front door, roared at the sight of Cooper carrying the struggling child and dragging Verity.

Rafe’s silent, angry friend didn’t waste time with questions.

Dropping the pouch, he crossed the room and swung a massive fist at the gentleman’s jaw—with the rage that he’d most likely kept pent up all week.

Cooper had been in Willa’s house. . .

The kidnapper staggered. Verity clung to his capes and tugged, keeping him unbalanced. Daniel kicked and wriggled.

And Parsons, Willa’s felonious brother, ran from behind the lobby counter to clout Cooper’s ear, shouting, “You! I knew it was you—” His shouts descended into epithets unfit for anyone’s ears. Convicts learned strong language.

Another powerful blow from Fletcher, and Cooper dropped Daniel. Crying in relief, Verity released Cooper’s capes and crouched to catch the boy. Fletch unthinkingly did the same, leaving Cooper to shove Parsons, who fell backward over Fletch and Daniel.

In the resulting melee, the villain ran for the door, Fletch and Parsons on his heels.

By this time, the lobby had filled with onlookers anticipating a fight. Men and women alike blocked all exits, surrounding the brawl as if the lobby were a boxing ring.

Verity hugged weeping Daniel as Fletch grabbed Cooper’s coat and flung him backward at Willa’s brother.

While fists flew, Kate finally fought her way through the crowd to Verity’s side. She held a terrified Daphne and kept a hand on Lynly’s shoulder. “Arthur and Mr. Birdwhistle took the boys into the kitchen,” she murmured, blocking Verity and Daniel from the fight.

If Kate had Daphne. . . Rafe wasn’t far behind. Verity glanced past her.

Head taller than most, Rafe stalked through the now-shouting mob without a word.

Rather than wasting time on fisticuffs, he wrapped a massive arm around Cooper’s neck and jerked his chin up until the.

. . bastard. . . fell limp. Thank all the heavens Rafe had stayed with the children when all the proper gentlemen had left for the manor to interrogate Elton.

Verity fell to her knees and hugged her poor, weeping babies.

“He’s the one what killed Rose!” Parsons shouted over the commotion. “It was him in her house that night! I coshed him so he couldn’t get away.”