Page 41 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Thirty-seven

Rafe

Christmas Day had been more satisfying than any day Rafe could remember, even as a child.

The highly improper church services with pagan hymns and greenery and the entire village cheering the curate’s message of love had set the mood for the remainder of the day.

A dash of snow to dazzle the evergreens had added to the festive spirit.

At home, Verity had crowed in delight over the blue dinner gown he’d asked Lavender’s ladies to make for her, which relieved Rafe no end. He was never certain what women liked.

The orphans opening gifts of new books, dolls, and puzzles brought smiles to everyone’s faces, including the dour old women in the kitchen.

This morning, wearing the formal green, tailed frockcoat Verity had commissioned, Rafe had left his small staff singing, delighted with their bounteous Boxing Day gifts and planning their day off.

But now Rafe grew impatient for justice.

Hunt, as magistrate, had left the prisoners locked up until after the Christmas festivities. The mail was slow and they needed more information. But Fletch had brought a mail pouch today, and the time had come to settle the prisoners’ fates.

Leaving Hunt’s holiday undisturbed until they had answers, Rafe hauled Elton from his cell and borrowed the manor’s study for his interrogation. The curate agreed to sit in as witness—and to keep Rafe from punching the scruffy lout if he didn’t cooperate.

Looking well-fed but even grubbier than usual, stout, balding Elton glowered resentfully at the book-lined study and Rafe looming over Hunt’s old desk.

Rafe knew he was a peasant like Elton, but he’d worked hard to earn his place at the table.

He had his doubts about this thief working hard at anything.

Rafe settled back in Hunt’s comfortable chair as if he were lord of the manor. “You're the gent who looked after Mrs. Turner and her children, are you not?”

“That was me,” Elton replied stiffly and warily. “Did what I was paid to.”

“And who hired you?” Rafe asked, starting with simple questions, the way he used to do in the army, with thieves who raided his food supplies.

“Solicitor, said I was to give him the doc’s reports. She was wasting away and he didn't want the children left alone,” the footman said self-righteously.

“And the solicitor’s name?” Upton asked.

“Turner, said he was related to the late master’s family. But people here been calling him Cooper.”

Rafe bit back a snort. Liars and thieves abounded. “Where were you when the lady died?”

“Weren't no lady,” the servant insisted. “Just a rich man's doxie. His lordship was generous to let her stay.”

“Did the lady have anyone else looking after her?” Upton asked, not showing the fury Rafe felt, although the curate’s jaw twitched.

“Solicitor hired her too. Called herself Nanny Smith, but she weren't no nanny. She cooked a bit. Helped with the brats. Dusted some. But things went missing when she was about.”

Probably went missing when Elton was about, also, but innocent until proven guilty, Rafe reminded himself. “This the woman you claimed was your sister?” Rafe showed Elton the sketch again.

The balding servant shrugged. “Turner told me to say that. Said it would get the brats back faster. Yeah, that’s her.”

Rafe sat back in his chair. “Tell us what happened the day Mrs. Turner died.”

Elton shifted uneasily, no doubt looking for the best way to present himself.

“I sent word to Mr. Turner that the physician said she didn't have long. She was writing her family to fetch the childern.” He parsed his words carefully.

“So Mr. Turner came early one morning and was there when she died.”

“You weren't in the room when she passed?” Rafe wanted it on record, if only to determine how much Elton lied. He’d believe Daphne before this lout.

“No, I warn't.”

Well, at least that part was truth. Rafe watched for tics that might give him away. “What day was this?”

Elton wrinkled his brow. “A Friday? Cause we was to go to market and couldn’t with her dead.”

“So Cooper tells you the lady passed. What did he do then?”

“He said he needed to arrange burial and all. He took some of the silver with him. I knew it was the end then, and me and Nan would have to look to ourselves.”

“Smart thinking.” The curate scribbled in his notebook. “Is that when you began boxing the silver?”

Elton crossed and uncrossed his legs. “That was our orders, sir. But the little girl was a’weepin’ somethin’ awful and the boy came home from school and had a right fit, and there warn’t time for boxin’ much.”

Consoling distraught children should have come first. Rafe hid his impatience. “So when did you see Mr. Cooper Turner next?”

“On the Saturday, early, he came in a fancy coach and has the corpse takers with their cart. He wouldn’t let us go to the funeral.

’Stead, he has Nan lock up the childern and takes me into town in his fancy coach, sells some silver, and tells me to buy an old cart with it.

Then he leaves me at the inn, takes his horse, and says he’s a’ridin’ back to the cottage to start closin’ it up, and I was to hurry. ”

“When did you see him next?” As far as Rafe could determine, all this agreed with what he’d learned from Gillespie, the viscount’s valet, so Elton got points for sticking to the verifiable parts of the story.

Elton wrinkled his brow as if it was an effort to think. “Took me some to find a vehicle for what little he gave me. Needed a nag too. Finally found an old lady wanting to be rid of her buggy.”

Rafe feared it may have been stolen, but he didn’t interrupt, just nodded encouragingly.

Relaxing, Elton fell into the rhythm of his tale.

“Got back to the cottage maybe a bit after noon? Brats were crying and yelling and bein' obstreperous in their rooms. Turner was there, ordering Nan to take them away, refusin’ to let her take their things, rightly so. Couldn’t have nice things at no orphanage.

He gave Nan some candies to quiet ’em down.

Ordered her to take the buggy and haul them to Birmingham once she got done boxing the valuables.

He had me filling a cart with the boxes, for safekeeping.

Don’t know why he had me hunting for a cart when he already had one.

He coulda just waited until Nan got back. ”

Except the nanny hadn’t come back and Cooper planned to be long gone with the silver? Made horrible sense but not Rafe’s immediate concern. He needed evidence, not speculation. “And then what?”

“Turner was a’cleanin’ out the lady’s personal papers, found a letter of some sort, and come out in a temper, yelled at us to finish up and close the house.

Nan said it was too late for travel. Mr. Cooper said give the brats candy and let them sleep in the buggy.

That was maybe middle of the afternoon cause it weren’t dark yet. ”

The letter Willa had sent, no doubt, saying she’d take “them.” Cooper hadn’t known of Willa’s existence until then.

“But Nan was looking after herself, like you said, right?” No wonder the children had been terrified, Rafe thought. Monsters surrounded them.

Elton looked for a way to deny it but finally nodded. “She took the coins Turner gave her and told me she knew someone who would pay to take the brats. She figured the buggy and horse would sell too. Turner didn't seem to care what happened to them. Warn’t none of my business what she did.”

Hiding his rage, Rafe studied his notes.

“So, on Saturday, the funeral was held, Cooper ordered the house closed up, and after reading a letter, rode off. He simply left you with the valuables in the cart, and Nanny Smith with the children and the buggy. Nanny left late in the afternoon with the children. What did you do then?”

Elton shrugged. “I loaded the cart, as told, fixed myself a bite, and enjoyed the evening with the brandy nobody said nothing about. Nanny took the horse, so I didn’t have none for the cart. I waited to see what happened.”

“And what happened?”

“Turner didn’t come back. Nobody did, until a lawyer fella turned up a few days later with a lady and gent. I hid and listened and heard about Nan dying and thought mebbe I could learn who she meant to sell the childern to. So I cleaned up and presented myself to the lawyers.”

By way of what silver could be carried in his pockets, Rafe surmised.

But the real crime here, if Elton were to be believed. . . Cooper had almost murdered the children as well as the nanny with opium pills. And if Daphne were to be believed, he’d smothered their mother as well.

Rafe was feeling a bit murderous himself.