Page 7 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

Six

Brydie

Bypassing the men gathered around a hooded buggy, Brydie and Minerva raced into the inn.

Damien met them in the lobby. He caught Brydie and hugged her, while holding up a hand to halt the curate’s wife.

“The children are fine. Verity has them in hand. She thinks they’re orphans being transported to the parish of their birth, when some unfortunate accident occurred.

She wants to keep them, but we need to verify facts first.”

Brydie had been raised to believe hugs and kisses belonged behind closed doors, but the manor folk were more forthcoming, and so she resolved to be.

Not minding changing her ways for this, she kissed her betrothed’s freshly shaven jaw, loving the right to do so, then pushed away his restraining hold.

“Kate’s children? Are they with Verity too?

I really need to meet these new ones. If they’re street ruffians—”

Damien shook his head emphatically. “They’re very well raised, claim to have come from Beanblossom. There is no such village of which I’m aware, but it may be the name of a cottage.”

Brydie only wanted to rush to the children she’d helped raise from infancy.

Minerva, however, was a librarian and a curate’s wife first and foremost and caught Damien’s concern. “If this is their parish, we have no records for the last fifteen years. They cannot prove the children came from here if they are younger than that.”

“As far as we can ascertain, the girl is about five and the boy is eight. No parish records?” Damien asked in dismay.

Minerva shook her head. “Paul’s stepfather sent the records to the rector fifteen years ago and abandoned Gravesyde after the viscountess’s death.

If they were born here. . . they may have been baptized elsewhere.

We’ll have to ask the rector or check with the clerk in Stratford.

If they were being transported to Gravesyde, someone must believe their families are from here.

Should we write the manor’s solicitors in Stratford, as well?

They may have been informed of deaths or estates. . .”

Brydie hesitated but had to add, “We should ask Mr. Cooper if the cousin who died had children.”

Damien dragged the stationery and inkpot from the lobby counter to begin dashing off correspondence.

“He didn’t mention any but we can ask. Minerva, if you’ll inquire about birth records, I’ll write the solicitors and bank.

We might have time to make the morning post. I cannot imagine that buggy traveled far.

I’m amazed it made it down that rutted lane at all. ”

“Mr. Cooper needs to write his family about Willa and the bakery. We will have a collection for the post this morning.” Minerva took some of the stationery and ink and carried it away, presumably to Mr. Cooper.

“What happened to the driver?” Brydie had learned recently that not everyone was as they seemed.

She hated thinking like that, but one must wonder why the driver had been out at night with small children.

The unpaved road was dangerous. Only thieves and kidnappers would travel it in the dark. Or the occasional madman.

Coming on top of Willa’s death. . . She really hated thinking in circles.

“All Dr. Walker can tell us is that the driver most likely died sometime last night. Animals. . . I’m sorry. I’d rather not say more. We need to learn what we can from the boy. The youngest, a girl, does not speak.”

“Frightened,” Minerva said curtly, returning to the lobby. “I have seen it before.”

Frightening a child into not talking? What horrible. . . “I cannot do this. The two of you may discuss facts and laws and letters. I must see Verity and the children. She will be in a state by now.” Brydie hurried to the back of the inn where Rafe and Verity had taken up residence.

She heard Lynly chattering and sighed in relief. Her eight-year-old niece had a heart condition and was frail as a result. That didn’t prevent her from taking charge when she could.

She found Verity in a small bedroom, sorting clothes from a tapestry bag, while Lynly and two young towheads watched with interest. Rob, her twelve-year-old nephew, was apparently taking notes.

He glanced up at Brydie’s entrance. “We’re making a list of what Daphne and Daniel need.

They might fit in some of our old clothes. ”

Brydie studied the pair of blond heads, one who had hidden behind the bed upon her entrance.

They were enchanting enough to come from a fairy town called Beanblossom.

The beribboned little girl seemed several years younger than Lynly.

Built sturdier, she might fit her niece’s old clothes.

The curly-haired boy was some years younger than Rob, but also more robust than her nephew.

He would quite likely fit last year’s trousers if the hems were adjusted.

Except the pair wore velvet, of considerably better quality than anything Kate’s children had ever worn.

“They must have family to have such nice attire,” Brydie said bluntly. The hope on Verity’s face fled, followed by determination. Verity was strong. She’d cope, eventually. “Excellent idea, Rob. They’ll need rough garments for playing in.”

She lowered her giantess frame to the floor so as not to tower over the fairy-like newcomers. “You miss your mother, don’t you? I lost mine when I wasn’t much older than you. Want to tell me about her?”

Daphne ducked her head. Daniel attempted to appear brave and shook his.

Lynly sat on the floor, too, holding one of her quilt patches. “She sewed, like me.”

She’d have to leave interrogations to her niece. Brydie smiled at the shy pair. “Did she make those lovely clothes Mrs. Verity is unpacking?”

The little girl climbed on the bed and nodded eagerly.

The boy frowned. “Mama made my shirts, but I go to school and need a proper coat. I went to a grown-up tailor. And the bad man told Elton I couldn’t bring my new coat.”

A bad man? Brydie felt a cold chill. “Who is Elton?”

Daniel shrugged. “He carries stuff for mama.”

A footman? Some sort of servant, most likely. “Does the bad man have a name?”

Both children shook their heads vehemently. Odd. “Can you tell me what he looks like?”

Daphne hid under the covers. Daniel shook his head and appeared ready to cry. “He came when Mama died. Elton said my daddy sent him to send us away.”

Poor Lynly looked ready to cry too.

Good schoolteacher that she was, Verity intervened. “I have told them we will find Beanblossom and their clothes, if we can. Do you know any tailors?”

A tailor—a clue. Even Verity was hunting clues. Rightfully so, it seemed. Some cruel, lying thief or servant could be selling off everything these children owned. “There is one in Stratford and several in Birmingham. Perhaps one of the men can make inquiries?”

She turned back to the eager boy. “Who is your teacher?”

“Mr. Clapper. He has a school in the front of his house! It’s full of books and a globe and he reads to us from Shakespeare!” Daniel bounced on the bed. “Can I go back to school?”

Brydie refused to tell them they had no home. She knew they were welcome here.

“Maybe not with Mr. Clapper,” she cautioned.

“But after Christmastide, we will have a school in a grand manor house. If you stay, I think you will like Mr. Birdwhistle, the tutor. And Mrs. Verity also teaches.” Brydie smiled at the little girl watching warily from the bed. “Maybe Daphne could go to school too.”

That started a riot of voices, since Rob and Lynly both attended Verity’s school and wanted to tell all about it.

Reassured that the children were fine, uncertain about Verity, Brydie rose and tugged her friend and sometimes employer into the hall.

“Damien and Minerva are writing letters to rectors, solicitors, and bankers. I’ll have them ask about Elton, the tailor, and the school as well. Did you ask about their father?”

“As best as one can with children that age who lack understanding. They say their father went to fight bad people and can’t come home.

That might mean their mother didn’t want to say he died in battle.

They wore black for a long time, according to Daniel, but they outgrew the blacks, which means someone has been dead at least a year.

If their father can’t take them, who else?

Except, apparently, their father sent Elton. It is a puzzle.”

“Surely, their mother didn’t lie about their father, but the servant saying their father wanted them gone, argues elsewise.

That’s just not right. Someone has to know them and their mother—or at least where Beanblossom is.

” Brydie grimaced. “It’s just. . . it’s Christmas.

People go visiting. Banks and solicitors may have closed their offices early. ”

“Not Bosworth.” Verity wrinkled her nose. “He’s likely to show up at the manor expecting to join the festivities. He’s a very hard person to like, but he has a good heart, I believe.”

Bosworth was the banker who handled funds for the manor and others in the village.

Bridey had never had funds to put in a bank and only knew him by reputation.

“Bosworth was orphaned and adopted, himself, if the earl’s family is correct.

That may work in our favor. He’ll know who to write or ask.

This mystery should be easily solved.” Brydie hugged Verity.

“We’ll give them a jolly Christmas while they’re here. Did Rafe start a plum pudding?”

Verity offered a weak smile. “He did. I haven’t celebrated Christmas since childhood. I’m not at all certain what I should be doing. Won’t the children expect gifts?”

“A cloth doll for Daphne. A book for Daniel, if you can part with one. We could make a kissing bough, if that’s not too naughty.

I don’t know how the manor is celebrating.

This is the first time in years that Gravesyde will have any celebration.

Will the manor allow us to cut holly and ivy for the inn?

Although the parsonage grounds have plenty.

We can ask Minerva. I’m sure she or Patience will be decorating the chapel. ”

Rafe stormed in before Brydie could return to Damien. They were supposed to be setting up Damien’s legal office in one of the inn’s empty rooms. A solicitor needed to be available in town and not out at the bleak house he’d inherited.

From the rage in Rafe’s usually genial features, the office wasn’t opening today.

“Oswald says the post won’t be coming through anytime soon!

They took apart the bridge that flooded, and the rider refuses to cross downriver, says we don’t pay enough.

Everything from Birmingham is going directly to Stratford, but they have no rider.

If we want mail, we’ll have to ride there to pick it up until the bridge is rebuilt. I’ll have to act as post rider.”

Verity uttered a cry of dismay. “But there’s so much for you to do here. . .”

“What about Fletch?” Brydie asked quickly, remembering the scene earlier today. Rafe’s partner had a drinking problem. He needed to be kept busy. “Won’t he be eager to hear answers to our questions? He could go directly to the source instead of waiting on letters.”

“Fletch isn’t too good with people.” Rafe stopped to think about that. “I suppose he might take the post, though. We ought to set up our own posting inn, put some of Jack’s horses to better use than eating oats.”

“If we can prove Mr. Cooper’s innocence, you could employ him to run it. He doesn’t seem to have much occupation,” Brydie said dryly. “But I doubt he can ride anywhere today with his aching head.”

“I’ll look for Fletch. Don’t know if he can make Stratford and back for tonight’s delivery. He can deliver our post in time for the afternoon coach, but he’ll have to stay the night in Stratford and carry two days’ post when he returns.” Rafe strode off to consult with his partner.

“Thanks, Brydie,” Verity murmured. “I need Rafe here. We even have a guest who wants to rent by the month. I had to send one of Mr. Upton’s helpers to show him about. I don’t know what they decided.”

“A paying guest is good!” Brydie wanted to wipe the sadness from her friend’s eyes. “It’s sometimes hard to find joy when faced with so much death, but you saved those precious angels. That’s a blessing. Rafe may have found additional income. There’s another. If we can only find a baker—”

“Don’t suggest Rafe!” Verity replied in alarm. “Perhaps Lady Elsa will know someone. Or you could do it. I know you and Kate bake.”

“First, we’ll have to see who owns the cottage.” But the idea of her own bakery—would it pay more than her sister earned by sewing? Not if they had to pay rent and give bread to a nosy neighbor. Oh well.

Brydie went in search of Damien and Arthur. She loved the people and promise of a future in Gravesyde and was thrilled Damien had decided to settle here so she needn’t desert her family.

But instead of a post office or bakery, they would have to find an undertaker if people didn’t quit getting murdered.