Page 10 of The Villain’s Fatal Plot (Gravesyde Village Mystery #1)
TEN: RAFE
At the dog’s bark, Rafe crossed the parlor where the widow sat at the desk. All the color had drained from her normally rosy cheeks. What had she found in there? Was it any of his business?
“The gate is locked,” he explained, opening the door. “Visitors can’t knock. Wolfie is letting us know we have a caller.”
She nodded and shoved a letter into a drawer as if it might bite.
He trotted into the yard to investigate the intruder, snapping his fingers at Wolfie to stop his barking, while he studied the tall young woman at the half-gate. He recognized her cheerful demeanor from the church this morning but didn’t remember being introduced.
Behind her waited a stout older woman who glared at him in disapproval. Perfect. A gorgon to scare off the unwanted.
“You’re the curate’s sister, aren’t you?” Rafe opened the gate. “Sorry, I don’t know if I learned the name. I’m Rafe Russell.”
“Patience Lavigne, sir, pleased to meet you. I’m Paul’s sister and Henri’s wife. I believe the two of you discussed fine ales.” She stepped into the garden and exclaimed in delight. “Oh, look, the Lenten rose is already sending up shoots! Miss Edgerton had quite a gift. ”
He assumed she was talking of flowers, a subject which didn’t particularly interest him unless he could eat the results. “Will you come in?” He glanced inquiringly at the disapproving female edging past him warily.
“Oh, my apologies. This is Mrs. Wilhemina Underhill. Minerva said Mrs. Porter needs a maid and companion. Mrs. Underhill said she might be interested.”
The stout lady bobbed a brief curtsy but didn’t acknowledge him otherwise.
Rafe opened the cottage door and made the introductions to Mrs. Porter. One of these days, he’d learn her first name. The widow appeared uncertain how to react but gestured at the sofas.
“Have a seat, ladies. I’ll return with fresh tea.” An innkeeper had to know how to make guests comfortable. Might as well get in some practice, just in case.
“I can’t live in a house of sin,” he heard the old lady state firmly as he prepared the tea. She must be slightly deaf and spoke loudly, or she intended him to hear.
“I’m without family,” Mrs. Porter was saying as he carried in the tray. “Miss Edgerton offered to be my companion. Her untimely death has left me bereft.”
Rafe thought she winked at him as he set the tray down. He lingered, arranging napkins and cups, to see if she meant to be audacious. The widow might be quiet, but she hadn’t struck him as shy.
“There’s some said as she was a witch, but I don’t take to that ungodly talk.” Mrs. Underhill glared at him. “But men, now, they’re nothing but trouble.”
“Mr. Russell is Wycliffe Manor’s new bailiff,” the very blond, buxom Mrs. Lavigne said excitedly. She appeared to be the kind of cheerful female who found everything exciting. “He is guarding Mrs. Porter in case the thief returns.”
“He also provides the most delicious meals,” Mrs. Porter said demurely. “I do not cook.”
Ah, the lady didn’t do audacious, exactly. She’d simply told the old gorgon she’d starve unless he stayed or she cooked. Checkmate.
He returned to the kitchen to finish supper. A companion would put a crimp in his plans to seduce the widow, but she needed to trust him.
If he was to be a proper bailiff, he should catch a killer first. He’d need to know a lot more about the village. Old Mrs. Underhill looked like a fine source of information. He wondered if she liked a good glass of stout with her meals.
He was setting the lamb pie over the fire when Mrs. Porter and her new maid climbed the stairs to the attic. The pub owner’s comely wife stayed behind to speak with him.
“Henri says you know how to operate an inn. That is exciting. We need traveling salesmen for the button factory, and eventually, for the perfumery. And Lavender is eager to test her sewing skills on ladies willing to journey here.” Her usual smile faded. “I cannot imagine who would travel for a modiste.”
“If she becomes very famous or if she’s very good and known to be less expensive than city modistes, women will find her.” He sorted through the ingredients on the table to begin the apple cake he’d promised. “I don’t suppose I can bribe you with pastry to tell me all the town gossip so I know where to look for malefactors?”
She laughed. “Lady Elsa’s pastry is pure heaven, and I eat far too much of it. Now, if you can start a brewery, as Henri claims, he may tell you all he knows, which is much more than I do.”
“That’s worth a thought. But seriously, do you know of anyone who might wish a poor teacher harm? I cannot leave Mrs. Porter unguarded until we catch the villain.” He counted on a parson’s family to know everyone hereabouts.
She frowned and shook her loose blond curls. “I cannot think anyone from the village would harm Miss Edgerton. She was near enough to a saint. She taught children, provided medicinals for a reasonable fee, and gave the bounty from her garden to the church. She always had flowers for the altar.”
“Doesn’t the manor have an apothecary? Why would anyone consult a governess for their medicines?” He cracked eggs into the pottery bowl with the butter he’d melted.
Patience wrinkled her small nose. “Meera is a foreigner to them. She’s not white or Anglican. Rural folk have little experience with people different from them and are slow to trust. Miss Edgerton’s family has lived in Gravesyde since time immemorial, so they trust her. Whether anyone knows it or not, Meera and Miss Edgerton consulted and exchanged herbs and recipes. When a physician was needed, Miss Edgerton sent them to Meera.”
So, competition was no factor, good to know. He liked the plump little physician. “So, you’re saying we need to look at newcomers? How many can there be?”
“More than usual,” she said with a small frown. “Now that the manor has come into a little money, they have hired a coachman and several footmen. I have hired men to pick the orchard. Hunt and Arnaud are hiring laborers and craftsmen to renovate the tower. Those people are almost all strangers, although some may have lived here years ago, and left when the manor was abandoned. Now that the war had ended, there are many men returning home and seeking jobs. We cannot know everyone.”
Footsteps on the stairs warned they were about to be interrupted. He returned to mixing his cake.
Patience smiled at the less than smiling Mrs. Underhill. “Well, will you think about it?”
“My granddaughter’s house is very crowded. With the new babe coming...” Mrs. Underhill waved her chubby hand vaguely. “This will suit. I’ll fetch my things.”
“I will do my best to make you feel at home,” Mrs. Porter assured her. “Your company is much appreciated.”
Rafe figured that was quite a lie but a polite one to reassure an old woman on the brink of making a large adjustment. He was reasonably good at gauging character, but the young widow was a bit elusive. One minute, she was a lost waif unwilling to voice an opinion. The next, she commanded an assurance he would not expect from a young woman faced with a murdered hostess .
Once the ladies had left to fetch Mrs. Underhill’s belongings, the widow returned from the front room with a handful of what appeared to be letters, carefully unfolded and flattened. Her confidence had returned to hesitancy, as if she didn’t wish to show them to him. She had no particularly good reason to trust him.
As he had no good reason to trust her. They were both stranded in this strange land alone. Rafe poured the batter into a pan and lifted a quizzical eyebrow.
“Motive,” she said with resignation. “If you are the new bailiff...”
He had no notion what a bailiff did, but if it placed him on the manor’s payroll, he’d accept the title. He slid the pan into the bread oven, wiped his hands on a thin towel, and took the papers. Reading quickly, he frowned and handed them back. “I don’t understand.”
She set them down and opened the pantry. “Abortive physics. Preventives. Possibly even means of rendering a man...” She gestured helplessly. “Mrs. Edgerton helped women with female problems.” She studied the neatly labeled herbs on the shelves. “I don’t know enough. We’ll have to ask Mrs. Walker to take a look.”
Even married women generally didn’t know about such things. What kind of life had she led before coming here? Rafe wasn’t certain he wanted to know.
“You think a man would kill her for providing preventives ?” he asked warily.
“Possibly. But if she used this information to ask for money to prevent scandal...” She winced and closed the pantry doors, her eyes speaking wells of pain and knowledge.
“Extortion,” he said for her. “People have killed for less.”