Page 12 of The Villain’s Fatal Plot (Gravesyde Village Mystery #1)
TWELVE: VERITY
With Mrs. Underhill cleaning upstairs and the curate planning on returning, Verity didn’t have the opportunity to pry up the loft floorboards. She wasn’t given to sitting idle though. It was the reason she’d persuaded her uncle to let her run errands. After her mother’s death, she’d picked up his mail, gone to the bank, cleaned his office... and appropriated whatever she needed.
By the time the manor party arrived with Rafe, she’d matched the few initials on the correspondence with initials in the ledger and was working through Miss Edgerton’s address book.
She had also compiled a list of half a dozen household matters to address, along with the need to inventory the bookshelves in hopes there were enough books to begin teaching children. But she had wished to impress the sergeant and set him on the trail of a killer before she turned to the mundane, so she made the suspect list first.
Wolfie announced their arrival. At his bark, Marmie poked her head out of her warm pillow. The aroma of bubbling stew permeated the cottage. She had been raised in a grand mansion, but Verity thought she might learn to enjoy these cozy quarters, should she ever learn to cook more than eggs.. .
And discovered why Miss Edgerton had died. It wouldn’t assuage her grief, she knew. That took time. But it might settle her terror.
Rafe led the visiting party in without knocking, making himself at home. The bold soldier had little respect for the common conventions, but Verity was so far out of her element that his lack of manners seemed trivial.
Before taking the curate back to the kitchen, Rafe introduced their adolescent companion with a casual wave. “Miss Lavender Marlowe, seamstress, Mrs. Verity Porter, my hostess.”
Verity hid a smile, recognizing that he treated the cottage as a public inn—of which he was in charge. Interesting that he did not linger to admire the exceedingly beautiful child.
“I do hope you want something more stylish and colorful,” Lavender exclaimed as Verity greeted her. “Purple is not a terrible color with your hair, but primrose would look so much better with your complexion! And a high-waisted style is better for your figure, as well as fashionable. You don’t need to look like a potato sack. How do you feel about lace?”
“That it is an expensive luxury,” Verity admitted reluctantly, even though her vain heart longed for it. A potato sack, indeed! “A kitten would shred it. I would like a nice dinner gown, but I need plain dress more, for every day and for church.”
The girl nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that too. I have even created a style that allows you to cover up a nice muslin dinner gown for church. You are in good hands. Shall we go upstairs to take your measurements?”
“Wait, first, I must speak with Mr. Upton and the sergeant.” Suppressing her excitement at thought of a new frock instead of second-hand, Verity stuck to the practical.
She carried the ledger, address book, and letters to the kitchen table, pushing aside Rafe’s sandwich makings. “You may eat after I explain what I have done. I hope it will start your list of potential suspects.”
After her explanations, the curate studied the list. “I have never gone about in society. I’ll need to take these names of Miss Edgerton’s former students up to the ladies in the manor, see if they are familiar with any of them. But I can take a look at the ledger to see if I recognize any of the unidentified initials as local.”
“Just give me names when you have them.” The soldier returned to slapping meat on bread. “I don’t know a soul but I’ll find them.”
Verity hoped he wasn’t being overconfident. As much as she admired his manner of bluntly pushing through every circumstance, some men were all bluster.
She left them to their food and led the seamstress up the stairs, where Mrs. Underhill was making up the beds with fresh linens she must have manufactured from fairy dust. The old ones were still flapping on a line out back.
The drapery divider had been pulled, neatly dividing the loft, leaving each of them with a single dormer window for light. “It smells beautifully of beeswax, thank you, Mrs. Underhill!”
The older lady grunted in return.
“Not very talkative for a companion,” Lavender whispered, entering the larger space Mrs. Underhill had assigned to Verity—Miss Edgerton’s bedchamber.
“I’m not accustomed to talk. I’ve lived alone for a long time.” Verity had been struggling so hard to overcome grief and survive, that she really hadn’t noticed how lonely she’d become. There had always been market people to discuss the price of a meat pie or a servant or merchant to question. She certainly hadn’t attempted to strike up conversations with the sailors on the wharf or the men in the countinghouse. She’d been sadly lacking in society.
“Well, this is not a good place to become a hermit.” The girl efficiently took Verity’s measurements. “What do you need first?”
“A simple, sturdy, round dress to wear about the house and into the village? Long sleeves for winter? I don’t need ruffles or frills. Since I don’t envision many dinners at the manor, it would be best to see how much this will cost first.” Not that she had many choices for improving her wardrobe. She wasn’t likely to buy a carriage and visit shops elsewhere.
“I have a few sturdy fabrics in stock for every day use, and a selection of second-hand dresses that can be made over, although they’re quite unfashionable in drab colors for servants. You’ll need to come up to the manor and we’ll see what you like. I have a lovely lavender cambric that might suit, although I suppose you’ll want kerseymere or merino for winter. I assume you have no lady’s maid and wish them to fasten in front? And what about stays? These are decent but don’t really fit properly. Do you need more?”
Impressed by the young seamstress’s knowledge and efficiency, Verity indulged in new everything from the inside out. She’d learned to sew by making over her mother’s garments when she’d outgrown her childish ones. She was no expert by any means. With everything she once owned lost, she’d had to buy second-hand after the fire. They’d been the first clothes she’d purchased since her father’s death, and she’d been practical, buying dark plain clothes and not the frills and colors she adored.
To buy all new seemed extravagant, but necessary, if she was to step into Miss Edgerton’s refined slippers, metaphorically speaking. Her wide feet didn’t fit the governess’s slender shoes. Which reminded her...
“I have bundled up Miss Edgerton’s clothes. Do you know if the church takes those sort of things?” Verity fastened her gown while Lavender took notes.
“I can take them. I have an assembly of seamstresses who can refurbish and refit old dresses for any who need them. The manor has been providing uniforms for the maids, because many of them only have one gown of their own. Henri picks up durable garments at the second-hand shops in the city when he can.”
“That’s a great kindness. I appreciate it.” Verity produced a basket that no doubt was intended for the laundry and filled it with the garments she’d gathered. “Do you have many seamstresses working with you? ”
“They come and go, depending on the season and circumstances. Illness, children, complaining husbands... all interfere. But we have a number of older women who show up regularly. There won’t be any problem producing what you need this week.” Lavender took the basket, carrying it on her hip as they proceeded down the stairs.
Verity followed more slowly, using her walking stick and favoring her foot. She knew in the city that seamstresses worked in conditions ruinous to their health, but the alternatives for women were few. She liked thinking of the manor providing employment and a healthier work place, while the women could still have homes and families. But if lawlessness prevailed outside the manor’s safety...
She was no one to talk of lawlessness. She had essentially stolen her uncle’s daily funds. She had never pilfered more than a few shillings in the past. Her experience with her uncle’s business had been limited to carrying the satchel back and forth and dusting the books. She’d studied his ledgers but had assumed he made frequent deposits during the day. If she’d known how much she carried...
She might have stolen the bag sooner.