Page 26 of The Villain’s Fatal Plot (Gravesyde Village Mystery #1)
TWENTY-SIX: RAFE
“Buying brooms instead of ale will put a dent in my budget,” Rafe griped as he took the stewed vegetables off the fire and set up the griddle for the fish he’d caught earlier.
“But if you let people take home new brooms, the gift will endear you to all the local housewives so they won’t complain quite so much if their men spend time at your pub of an evening.” Feeding the nosy kitten from her palm instead of letting it near the fire, the cautious, quiet widow almost sounded giddy with delight.
A giddy widow was dangerous, especially one whose eyes lit like firelight in excitement—and who might not be a widow. Animated, she was lovely and driving him distracted. Rafe had been a soldier too long to understand the minds of women, but right now, even if she kept secrets, he admired her plotting. Free repairs while solving a crime...
He'd rather keep her out of the crime business. He had a niggling suspicion she thought she was catching a killer.
“I suppose, if anyone can actually help with the roof, the free labor will save on workmen,” he agreed. Tile would last longer, but thatch was cheaper and more in keeping with the structure. He was afraid to expect much .
Mrs. Underhill sat at the kitchen table, checking off the shopping list they meant to send to the city with Henri on the morrow. “Mr. Oswald might help us with the polishing rags and turpentine. He sent that bottle of elixir Miss Edgerton ordered with the flour he delivered. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“I’d forgotten about that. Did you put it in the pantry?” Setting down the kitten, Verity opened the door and produced the dark bottle. “Shall I give it to Meera? Looks like one of those patent medicines they sell on the streets.”
“Show it to me,” Rafe demanded, keeping his eye on the fish.
She held the bottle in front of his face. “Should I open it?”
“Mrs. Bigelow’s Vegetable Compound.” Rafe screwed up his nose. “I’ve seen men addicted to those medicines. Why would an herbalist touch such a thing?”
“Miss Edgerton hated compounds,” Mrs. Underhill declared. “She warned us of the dangers.”
“One more oddity,” the widow said in resignation. “I hope we catch the killer and he can explain at least some of this, but I’m beginning to suspect there may be more than one problem here.”
“Don’t see how, unless they conspired.” Rafe flipped the pike and tested the skin. “Set the table, ladies. We’re almost ready.”
They cleared off their writing materials and laid out plates.
“If I knew the inn had a working chimney, I could cook for the crowd on Friday.” He set the grilled fish on a platter. With bountiful catches like this, they could eat cheaply all winter.
Huh, sounded like he actually planned to stay. Plentiful food had decided that. Once he caught the killer, he could hunt better accommodations. A roof on the inn... He daren’t hope. “I’ll have to put together a soldiers’ stew in a kettle for the workers.”
“Bread,” Verity suggested, adding fish scraps to the kitten’s bowl before taking a seat. “Lots of bread. Can we order cheese with all the cleaning supplies, or is that asking too much of Henri?”
“It’s asking too much of my pockets.” Rafe lowered himself in the chair and vowed to buy more substantial seats for his pub .
His pub . He was actually believing this might happen. Probably shouldn’t. People would laugh once they saw the enormity of the task.
“Ask Mr. Oswald.” Mrs. Underhill spoke up. “We have people here who make cheese. They’ll be glad for the sale.”
“I can do that.” Verity actually looked animated for a change. “Shall I talk to several of the farmers and check prices? You’ll need regular deliveries someday.”
Rafe studied her with suspicion—much more sensible than admiring her fine smile. “Why would you care?”
That wiped away her smile. “Because you said you might need help with numbers. And I want to be useful. And if there is any chance I can stay in Gravesyde, I’ll need to earn my way somehow. I have a feeling teaching won’t pay.”
Now he felt like a callous rat, but she couldn’t exist on fantasies. “You’re probably right about that. The village would need to be an official village, with a town council that can pass taxes. Unless the bank lets go of its claim, that won’t happen.”
Her happiness dimmed as she examined her fish. “I suppose I’ll have to wait and see if the heirs sell the cottage or will rent it to me. And how much that will cost. I can still buy the cheese, though. Everyone ought to contribute to the meal. The inn will be for the good of all once it’s running again.”
They hadn’t told Mrs. Underhill about the lampblack or the reason for the sudden inn-cleaning party. Rafe had a suspicion the older lady would enjoy the gossip too much. For her benefit, he added, “I’m hoping we can make some of the inn rooms respectable this week. Then we can each have one for free until we’re up and running. You’ll have to provide your own bed, though.”
“Hardly respectable,” Mrs. Underhill grunted.
“You can go with us,” Verity suggested. “Although I’d much rather stay here, if all goes well. I fear mice in the inn’s beds until the roof is repaired.”
Rafe almost forgot the ache in his arm as he fed Wolfie under the table and they indulged his fantasy of a working inn. It had been a very long time since he’d had a permanent place to lay his head and fill his belly. He didn’t hope easily. And relying on a woman he’d known less than a week...
One who kept secrets. Unfortunately, no law required her to tell him everything.
It just bothered him that she still didn’t trust him—because it meant she had reason to distrust people. He wanted to know that reason.