Page 44 of The Villain’s Fatal Plot (Gravesyde Village Mystery #1)

FORTY-FOUR: VERITY

The next morning, Verity sat on her manor guest bed, stroking Marmi, reluctant to go downstairs where people were indubitably discussing the prior evening’s horrors. She didn’t particularly understand her reluctance. She simply knew she never wished to think about last night, ever.

She was hiding again, yes.

She wondered if she might slip down to the inn and fix herself eggs. She knew how to do that. Would Rafe let her stay in one of the rooms until she knew what to do next?

She couldn’t know what to do until she talked to solicitors, apparently. And the manor occupants were the ones who knew about solicitors and wills and estates and... so many things she hadn’t learned about while she cowered from the world in her cellar. She’d sold all her father’s legal tomes as too boring to comprehend.

A knock on her bedchamber door dragged her from her torpor.

“Verity? We need you downstairs, please. The heirs have written, and the Prescotts have left a letter, and Hunt wants to torture Mrs. Clement until she talks. It’s becoming a little desperate.” Minerva spoke through the closed panel .

She liked the librarian. She didn’t want to cause her any trouble. Reluctantly, Verity tucked Marmie in her apron pocket and unlocked the door. “I didn’t know whether to wear black again.”

“Don’t,” Minerva said firmly. “You cannot possibly be related to a toad. The bronze is respectful. That’s all that is necessary. Have you eaten? We can take a tray into the library where you won’t be interrogated until you’re ready.”

A toad. Verity almost smiled at this description of her uncle. All her life, she’d tried to mind her mother’s memory and be respectful, but the rude appellation appealed. Perhaps experience taught that not everyone deserved respect. She’d work out the dividing line some other time, preferably after breakfast.

Some while later, fortified by one of Lady Elsa’s generous meals and Minerva’s discussion of schoolbooks and students, Verity was better prepared when Captain Huntley entered the library. With him, he brought a dark-haired man in frockcoated attire carrying a portfolio of papers.

Hunt greeted her with a curt nod. “Miss Porter, I must send a report to assizes with the Clements. I need to clarify a number of issues before I’ll be satisfied that I’ve covered all the angles. This is Garret Browning III, a solicitor from Stratford who handles our affairs. He has been helping us locate information on your father’s death and estate, and he is also conferring with Mr. Culliver, Miss Edgerton’s solicitor. Browning, this is Miss Palmer, who prefers not to use her family name.”

The gentleman bowed to her as if she were a lady. Verity didn’t know whether to stand or offer her hand or the proper etiquette at all. It had been so very long... Relying on memories of her mother, she smiled, nodded, and remained seated, stroking Marmie in her lap.

“Once we have established all proprieties, proof of your identity, verification of your uncle’s death, and so forth, we will arrange to have your father’s funds transferred to your name on the date of your birth, per his wishes.” The solicitor set the portfolio in front of her, as if she had any notion what to do with it. “I fear any amendments to the original will were lost, which is why your uncle continued as your trustee.”

“Not that it matters any longer,” Minerva said carelessly, “but we have scraps of paper that show Verity’s father meant to cut his brother out. What we would like to know is how Miss Edgerton came by them and if they had anything to do with her death.”

That, Verity understood. Heart racing, she watched the solemn gentleman, hoping he had more magic wands.

Inheriting her home now that it was gone did not improve her circumstances. If her father had actually cut his brother off, and left his estate to her and her mother, she comprehended her uncle’s angry greed and why her father had died. But she would like to know why Miss Edgerton had to die.

“We are hoping the Clements might offer insight,” Hunt said. “I would like to bring Mrs. Clement in first, if Miss Porter would consent to join us to verify facts. Browning here can act as witness.”

Nervously, Verity twisted her hands. “And Ra... Sgt. Russell? He knows far more than I do about the Clements’ actions. As far as I’m aware, I’ve never met them.”

“He spent the night scrubbing flammable liquids from the inn,” Hunt said dryly. “We just woke him. This will be more about you than Miss Edgerton first. We’ll see how to proceed after that.”

Knotting her fingers to steady them, Verity nodded consent. While they waited for someone to bring up the prisoner, the solicitor sat next to her and showed her the portfolio. “The house was insured for a considerable sum, Miss Porter. If you wish to remain in Gravesyde, the proceeds will purchase almost any residence you desire and pay to repair and maintain it for years to come.”

That brightened her day. “Miss Edgerton’s cottage?”

“Mr. Culliver has received permission to sell the cottage since the heirs cannot afford to repair it. I’m certain they will happily sell it to the highest bidder,” Hunt answered. “You should take time to be certain it’s the wisest investment. ”

Verity’s day measurably brightened. To have the cozy cottage for her home...

She had no means of keeping up the extensive gardens. The repairs and purchasing new furnishings would be a daunting task. Her hope fell, but she clung to the comforting notion of her own home—as she’d clung to her cellar.

“There is also a considerable investment fund in your name that has grown since your father’s death,” the solicitor continued. “One most likely intended to be your dowry. That is presumably what your uncle wished to acquire. It seems his counting house has sustained substantial financial losses, possibly due to embezzlement or incompetence. We can’t say. We only know that the bank was preparing to transfer your funds to cover his debts until we stopped them.” He pulled a statement from the bank from the stack of papers.

Verity gulped at the sum. She’d thought she might live on the few hundred pounds she’d stolen from her uncle. This was so very much more! But if her uncle had been deeply in debt... Surely one night’s deposits hadn’t plunged him into financial difficulties. His drunken carelessness was more likely.

“My uncle’s family?” she asked, staring at the sum. “What happens to them?”

“That isn’t your concern,” Minerva admonished. “They never cared about how you fared, did they?”

They had not. Still... “I’m not them,” Verity said softly, remembering how devastated she’d been when her father died. “Will they still have a home?”

“I believe the funds embezzled from your father most likely paid for it,” the solicitor explained. “It was purchased shortly before his death.”

She nodded, growing a little angry as she understood the pattern of greed. “My father’s business, it wasn’t bankrupt, was it? My uncle sold it.”

“And used the funds to pay his debts, yes. It seems the younger Mr. Palmer had both a drinking and gambling habit, among other vices. It is not uncommon, I fear.” The lawyer sounded gruff and unsympathetic. “Unless there are other funds, your aunt will most likely have to sell her home to pay his debts. Her daughters are grown and married. She won’t be homeless.”

She didn’t know if that was fair, but she supposed she shouldn’t worry about a woman who had never worried about her. Everyone had paid for Uncle Warren’s vices. And her father had paid the ultimate price.

Verity had difficulty swallowing and greeted the arrival of Mrs. Clement with her jailer almost with relief. She couldn’t fathom the loss, the tragedy, the evil that had her uncle had perpetrated. He’d even destroyed the lives of his servants. He could not have been a well man.

The soldier entering with the prisoner was very much a well man, proud, strong, a hard worker with a moral compass stronger than her own weak one. His gaze instantly fell on her, and she thrilled at the concern she saw there. She managed a smile for his benefit, and Rafe relaxed enough to shove the disheveled prisoner into a chair. The cobweb-infested, empty wine cellar prison wasn’t an ideal chamber for maintaining appearances.

Mrs. Clement sat sullenly while introductions were made. She glared at Verity but glanced away when Rafe set a bottle of elixir on the table.

“Let me do this,” Verity said, regaining her voice and interrupting the captain before he could speak. She needed to do this. She had to quit hiding and face facts in the broad light of day. “Mrs. Clement, how did you know Miss Edgerton?”

She could see the men tense, on the point of objecting. Inquiring about the governess wasn’t their goal, but it was hers. The connection was there, if she could simply see it.

“You don’t even remember, do you?” the woman sneered. “We was way below your notice.”

“Might we have some tea?” Verity asked, not looking away, trying to recognize the flattened nose and hostile dark eyes lost in folds of flesh. “I was only fifteen when my father died. Children seldom notice anyone unless they want something. I don’t remember you because you evidently did not regularly bring me books or tea or take me on outings, as Miss Edgerton did.”

The older woman made a crude noise and rubbed at a smudge on her face. “That one thought she knew it all. I was the one what fetched the herbs she asked for. And she had the nerve to question my elixirs!”

The men sat back and shut up. Women talked to other women. Men intimidated. In her overlarge wing chair, Minerva quietly took notes, out of the prisoner’s sight.

“So you worked in our kitchen?” Verity waited for the tea tray to be set down.

“I was the one what taught your cook to season,” she said with a scoff. “Just because I can’t read or write don’t mean I don’t know as much or more as that hatchet-faced baggage.”

“Out of curiosity, how did Miss Edgerton know about your elixir?” Verity tried not to put words in the woman’s mouth. She had a horrible notion of what happened now that she grasped how venal people could be. She wanted truth.

“Your mother appreciated my compound,” Mrs. Clement said proudly. “She was a good woman.”

And had spent the better part of her last years in bed with her medicines. Tensing, Verity merely nodded. “And Miss Edgerton objected?”

“Threw out my bottles, she did! I was glad to see the back of her.”

“That was after my father died, wasn’t it? My mother was bedridden with grief. You stayed but Miss Edgerton left.” Verity struggled to put the words right. “Why did my uncle not let you go too?”

“Cause he needed me and Clem,” The woman said proudly. “That baggage yelled and threatened him, said as how she meant to call the law if he turned everyone off. But me and Clem saw how we could finally get hitched, so we said we’d tell the Runners she was lying. ”

Standing behind Verity, Rafe squeezed her shoulder. Drawing strength from his touch, she filled the teacups, while she put together the next question. It wasn’t easy skirting around the issue of her father’s murder. “I’m surprised that my uncle didn’t turn out me and my mother too. He didn’t like us much.”

Mrs. Clement shrugged. “The tart threatened him, said she had some sort of evidence, said if anything happened to you or your home, she’d lie, if she must, to see him hang. Stupid fool believed her.”

It hadn’t cost her uncle anything to leave Verity and her mother alone. As in everything, he’d simply taken the easiest route. Brave Miss Edgerton had kept them from being flung into the streets.

“And then I died,” Verity said softly. Her uncle must have believed everyone, including Miss Edgerton, had forgotten invisible Faith Palmer after ten long years.

Mrs. Clement grimaced. “That was a nasty fire, I heard. Don’t know how you escaped. Luther said as you was in there.”

“Luther was in a pub and didn’t see anything,” Verity said in scorn. “So why did you visit Miss Edgerton all the way out here if I was dead?”

Caught by surprise, the prisoner replied without thinking.

“His Royal Pomposity wanted that painting, just like we told you. We was only following orders. You can’t hold us for getting back what belonged to him.” She sat back, satisfied she’d said all that needed to be said—while verifying everything Luther had told them.

“So my uncle sent you to retrieve a painting, Miss Edgerton refused to give it up, and then what happened?”

“The stupid boy didn’t like being refused and wouldn’t go back. So I had to do it.” The old woman wrinkled her forehead. “It was like she was expecting me. Luther must have said something, ’cause she said she’d ordered more of my elixir. She meant to have it examined by an apothecary.”

“Did that upset you?” Verity tried to sound sympathetic .

Mrs. Clement waved a careless hand. “Makes no matter to me and my customers what some rattle-pate says.”

“But you still didn’t have the painting, and you couldn’t go home without it?”

The prisoner scowled. “It shoulda been simple. I mixed a sleeping powder, enough to keep her out while Clem and I searched. But a visitor started pounding on the door, and we had to leave. I didn’t do nothing wrong, and we never found any painting, so you can’t accuse us of stealing. You gotta let us go.”

The old witch’s “powder” and ignorance had put Miss Edgerton permanently to sleep.

Trying not to turn into a watering pot again, Verity glanced back at Rafe. He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

Captain Huntley nodded at the footman standing guard. “Take the prisoner back to the wine cellar. We’ll let the judge decide whether it’s murder.”

They led her away, screaming vile curses.