Chapter 35 #2
Mrs. Moorshead grinned. “Yes! That was her name. She was deeply aggrieved, them being old friends besides working together. You know, it is strange that you ask me about the two women. I have not thought about them these past twenty years … yes, since the last time someone else asked me about them.”
Richard practically felt his ears perk, but Nick beat him to the question. “Someone else asked about her? Who? When?”
“Well, like I said, it was about twenty years ago. She was a young woman with sharp features, pristine, very nice. She said she was a nurse, and she looked like one. You know, the sort who reminds you to straighten your apron and pat down your hair.”
Miss Rothschild’s posture had straightened even more. If she leaned forward any more, she would topple over like a stiff board. “What was her name?” she asked, the strain in her tone increasing the tension in the room.
Mrs. Moorshead twisted her hands. “Oh dear, I seem to have caused some upset.”
Miss Rothschild forced a smile. “It is only that the woman you described sounds familiar to a description I heard recently. Do you remember her name?” She bit her lips together, and Richard had to bite his to keep from chuckling when he saw her knee bob up and down impatiently.
“Well, as it happens, I do,” Mrs. Moorshead said. “I remember thinking that someone so clean and particular ought to be named Mrs. White, not Mrs. Brown.”
Miss Rothschild leaned back in her chair, chin up, eyes flashing. “Mrs. Brown was Mrs. Finchley’s nurse.”
First, Mrs. Currey. Then, Mrs. Brown. “Have you spoken with Mrs. Brown?” Richard asked Miss Rothschild.
She scowled rather prettily. “She died five years ago. Of natural causes … or so they say.”
“You suspect she was … helped along?” asked Darcy.
Perhaps someone in Mrs. Finchley’s employ? Richard could not imagine the kindly woman harming anybody.
“I hardly know what to think. Mrs. Brown was of a sturdy constitution, never sick a day in her life, according to my other sources, and yet she supposedly died of a weak heart. The last lady I talked to mentioned you, Mrs. Moorshead, which is why I am here. She said that Mrs. Brown had traveled to Devon where she apparently concluded some business which allowed her to live more comfortably. I came here in the hope of learning more.”
Mrs. Moorshead reached over the table to place her hand on top of Miss Rothschild’s. “I am sorry I know nothing of any business she might have done here. I only spoke with her once. I have told you everything I know.”
Miss Rothschild turned her palm, lifting the elderly woman’s hand to her cheek and kissing it. “But it has been significant. Thanks to you, we have learned there is a connection between Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Currey of which we were previously unaware.”
Richard wanted to ask what she meant, to see if she had the same suspicions he did, but the floor creaked outside the parlor and another woman appeared in the doorway. “The reverend is agitated, Madam.”
Mrs. Moorshead rose to her feet and, with her, her company too. “I must tend to my Edmond. He is used to me reading to him at this hour. I do hope I have been helpful in some way.”
Nick bent over and kissed her on the cheek.
She caressed his face. “I wish with all of my heart and I shall pray every day that you find what you are searching for.” She turned to Miss Rothschild. “You too, love.”
They walked out to the gate, lingering when they ought to have made haste to inform the rest of their party what they had found. Two nurses, both employed by Mrs. Finchley. Both dead. That was something to pursue.
Darcy and Nick distanced themselves by a few paces, leaving Richard with Miss Rothschild behind. He wished they would not have. What was he supposed to say to her? Normally, he had no trouble conversing with ladies, but when she turned to face him, he found himself tongue-tied and stupid.
“I wonder, Colonel…” she began, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. “Perhaps you shall think me impertinent, but I shall regret not taking the risk…”
“I like impertinent ladies.” He smiled, earning a confused expression from Miss Rothschild and several poorly masked guffaws from his cousins ahead of him.
“That is to say, impertinence is too often a term men use to refer to ladies who are more clever than they are. I shall not hold such an estimable quality against you. Now, how may I be of service?” He bowed, grateful to have his usual charm restored to him.
She rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you, Colonel. What I wish to suggest is that we join forces. I know where Mrs. Brown was buried and, consequently, where we might find more about her activities with Mrs. Finchley.”
Richard turned to his cousins, but Nick’s line of vision was fixed to the side of a large building. Under a sign reading “Callaghan and Sons, Cider Merchants,” Richard saw Connell doing his best to melt into the shadows.
“Where do you plan to go next?” Nick asked, without taking his gaze off his pursuer.
“Bath.”
“Then, allow us to accompany you.”
Just like that, their party multiplied and their journey continued.