Chapter 15
A BURIAL AND A GATHERING
James informed Cecilia that the vicar had scheduled his wife’s burial for one o’clock in the afternoon.
“Why in the afternoon?”
“From my understanding, her daughters want to see her and fasten her dancing sisters cameo at her neck.”
“They’ve forgiven their mother!” Cecilia exclaimed.
“I assume so, for the vicar appeared happy early this morning when I went by the church to check on the pulpit rebuild.”
“Good. Have enough pallbearers been recruited?”
James laughed. “There was no recruiting; there are more than enough volunteers. Mrs. Jones was well-liked and greatly missed.”
“I count on our plans for Squire Inglewood incriminating himself tomorrow to work,” Cecilia said, determination reflected in her expression.
“From what you have told me of your plans and my observations of Squire Inglewood, I know you have a high chance of success.”
“We have ensured that the entire parish is aware of the gathering here, and it is here because you are the acting church warden and sexton until replacements are named.”
“Ah, that is another piece of good news. The vicar said he received condolences from the Archbishop yesterday. With the letter of condolence came his approval for a curate. In addition, he told the vicar that he needed to press the parish board to fill the churchwarden and sexton roles. The tithes defend the expense.”
“That is good news! But we’ll have to convince the vicar not to ask Mrs. Hull to move into the middle almshouse and give her residence to a new curate. She likes her end location.”
James’ eyes narrowed. “I’m not satisfied with the latitude the earl has allowed Inglewood. I suspect Inglewood is holding something over him. I will request Mortlake to build a curate’s residence as a thank you,” he suggested, his lips kicking up on one side.
Cecilia’s eyes lit up. “I agree with you. There is something. Didn’t the earl say that they were at the university together for one year?
Perhaps Inglewood knows of another indiscretion.
Regardless of what it is, I imagine he will be amenable to that idea.
Wonderful notion. Mention a new curate’s residence to him when he is here this afternoon.
With the parish invited, it will be easy to see the need for a curate. ”
“If a large portion of the parish comes, not simply the landed gentry,” James cautioned.
“Mrs. Hull believes they will. And with that in mind, I need to meet with Mrs. Vernon now to review our plans for food and drink for the event. I have to tell you, I laughed when she told me she informed her nephew he was supplying the ale—for free.”
This was one day when James felt grateful for his acting churchwarden duties.
Those duties kept him at the church while village men carried Mrs. Jones’ casket to her final place of rest. He didn’t do well with burials.
Dying soldiers and burials brought back too many memories of Spain, memories that caused sleepless nights.
He’d suffered the night after he’d found Mrs. Jones.
Today, if he stayed away from the actual burial, he might save himself another restless night.
He saw the funeral procession stop by the new grave.
He turned away before they lowered her casket.
He entered the church office and methodically recorded the official date of death, the date of burial, and the other details wanted in the church record.
When he came out of the office, he found Squire Inglewood standing by the church, watching the burial. He turned at the sound of James’s approach.
“You’re not with the funeral party,” he noted.
“No,” James said.
“Why not? I thought Mrs. Jones was a particular friend of yours and Lady Branstoke’s.”
“I could ask you the same question in reverse. Why are you here? It is known you were not fond of Mrs. Jones.”
“Meddlesome woman didn’t know her place. Poking her nose where it did not belong. Spreading gossip…”
“She did much for the parish and was well liked,” James countered. “So, again, why are you here?”
“Not for that witch. I figured you would be here. I came to see you.”
“Me?” James crossed his arms over his chest and canted his head as he regarded the squire.
“Stay away from my son,” Inglewood growled, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Stay away from George? I have encountered him twice, both times at the Sheep’s Head Tavern. A public place.”
“You took him to your estate and got him doing servants’ labor.”
“I do not understand you, Inglewood.”
“He came home last evening with tales of sweeping a terrace, hauling tables, and other demeaning work an Inglewood does not do!”
“The night before, I had been asked to hold the gathering for Mrs. Jones. Nothing at our estate was ready for that task. George asked to help my wife, me, and our staff ready the estate. We all worked, and I did not ask him to; he volunteered.”
“He’s too young to know better. I made sure to address that problem last night,” Inglewood said.
“What did you do, beat him?” James asked calmly.
Inglewood’s nostrils flared with anger. “You, sir, are impertinent,” he said loudly.
James shrugged. “Your son is a fine young man, a man with a desire for friendship and approval. You should be proud of him, not condemning.”
Inglewood bristled. “He needs to learn the Inglewood place in society, and it is not doing menial tasks or playing at sea captain. Stay away from him or else!”
Behind Inglewood, James saw those by the gravesite turn in their direction as the squire raised his voice.
“Or else what?” James dropped his arms to his sides. He did not like Inglewood, but did not desire to get into an altercation on church holy grounds. Nonetheless, he would not slink away as many in the town did, and Inglewood appeared to expect.
“You forget I am the magistrate here.”
“I forget nothing; however, I do fail to understand what you being the local magistrate has to do with this conversation,” James returned. His voice assumed a harder, though still quiet, tone.
“I will have you arrested and thrown into my gaol!” Inglewood yelled at him.
“On trumped-up charges, as you did to Mr. Vernon?”
“Everything all right here?” Aldrich called out as he walked back from the cemetery.
Inglewood swung around. The burial finished, the men were making their way back toward the church.
Inglewood swung back toward James. “I am not finished with you,” he growled.
James raised an eyebrow. Inglewood sneered and stalked away toward Inglewood Manor.
“What was that about?” Aldrich asked James as he came up beside him.
“Inglewood told me to stay away from his son. I believe he thinks me a bad influence on him.”
Aldrich barked a laugh. “You? A bad influence? The Peninsular War hero? The righter of wrongs and purveyor of justice, a bad influence?”
James relaxed. He smiled at his friend. “The righter of wrongs and purveyor of justice is my wife, I merely follow where she leads.”
Aldrich clapped him on his back and laughed louder. Together, they walked to Summerworth Park and James told him about the diary contents.
“I believe it,” Aldrich said, nodding. “But that wouldn’t stand up before a judge as evidence.”
“We know. We need him to incriminate himself.”
Lord Aldrich frowned. “How do you intend to do that?”
“Gossip. At the gathering, it will become known that Cecilia and I have found and read Miss Inglewood’s diary.”
“And you intend to share information from the diary?”
James nodded slowly. “And what we have learned through our investigation.”
“What would that be?”
“The pennyroyal was kept in a canister in the kitchen.”
“That’s macabre,” Aldrich said, his mouth twisting in distaste.
“I quite agree. However, there it sat. At some point, days before she died, Miss Inglewood removed the pennyroyal and replaced it with spearmint.”
“She did not want to get rid of the child she carried?”
“She’d lost it, but didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“She thought she could pressure Kendell to marry her. She also wanted her father to pressure him as well, which he wouldn’t do if she were not with child.”
“If she changed the canister contents to spearmint, how did she die?”
“Pennyroyal.”
“What?”
“Inglewood told his son to go to Folkestone to see if he could get pennyroyal for his sister. When he returned, he gave it to his father.”
“And his father placed it in the canister.”
James nodded. “Inglewood wanted his daughter to die.”
“No!”
“Oh, yes. And Miss Inglewood knew it. When the pot was brewed, she thought she would triumph over her father and show him she was perfectly healthy. She saw that as some kind of revenge on her father. He wanted to control everyone in his family, and she wasn’t having that.
She wanted to hurt him, hurt his pride.”
“They had odd family relations.”
“Yes. We know from the diary that Inglewood did inflict pain if he didn’t get his way. Cecilia and I imagine that is why Lady Inglewood does not come to Sunday services often, for the bruises she needs to hide.”
“You consider making this information public will cause him to reveal himself?”
“That is the plan. I do not expect it will happen as swiftly as Cecilia does, but eventually, he will break. You saw him at the church. He was angry with me because George helped us prepare the estate for today’s gathering. Said it was beneath an Inglewood.”
“He does think well of himself.”
“And will attempt to use his magistrate role to punish me,” James said drolly as they approached the front door of Summerworth.
“I assume I am to share these revelations?” Aldrich asked as they entered the manor.
“In a keep-this-to-yourself manner.”
Aldrich rubbed his hands together, his eyes laughing. “But, of course!”