Fifteen
Fort
It was already late afternoon by the time Fort followed Lavender into the kitchen of the Red Knight Inn. A hectic flurry of activity embraced them, along with the scent of roasting potatoes and mutton.
“We should have waited until morning,” he said in regret, as Verity, Rafe’s wife, escorted them to the family wing where children romped in the hall.
“If Hunt is in danger, we cannot dally,” Lavender declared. The lace-bedecked butterfly he usually saw flitting through the Priory’s halls now wore a steely new expression.
Fort knew Lavender effectively disguised her capability. Anyone who had not only survived her childhood, but made a success of it, while adorned in silks and lace, wasn’t faint of heart.
“Danger?” Verity asked in alarm, shooing the children to their room.
“We’ll explain. Is Mr. Russell able to take time to hear this too?
” Fort hadn’t spent a great deal of time in the village, but he’d met the bailiff and admired his ability to take on a task no one else wanted.
He knew Verity because she taught the local school in the tower just down the hall from his students.
“He’s in the pub, encouraging public drunkenness,” she said with a laugh.
“Martha will tell him you’re here. It may take him a few minutes to find someone to take his place.
Young Andrew has been stepping up when Parsons is busy with guests, but he really shouldn’t be standing on his foot all day and night. ”
Fort raised a questioning eyebrow.
Lavender explained. “The baron’s assistant has a twin brother with a club foot. He usually helps Henri at the shop, where he can sit down with his tailoring, but with Henri gone, he’s had to do the selling.”
The ginger-haired giant of an innkeeper rushed in. Giving his wife a kiss, he acknowledged Fort with a nod. “The earl is talking?”
“Saying things we don’t wish to hear.” Fort explained what they had learned.
Rafe’s frown was formidable. “I’ll tell them we all have measles and the inn must close. I may never find that poor man’s killer, but—”
Lavender shook her blond curls. “No! We must hunt evil before it harms again. What if they left here and went to Birmingham to kill Hunt?”
Rafe looked at her in surprise, then nodded slowly. “I take it you are here with a plan?” He rummaged in his coat pocket. “Wait. I’ve been drawing up a list of names I’ve heard them call each other. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
Fort studied the list while Lavender explained.
Humphries on top, of course. Jones as his new valet, described as a pugilist? Haggarty—young but no occupation listed. He had a gray-haired servant called Wilson, older than he was. Gladstone, had large purse.
A start, anyway, Fort tucked the paper away.
Lavender was speaking concisely, hitting the salient points of their plan, leaving Fort his preferred position of observing. Rafe and his wife appeared as outraged and worried as the Priory inhabitants. The manor’s well-being affected everyone in the village.
“Clare and Arnaud have approved this scheme?” Rafe asked dubiously. “Wouldn’t it be safer if I simply demanded everyone’s names and their purpose here?”
“If they thought you might recognize them, or if their purpose is nefarious, they’d lie,” Fort said. “We’ll simply listen and report to Weston. If they’re known seditionists, he’ll recognize them.”
“Besides, you need to be in the pub, learning from your paying guests. We are hoping to learn from their servants.” Lavender wrinkled her fair brow in thought. “We’ll find more appropriate attire at the shop. It’s too late for us to work there, but there is time to open the tavern.”
Verity frowned. “Neither of you are experienced enough to be running a tavern. How will you keep the unruly in control?”
Fort hid a smile at her concern. “I am well-trained, and if you have ever seen Lavender in action, you won’t doubt her.”
Rafe scowled, but he had no authority to stop them. “I know a few good men who frequent the tavern. I’ll have them keep an eye out.”
“Thank you. That will allow us a little more freedom.” Fort bowed and followed Lavender through the lobby to her dress shop.
Kate Ferguson was just closing up. She glanced at them in surprise. “Is anything wrong?”
“Have you been bothered at all by the guests?” Impatient, Fort got to the point before Lavender could.
Once widowed, mother of three, a squire’s daughter, Kate Ferguson was a pragmatic, motherly sort who took no nonsense.
She eyed them with skepticism but didn’t question.
“A Mr. Gladstone purchased gloves and a handkerchief for his wife. I gathered from the sarcasm of the fellow with him that the gift would not reach his wife, if he, indeed, has one.”
“Gladstone, excellent.” Fort took out Rafe’s list and made a note beside the name, the one Rafe said had a large purse.
“I will work in the shop tomorrow,” Lavender told her, “if you will oversee the sewing room again. How is your sister faring, watching your children after school plus running the bakery? Does she ever sleep?”
Kate shrugged. “Both boys are away at school now and Lynly takes care of herself. If Brydie needs a nap, Lyn sits and sews. Are you sure you wish to be here with so many gentlemen about?”
Lavender glanced questioningly at Fort, forcing him to return to the ladies’ conversation instead of surveying the battlements, such as they were. “I’ll be opening the shop across the hall. I assume the gents will spend more time looking for fresh linen than gifts for wives.”
“Or their valets will,” Kate said dryly. “Keep Andrew on hand. He wields his cane like a sword.”
Kate departed while Lavender sorted through trunks for an appropriate tavern girl costume.
Thinking of costumes, Fort winced. “Did you ask Mrs. Ferguson earlier about sending in the theatre group to help us?”
“She suggested offering a reward to find a killer.” Lavender emerged from the trunk with a plain round gown of an atrocious mustard gold.
“With the promise of a reward, the actors not otherwise occupied will most likely be all over town tomorrow. They are always in need of coin. I assume your brother can afford it?”
“He’s ridiculously wealthy. He’ll pay up once he’s able.
” By hiding in the schoolroom, Fort had denied himself many of the more colorful aspects of the village, but he’d seen the theatrical group perform.
He didn’t think men dressed as women and vice versa would learn a great deal from stiff and proper merchants and investors, but if they listened carefully.
. . A village full of spies might be useful.
“Lock the door after me,” he ordered, before crossing the hall to search for less scholarly clothes.
He hated leaving Lavender alone, but he needed time to dress too. Taking the key he’d been given, he opened the men’s second-hand clothing store. Henri’s clerk had apparently already left for home or the pub.
Sorting through the coats hanging from ropes hung across the shop, Fort didn’t notice an intruder until he heard a cough. Startled, he swung around.
“Are you open? I burned the master’s cravat and don’t have another clean.” A square, burly man in rough garb stood in the doorway, studying his surroundings, more like a muscled guardian than any valet.
Fort had to think more quickly than he liked. “I am new and just learning the inventory. Let me see what there is.”
“You don’t much look like a clerk,” the valet said with suspicion as Fort hunted for linen.
“Shh.” Pouncing on the shelf behind a counter, Fort held a finger to his lips. “I’ve been trying on the merchandise. Besides, you don’t much look like a valet.”
The older man examined the threadbare linen Fort laid out.
“Ain’t, but the master’s manservant got hung and I got pressed into service.
” He regarded Fort’s neatly tied neckcloth.
“That one you stole? I won’t tell if you’ll give me it in exchange for this burned one.
” The valet removed the burned neckcloth from his pocket and slapped it on the counter.
Fort wasn’t much of an actor but he did his best to make a production of his decision. “I heard his man hanged himself. You saying there’s a killer loose?” He picked through the stack of linen again. They really were a sad lot.
“That Chandy darky was a lying spy. He got what he deserved. I only wish whoever did it had waited until I was outta this hellhole.”
Fort tried his best to seem uninterested as he wrestled with the knot of his linen. “You’re going elsewhere? Of course, you said you’re not a valet.”
“I’m a boxer. Got laid up and took this job until my hand healed. Easiest place I ever had but dull. Humphries says he can find me another position once he’s back in town. Might just retire from boxing. I hate these miserable little parishes though. No women, no cards, nothing.”
“Don’t know why gentry comes here.” Fort couldn’t delay unwrapping his rather expensive linen any longer. He made a show of comparing the two pieces. Actually, Humphries’ cravat was better quality.
“If you’re to believe the talk, they’s turning that ugly haunted lump of stone on the hill to a gaming hell and brothel.
But I reckon his majesty pictures hisself living like a duke up there.
Can’t trust nothing these gents say.” The valet snatched up Fort’s neckcloth and examined it in the lamplight.
“Clean enough, I reckon. I’ll press it out. ”
Haunted? The Priory? Superstitious lot, if that’s what they thought. “The ones who say the valet hanged himself are liars?” Fort pretended to examine the burn spot. “One of the gents do for the poor bastard then?”
“Like I said, he was spying. Them jabbering furriners can’t be trusted. Humphries orter to know better than to hire that sort, but he can’t keep help. I’d be gone too if it weren’t for his promise.”
“Liars don’t keep promises,” Fort warned. “I know a few people. You ever need help, find me.”
The valet snorted. “Yeah, like a thieving clerk can do better. Real nice talkin’ to ya.” He sauntered out, hiding Fort’s neckcloth under his coat.
Gaming hell and brothel? What the devil?