Chapter 38
Thirty-eight
Rafe
Standing, hat in hand, in the small study amid the ancient stone walls of the original Priory Manor, Rafe wanted his supper. He wanted to be at the pub, enjoying the company. He wanted to hug Verity and his wards and pretend the world didn’t contain madmen who kidnapped young ladies.
Captain Huntley, who apparently needed none of those things, prevented Rafe from having what he wanted. Their magistrate required answers. Now.
“Just lock them all up,” Rafe argued wearily.
He no longer feared losing his position if he disagreed.
Right now, he’d love to be demoted. “It’s late.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. After today’s little party, half the town will have aching heads.
We need time to find some crumb of evidence for the court. ”
“Lock up the children too? I only have so many cells. Morgan is passed out in the crypt and the Jamesons are screaming in the wine cellar. Do we store the children in the belfry?” Hunt paced his study, most likely to work kinks out of his damaged leg.
Rafe rubbed his disheveled orange curls. He needed a haircut. Again. “The children are our only witnesses. They’re thieves, but I doubt they’re killers or kidnappers. Verity has them. I’ll feed them, give them rooms, lock the doors.”
“Find out where they keep the poison mushrooms? And how do we keep the actors from absconding?”
Rafe grimaced. “Jacques and Damien will have to handle the actors. Maybe promise them the sewing shop can make their costumes? How is Lavender? I don’t dare go anywhere unless I can report she’s well.”
“She only shared a little of Jasper’s luncheon.
Meera says she’s small and it takes less to bring her down.
Apparently, whatever they ate contained some mix of mushrooms and laudanum, meant to incapacitate, not kill.
” Hunt looked grim, rightly so. They both knew how well that had worked for Mrs. Young.
They could have had two more corpses. Rafe shuddered.
Hunt continued. “Meera has given Lavender some concoction to clean the toxins. She’ll live.
I think Lady Lavinia is prepared to hang the culprits, just for harming her granddaughter, but unfortunately, Lavender is our only real witness, and she was unconscious the whole time.
Kate and Fletch can only speak to finding her at the Hall, which implicates Damien and Jacques and the actors as well as the lunatics. They can’t explain anything.”
Rafe already knew Jasper could tell them nothing except that he’d eaten the lunch Vivien had brought for him—which was why they’d hunted down Vivien and locked her up with her sister. “Is Hugh Morgan talking at all?”
“Meera says Morgan’s wounds have been treated with herbal remedies, but they’re infected.
He’s too drunk and feverish to be sensible.
This is ridiculous.” Hunt dropped into his desk chair.
“We can’t be certain he’s the killer or even the kidnapper.
I have to wonder if it isn’t safer to send all the ladies and children back to Town. ”
Emptying the manor would destroy the village, but protecting the vulnerable had to be the captain’s priority. Hunt was feeling the burden of responsibility.
Rafe understood too well. “London has more scoundrels per square inch than the countryside. Running is not the solution. Bringing in more good people, workers, smart folk—that will make us safer than any city.”
“Education,” Hunt added wearily. “We need to educate ourselves in how to catch thieves and their ilk. And teach people their letters and numbers so they can find work and don’t feel compelled to steal to survive. None of this is easy.”
“One day at a time, Captain. Unless you know any magicians.” Rafe hoped he’d talked Hunt down from any notion of leaving, because he’d sunk his life savings into an inn that relied on the manor for patronage. “We’ll question the lot after church tomorrow. Gives us time to gather our thoughts.”
“Did you find Miss Maryann?” Hunt followed another path.
“Maryann went home to bake a birthday cake and is just fine.” Rafe shoved his hat on his head, determined to escape.
“And where did you finally find the wretched younger Jameson female?”
“In Lavender’s office in the tower, where she claims to have been since she left the shop.
I’ve locked her up anyway. The sewing room was closed, so she has no witnesses.
Jack didn’t see her when he came looking, but he didn’t look in the office.
She says she entered through the tower, where no one noticed—most likely sneaking in because Lavender doesn’t like her in there.
Lady Elsa is considering feeding mushrooms to both of the shrieking cats. ”
Hunt snorted and waved him off.
In the hall, Rafe saw Fletch with clock parts spread around the landing and the long case pulled out from the wall.
Rafe left him alone. His partner had actually been a help today.
He could use that assistance in restoring law and order, should the village ever become more than a scattered group of shacks and old women.
That day hadn’t arrived. The major was entitled to hide behind clocks.
When Rafe finally reached his kitchen, Verity threw her arms around him in relief. He hugged and kissed her, much to the amusement of his staff and young wards. He was too grateful for her sanity and warm welcome to care what anyone thought.
“Eat.” His dainty wife shoved his big bulk into a chair. She didn’t have to shove hard. The servants set food and drink in front of him. Daphne climbed in his lap and pinched a piece of his bread, warming his tired heart.
He was home. All the horrors of the day were worth it to protect this slice of heaven he called his. After years of war, he hadn’t believed normality existed. He might not have complete peace yet, but he had this.
“Who’s tending the pub?” he asked in between mouthfuls.
“Parsons and the Jameson children. It takes a thief to watch a thief, apparently. I’ll empty their pockets after they go to bed, just in case.” Verity refilled his mug.
“We’re to lock them up tonight,” he warned. “They’re witnesses.”
“Food and warm bed and they won’t complain. They’re terribly neglected, I fear. They’ve been told they’re stupid so often that they believe it.” Verity gathered up Daphne and Daniel to send them to bed. “They’re not stupid if they can count coins, and they can.”
“How’s Kate?” Rafe asked when Verity returned. He’d emptied his plate and needed to patrol his domain before he could fully relax.
“Bridey and Damien are staying with her, out at the farm. She’s shaken, but now that you’ve locked up Hugh, she’ll be fine. I don’t know if today settled her ghosts or just stirred them up. Time will tell.” Verity took his plate.
Rafe knew Kate had a right to her ghosts, but she’d been remarkably brave today. He should consider the good parts of a day like this, even if he had to dig for them. “Damien has arranged for Kate’s eldest to come home from school for the week after Easter. It will do her good to see him.”
By the time he arrived, the crowd in the pub had diminished to just a few customers, but even that was more than last week. Henri’s tavern had the Saturday night revelers. Rafe’s pub—he really needed to give it a name—offered a quieter alternative.
Parsons, the ex-convict, proudly showed him the cash box. “Can’t rightly do the numbers, but I made marks for each pint and half-pint so you’s can see I didn’t steal any.”
Rafe hid his laugh. The man was trying. “I appreciate you stepping up. How did the pup do?” He nodded at the boy sluggishly wiping down tables. His younger sister lay half asleep on a table in the corner, sucking her thumb.
“Ain’t much of a worker, but ain’t much of a thief, either. Caught him once trying to nab a coin, slapped his hand, told him he’d earn more if he did his tasks. So guess you owe him.”
Rafe paid his clerk his fair share of the evening’s profit and chose a shiny silver six-pence to give the boy whose name he still didn’t know. The boy watched him with suspicion as he approached.
“Parsons said you earned your fare tonight. I thank thee.” Rafe passed over the coin. “Do you have a name?”
“Henry.” He bit the coin and approving, shoved it in his pocket. “Where’s our ma?”
“The captain has had to detain her and your aunt and Mr. Morgan until we hear their side of the story. Mrs. Russell has beds made up for you and your sister. I’ll show you to them.”
“They ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” With red-rimmed eyes, the boy looked prepared to cry, even though he had to be twelve or older.
“That’s what we need to prove.” Rafe tried to sound reassuring, but the child’s life was likely to be completely upended. “Can you use one of Mrs. Russell’s scones before you tuck in?” He headed for the little girl.
The boy nodded warily. The girl yawned. Rafe wanted to pick her up and drop her in bed so she might have a decent night’s sleep. He thought they probably ought to be dunked in sheep dip first but that was Verity’s decision.
“Are we goin’ home now?” she asked, dragging after her brother as they crossed to the kitchen. “To the big house?”
Big house? Kate’s house? Rafe opened the door and led them into the warmth of a kitchen with hot ovens. “Not tonight. Why don’t you wash up at the sink?” He set a stool in front of the tin tub so they could reach it and pumped water in. One of the maids added a small bar of lye soap.
Ignoring the question, Verity stood beside the pair to help them wash. “Wash your face, too, Miss Betsy. And behind your ears.”
Betsy, so that was the girl’s name. Rafe should have asked his wife. She’d been their teacher this past week or more.
The pair didn’t know what to do with the thick cream and jam Verity set down with the stale scones. But once they learned, they gobbled every crumb and licked their plates. Rafe knew what it was to be hungry. Children shouldn’t ever have to be that empty.
“Where did you live before you came here?” Rafe asked as he took the old nightshifts Verity handed him and led the pair to the spare room in his family quarters.
“On a farm,” the girl said sleepily. “I had a lamb and a baby chick.”
“You had to leave them behind?” Rafe would have to ask Daphne if she might part with one of her stuffed dollies. Little girls liked to cuddle.
“Mr. Suffolk said we owed rent and he took ’em.
” Henry glared at the two beds as if they offended him.
The boy finally chose one. Collapsing on the cover, he spewed his anger at the adult world.
“The mean lady wouldn’t let ma work no more and Mr. Suffolk took the herd after Pa died and we had to plant crops and eat nothin’ but tatties.
I hoed all summer! But the field flooded.
We was hungry and Bets got sick. It ain’t fair! ”
Rafe would ask how his father died some other time. The lad needed to spill his rage. “Aye, it’s not fair for a mother to see her wee ’uns go hungry. When did Mr. Morgan arrive?”
The boy shrugged his skinny shoulders. “He worked for grandpa before he died. Da didn’t like him much. Don’ know why he didn’t find someone else.”
“Aunt Viv.” Betsy dropped her ragged gown, pulled the gown Rafe handed her over her thin shift, and crawled between the covers. “Aunt Viv likes him. And Ma does, too, sometimes.”
Henry reluctantly stripped to his undergarments and pulled on the overlarge nightshirt. “Ma liked him better when he said his rich brother died. She said he was our new pa, but he’s a sneakin’ thief and made Aunt Viv lose her place.”
Through the eyes of babes. . . Hard to tell how much was fact, but Rafe stored the information for future use.
He hated the idea of interrogating the Jameson women.