Chapter Five #2
Mary turned her head to look at him, a grin lighting up her wan face. “I was only a wee girl when Mrs. Blythe hired me as a scullery maid. A good wind would’ve knocked me over back then.”
“Might now too,” Finch said, grinning.
“Me mum said I was getting fat last time I saw her,” Mary said. “I didn’t take offense though. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“She should be kinder,” Prudence said. “Since you send all your wages to her and your little sister.”
“I have no choice,” Mary said. “What with my sister’s troubles.”
Prudence looked back to give Finch a pretty smile.
He smiled right back at her. Was there something romantic between them?
How nice it must be to have the freedom to fall in love.
He could not lose focus on his purpose. Maybe later, after he’d proved his father’s innocence he could entertain the idea of love.
Lady Rose’s face came to mind. He shoved the vision aside.
They crested a gentle hill. The village unfolded before them, a cluster of whitewashed cottages with ivy crawling up the sides of the buildings and a church spire rising from the center.
Paved with uneven cobblestones, the village square was quiet that day, other than a few wooden stalls and carts that lingered from the morning market, their owners finishing up sales before closing.
Children splashed their fingers in the cool water of the square’s fountain, while their mothers gossiped nearby.
Scents of fresh bread, roasted meats, and sun-warmed lavender tickled Sebastian’s nose, mingling with the muted tang of horse manure and damp earth.
A few stray chickens pecked at the ground near a wooden crate of apples left outside the greengrocer’s shop.
Prudence kept her head held high, perhaps aware that she was a lady’s maid and must hold herself to high standards.
The other two, however, called out to friends, shouting across the square.
Soon, they arrived at The Fox Hargrave had mysteriously disappeared for hours after the murder; and Mary clearly knew something she was too frightened to share.
Most importantly, he now had a clear picture of what had happened that night. Lady Wentworth had discovered her husband’s smuggling operation—funded by her own dowry—and confronted him about it. In his rage, the man who had already been abusing her physically had finally killed her.
And then he’d framed an innocent man to cover his crimes.
How could he get Mary to tell him what she’d really seen that night? And how could he prove what he now knew to be true?