Twenty-two #2
The curate was the one to find the slim, hidden pocket in the trouser band—neatly sliced open and empty. Upton fingered the cut cloth thoughtfully. “It has a concealed button so he could get at it, if he wished. Someone just knew the location and cut it out.”
“The killer,” Arnaud agreed with disgust. “Lord Fortescue does not think as a poor man, so when he searches for the weapons, he does not know to hunt for the hidden coins.”
“None of us did.” Upton headed for the crypt exit. “I’ll warn Rafe. It would most likely be a servant if the killer needed gold to escape. We’ll see who is missing, although they’ll have a good start on us by now.”
Arnaud followed the curate from the gloomy vault. So much for celebrating his newly betrothed state with champagne and cake. He hadn’t eaten more than the soup.
Food had to wait. Leaving Upton to stop at the inn on his way home, Arnaud took the drive back to the stable to verify that none of Hunt’s men had disappeared, but the orchard workers. . . came and went.
Instinct simply warned that no hard-working laborer would have cold-bloodedly killed a man who couldn’t fight back. That deed had been done by a villain lost to all morality.
Arnaud had nothing of use to report from his questioning when he returned inside half an hour later to an empty dinner table and the duke’s sons filling pages of notes instead of shouting at each other. The ladies were nowhere in sight.
With a sigh of regret, Arnaud took one of the ugly old chairs, stretched out his legs, glared at his boots and announced, “The killer presumably stole a purse full of the guineas to aid his escape. Upton is to see if any of our visitors’ servants have absconded.
Everyone in the stable has been accounted for.
I cannot say the same for the itinerant folk. ”
“Guineas? He had nothing in his pockets besides the notebook.” The tutor shoved aside his pages with a frown.
“Calendar’s assistant, he says he had a full purse. We found a hidden pocket sliced open. It is speculation that the killer stole it, but. . .” Arnaud shrugged.
Fort stood to peer out between the draperies to the drive as if he might picture the escape. “Unless we believe the guard in the stable stole a purse he didn’t know about. . . we must assume the killer knew Calendar carried gold? And perhaps that was why he was killed?”
He dropped the draperies and frowned in thought.
“I shouldn’t think any of Humphries’ wealthy cronies noticed where the hired help kept his coins.
Besides, the stable guard said the killer was young and wore a too-large coat, which points at a servant.
Bobbert isn’t exactly young, but his clothes were ill-fitting.
I need to open the tavern again this evening, see if anyone else. . .”
Arnaud shook his head. “Bobbert would not have returned if he has the gold. Our killer is gone far by now. We are to look for who is not here.”
“Not necessarily.” The earl set aside his notes as well and pushed back from the table.
“The lot staying at the inn are gamblers. Your victim may have won the purse off one of them, and he wanted it back. Or it was stolen to make it look like a thief had done it. We have no good motive for either death.”
“Both victims were strangled.” Fort returned to the table to make another note. “The garroted servant may have learned too much, extorted someone. Heaven only knows, that lot have enough evil plans to give any good extortionist opportunity.”
Arnaud rubbed his brow. He didn’t know how Hunt dealt with criminals without strangling them.
“Might the architect know who killed Chandar? So Chandar’s killer, he disposed of Calendar too?
But I cannot see how swine make the effort to kill.
I fear they have someone among their entourage capable of it. ”
“And Featherstone has an entire army of thieves and swaddlers at his beck and call.” Wearily, the earl pushed up from the table. “Although I cannot remotely understand how he might be involved in my assault if his interest is in the Priory.”
Swaddlers. Arnaud assumed that was more cant, presumably for killers. The earl must have strange associates to know such rough language. “Mayhap we have three unrelated crimes. Me, I vote we say the village is quarantined and send them on their way.” Including the damned earl.
“Tempting, very tempting, but they would only return.” Weston took himself back to his bed.
“We’d better start a patrol around the outside.” Lord Fortescue gathered up their notes. “I’ll skip the tavern tonight. One of us should probably stay awake and keep an eye on this wing, since it’s most vulnerable.”
“Take shifts. Wake me at two. I need to find Thea first, then I will tell Quincy to post the extra footmen for the night. I think we have sufficient dogs patrolling, although they did not help last night.” Arnaud shoved up from his chair, weary to the bone.
He’d seen one revolution. He didn’t want to ever see another.
“Congratulations, by the way,” Fort said with a tired smile. “You are a very fortunate man.”
Should he live so long as to see the inside of a church with Thea at his side. . .
Thea’s ominous premonitions must be contagious.