He gestured at what might have been a butler’s pantry in a manor house, but instead, held all the pans and bowls and utensils a busy bakery might need.“Did you and Minerva search all the cabinets?”
“Even on top.But I didn’t go too far in the cellar.I was afraid of rats.”After lighting the kindling to start the ovens warming, Brydie set out all the mixing bowls she could find and began measuring.Baking for a week would be a lot easier this way than with one bowl that only held enough ingredients for two loaves, at best.When she was married...She dwelt on that pleasant dream while Damien clattered down the stairs to chase rats.
She winced at a pistol shot.He carried a small firearm with him, she’d learned the hard way.As much noise as that made, all the rats would flee, which was the point, she supposed.
After he’d been down there a while, she heard him come up the stairs again.“A cat would be simpler,” she called over her shoulder, so she didn’t have to see minced rat carcass.
“The spiders down there are probably larger.I’ll find the rat holes and fill them.But it looks like she has a trunk full of every letter anyone wrote to her, plus some old family papers.I’ll sort through to see if there is anything that indicates a deed or will.”He left coal dust behind as he traipsed through the kitchen to heave the rat out the back door.
“You’ll mop your mess before we leave,” she called over her shoulder.
She’d set aside six bowls to proof near the ovens before Mr.Cooper straggled in around noon.She could hear him talking to Damien in the front room and poked her head around the corner to ask a question that had nagged at her.“Mr.Cooper, did you notice a buggy on the road when you rode into the village?”
He narrowed his eyes as if in thought.“Don’t believe I did.It was after dark when I arrived though.”His eyes widened again.“If you mean the one that crashed, she was out much too late for driving that road.My horse stumbled in those ruts.”
Brydie nodded, satisfied, and returned to her baking.How many loaves did Willa usually bake for market?Brydie seldom paid attention, but she thought she remembered her having buns as well.She’d need eggs for those.Did Willa have a henhouse hidden in the jungle of her yard?
Donning a ragged shawl hanging beside the door, finding a basket in the larder, she stepped into the gray day.Perhaps Willa had an herb garden.She could make savory buns as well as sweet.If she meant to spend the day baking, she might as well make what her own family needed as well.
Weeds and winter-bare bushes overhung the nearly-buried stepping stones, but the path was better than fighting through the underbrush of the rest of the yard.At one time, the family must have had extensive gardens—back when they could afford help.
The henhouse was little more than a tumble-down shack with the roof nearly caved in.She could hear a hen clucking in the tall weeds.The path was cleared, so Willa must have used it.The doorway was a bit low for Brydie’s height, but she ducked under the lintel to look for a nest.
A hard arm crossed her throat and dragged her inside.
Before the arm’s owner could speak, Brydie shrieked at the top of her lungs and began kicking.
Ten
Verity
With their guests fed,Rafe left to help Damien search Willa’s house.Maybe Rafe might give Brydie some breadmaking tips, Verity mused as she set luncheon on the pub tables for the children.Gravesydeneededa baker.Brydie might be a good one.And then she’d be close by to look after her sister’s children on days like this.
But for now, Verity didn’t mind watching Rob and Lynly.They were good for the grieving orphans.They’d been teaching them to make pomanders out of apples and cloves to give to the inn staff on Boxing Day.The older women had arrived with very little in the way of clothing to need scent, but they’d treasure any gift.And Verity was paying Lavender to make over some simple gowns she and Rafe could give them on Boxing Day.Verity was as excited about that as she was the church festivities.
If only they could settle the question of the orphans...
When Rafe raced into the lobby, hollering for his wolfhound and grabbing his shotgun from behind the counter, Verity’s heart wrenched in terror.Wolfie bolted out the door and the two were gone before she could reach the lobby to question.Reassuring the wide-eyed children, she stood in the pub’s mullioned window to prepare for whatever horror threatened now.
Returning from his mail delivery, Fletch was just riding toward the inn with a loaded mail pouch.At Rafe’s shout, he dropped the pouch in the yard and galloped down the back lane—toward Willa’s cottage.Verity couldn’t relax until she knew what was wrong.
Moments later, Brydie and Damien emerged from the lane.Damien had his arms around Brydie’s shoulders, but she seemed unharmed—although excessively agitated, even for Brydie.Her tall, fiery-haired friend was normally genial and smiling, but once her temper was aroused...
Deciding this was Brydie in a fury, Verity relaxed a trifle.Telling the children she’d read them a story if they behaved, she left them in the pub with their pomanders and hurried out to greet the pair.She picked up the mail pouch while she was at it.“What happened?”
“Brydie tried to kill a chicken thief,” Damien said with a strained smile, taking the canvas pouch and slinging it over his shoulder.
Verity assumed that was a lie but Brydie didn’t contradict him.She was too furious, apparently.
“I have bread rising!”she shouted.“I need to go back.And I want to make buns.There are eggs.You can collect them if you like, but they shouldn’t be left to rot!”
“He could have killed you!”Damien shouted back.“Until this monster is caught, you’re not going anywhere without me!”
Oh, very bad tactic to take with Brydie.Verity winced as her Viking-sized friend swung a fist at her fiancé’s arm.They’d never make it to calling the banns at this rate.
Damien, very inappropriately, grabbed Brydie’s fist, pulled her arms behind her back, and kissed her into silence, right there in public.Brydie wriggled futilely for a moment, then subsided, finishing the kiss with vigor.
Chicken thieves were better than the insane arsonists they’d stopped in the past, Verity concluded, waiting for the explosions to end so she could learn what had happened.
