Mr.Dryden’s son was very young and needed to learn cynicism.
“Staff did not heave everything they could lay hands on into trunks, willy-nilly,” she informed him.“So, yes, call a constable, if you have one.The estate should be notified.Perhaps they’ll hire a guard.I’ll write a receipt for the trunk we take for the children and refer them to the church if they have questions.”The Stratford church, not Paul’s.She didn’t want thieves looking for them.
He bobbed his head anxiously.“I don’t know who she employed.I’ll speak with the neighbors.She must have paid them somehow.”
True.“Mr.Bosworth claims it wasn’t through his bank.Perhaps Mr.Browning can make inquiries of the other solicitors.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.We need to take that silver back to town immediately.It should fit on the back of your carriage.If you have what the children need?—”
A woman’s voice shouted from the front room.“Halloo?Anyone home?The door was left open!”
Minerva lifted her skirt and raced down the passage.The neighborhood busybody might impart useful information.She slowed down to enter the front room in what she hoped was a ladylike fashion.“Yes?”she asked, as if she had every right to be here.
A middle-aged woman with an enormous bonnet concealing her hair, wearing the black bombazine of a matronly housekeeper, studied her expectantly.“Are you the new owner?”
“We are packing Mrs.Turner’s trunks.Did you need to speak with her solicitor?He’s taking inventory.”That was only a little fudge.Dryden wasn’t anyone’s solicitor as far as she was aware.She simply wanted to establish that she was no thief.And discover the name the lady had been known by.
“Well, that’s a relief, it surely is.I’m Mrs.Middleton, from next door.There’s been all sorts of coming and going here and I was that concerned, I was.How are the children faring?Do you know?”She didn’t exhibit a bit of inhibition at her nosiness—and didn’t question the name Turner.
Minerva didn’t have time to be coy.“Their carriage overturned and the driver died.We are trying to determine where they were being taken.The solicitor thought the children had gone to the family.”Well, she’d learned to lie as a child.
Mrs.Middleton covered her mouth in shock.“Oh, my, those poor tykes!I had my worries.I tried to talk to the people who were clearing out the house, but they were...not friendly.Told me to mind my own business, if you will!But I looked after them since they were babes and I was so fearful...”
“Then you might know the family?Where we should take them?”Minerva bobbed a curtsy.“Forgive me, I’m Mrs.Upton.Our church has the children now.”She deliberately refrained from saying where.“They are too young to tell us more than their names and the name of their home.”
Mrs.Middleton shook her head in sorrow.“Such a tragedy.I had no idea she was so ill.Not well, certainly, but to die so young...I’m sorry.I never met her family.She wasn’t one to talk much, kept to herself.But you can tell when children are well loved.Their father came home whenever he could, until he was sent to the Continent.She held services for him but there never was any body or burial.He just didn’t come home, as so many didn’t.The children only stopped wearing blacks this past year.She never did.”
Dashitall, she needed names, places...“Well, if you learn anything more about the family, let the rector know, please?The cottage’s solicitor claims not to be aware of more family.Do you know the names of her servants or where they might be found?”
Mrs.Middleton frowned.“She only had a maid and a man of all work.They packed up and left right after the funeral.There was a fine carriage here, so I thought the family had taken them away.I cannot remember her ever having visitors other than the neighbors.I will ask about.Those poor tykes!I cannot imagine...”She hurried off, no doubt to canvas the neighborhood for a lovely morning of gossip.
The widow must have led a very lonely life with no family about—and such a peculiarity did lead one to imagine the worst.Minerva had the sinking sensation that even should they find Daniel’s teacher, no one in Stratford knew the children any better, and they had reached a dead end.
Twelve
Brydie
Brydie tiedup the last batch of buns with brown paper and string and added them to her basket.She peered into Willa’s front room, where Damien had organized neat stacks of papers from all over the house, holding them down with whatever heavy objects came to hand.She’d heard no cries of success and assumed he’d located nothing to tell them who owned the cottage.
She didn’t know where Cooper had gone.He was supposed to be sorting Willa’s belongings for his family.
Sgt-Major Fletcher Ferguson, as she knew the tall, surly soldier was properly called, sat on the aging sofa, bending over a square case clock that had been on the mantel.She’d noted earlier that it was running slow.Damien had taken a flask away from him and handed him the clock—a successful ploy, apparently.Brydie was still wary of the major, but he was much too large to be the man from the henhouse.Judging by his grim visage, he’d have snapped her neck in one try.She shivered.Having a killer lurking about was enough to make one stay in bed...well, no, that hadn’t helped poor Willa.
“I would like to deliver these buns to the neighbors now,” she told the men.“If you’re busy, you needn’t accompany me.”She fully intended to bribe the neighbors into talking.
Damien grunted in exasperation and unfolded himself from the stacks of paper on the floor.“Fletch, we’re leaving you guarding the house.”He picked up the coat and hat he’d flung over a chair and handed Brydie her cloak.“Wear your shawl under that flimsy wrap or you’ll freeze.It’s almost too dark to do this.Can’t interrogating the neighbors wait until morning?”
“I have to be at the market,” she reminded him.“I cannot rest until I...”She stopped, casting a glance at Fletch, who might or might not be listening since he’d done no more than grunt at them.He was grieving.She didn’t want to send him back to his flask again.
Damien nodded and followed her into the kitchen, donning his outer garments.“I understand.I just don’t think you ought to be the one investigating.”
“You can read legal documents.I can bake and talk.Rafe can chase egg thieves.Division of duties.If Minerva were here, I’d have her go with me.The curate’s wife is supposed to visit the parish.”Brydie donned a shawl and tugged on her gloves.
Damien threw her cloak around her.“We’ll only traipse about until dark.Kate has no doubt taken the children home already.You should be with them.”
She patted his stubbled cheek, enjoying his masculine familiarity.“I have been walking these lanes in the dark since childhood.You cannot change my ways now that you’ve decided to return here.”She hoped this wasn’t an argument they must repeat for a lifetime.
He brushed a kiss against her hair before pulling up her hood.“If you love me, you won’t give me any more attacks of the heart.I’m an old, old man and cannot take much more.”
