She snorted inelegantly and cast him a sideways glance.“Yes, old and doddering, I see that now.I shall knit you a shawl for Christmas.”
Her beloved stood nearly a head taller than she.Well-muscled, although not as broad as Fletch and Rafe, he’d once lifted her as if she were a sack of flour.Definitely doddering.And intent on having his own way.She hoped he enjoyed fighting.
They strode through the shadows of the winter hedges as the sun lowered behind the manor hill, outlining the Priory towers rising above the trees.Most of the small cottages along the lane had been abandoned decades ago, their thatch rotted and fallen in, their yards a bramble of overgrown weeds and shrubs.
Mrs.Essex lived in the one nearest Willa.Smoke drifted from her chimney.They’d already talked to her.She no doubt knew by now that Willa was dead and she wouldn’t be receiving more free bread.Brydie strode on.
“There’s smoke coming from that chimney.”Damien nodded to a house further down and across the lane.“Shall we just stop where there are signs of life?”
The task was daunting enough that Brydie agreed.“Winter is a very bad time for investigating, but I suppose the holiday is good excuse for being neighborly.”
This house appeared as abandoned as the others, with an overgrown yard and rotting thatch, although the roof did appear to be in one piece, with no obvious holes.Little more than a shepherd’s stone croft, it probably hadn’t been improved since it was built a century ago.A horse whickered in back.Someone was home.
Damien knocked on the cracked wooden door.Brydie held her breath, expecting the leather hinges to fall in.
No one immediately answered but the aroma of roasting meat carried through the cool air.
“Vagabond?”Brydie offered.
She shouldn’t have said anything.Damien’s expression grew grim and he pounded harder.
Eventually, they heard a rustling in the front room, followed by muttering and rattling on the other side of the door.It dragged open with a loud creak of swollen wood.An unshaven man with untrimmed dark hair peered warily through the crack.“What d’ya want?”
Trying not to be too suspicious, Brydie beamed and held up one of her packages.“Merry Christmas, sir!We are trying to meet the neighbors before the holiday, invite everyone to chapel services.We’ll have a choir and spiced cider.I’m Brydie Calhoun and this is Damien Sutter.He’s just returned to Gravesyde.”She bobbed a curtsy.
Damien removed his hat and bowed.“Have you lived here long?”
The man accepted the package of buns still warm from the oven.They smelled delicious and Brydie’s stomach rumbled.She didn’t eat while baking.Perhaps she should have.
Reluctantly, the man muttered, “Ralph Parsons, just moved in.Place belonged to my granny.Thank ye, kindly.”He started to close the door.
Damien inserted his boot.“Do you know any of the other neighbors?It’s late, and we don’t want to stop at every house if they’re empty.”
“Just got here, I said.”He eyed Damien with suspicion.“Don’t know nobody.”
“Well, come down to the tavern later and you’ll find good company.I don’t suppose you knew the lady across the lane?”
“Don’t know no one.People been back and forth all day.Got supper cooking.Need to get back to it.”He tried to shut the door again.
“Did you notice anyone last night?”Brydie asked cheerfully.“We’re trying to find her family.”
Parsons eyes narrowed.“Didn’t notice nothing.Her family lost?”
Damien returned his tall hat to his head.“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.Good evening to you, sir, hope to see you in church.”He tugged Brydie’s elbow to turn her back to the lane.
“I suppose it’s not polite to punch the neighbors,” she said thoughtfully.“Perhaps I can wish that the uncleaned chimney burns the house down around him.”
He glared down at her.“You burn down houses for rudeness?”
She could practically feel his glare through her hood.“He’s our hen thief.He’s the right size, I remember the beard, and he’s roasting chicken.”
Damien swung his glare to the ramshackle cottage.“A vagabond thief who assaults women, charming.I’ll send Rafe out in the morning.But we have no proof of anything.”
“We could ask to see his shins, see if they’re bruised.”Brydie was too tired to go back and punch him.The fellow had probably been hungry and she’d interrupted his breakfast.He must know these lanes if he escaped Fletch.The sergeant-major was unfamiliar with much of the village.“Is Fletch guarding Willa’s tonight?If Parsons is the killer, he’s likely to break in again and be gone by morning.”
Brydie started up the walk of the next house showing smoke in the chimney.
“Fletch, Cooper, and another of the captain’s ex-soldiers, one who swore off drink, are guarding it.But unless the killer is after Willa’s trinkets, I can’t see that there’s anything there to be found besides a trunk full of letters from family.A hen thief and a killer aren’t necessarily the same.”
