“Have the solicitor’s clerk look into it,” Brydie suggested.“I’ll ask Damien to inform Mr.Browning’s office that they should be more responsible for the estate and the children, now that we have some confirmation of their identities.Perhaps, as a lawyer, Damien can pry the name of the family or trust from him.”
They had their battle lines drawn and their ammunition prepared by the time the men returned from the cemetery.
“If we’re all up here, who’s minding the inn?”Minerva asked, a little belatedly, as they all trudged down the manor drive back to the village.
“Staff,” Rafe growled.“No one comes mid-morning unless they rode out before dawn.Not that we have guests arriving at noon, either.Takes time for word to spread that we’re open.”
“And word won’t spread until the post runs regular.”Fletch had gone to the funeral instead of Stratford this morning.
“Mr.Oswald can’t be expected to provide post boys and horses.”Carrying her large sewing basket, Kate had no difficulty keeping up, even if she was half a foot shorter than Brydie.They’d released her from the sewing room to help at the inn.“How long will it take to repair the bridge?”
Minerva nudged her husband to take the basket since the other men didn’t offer.Kate thanked Paul politely but held onto it.Minerva resisted the urge to see what Kate kept in there.
“Too long, if we want answers to our questions.”Impolitely, Fletch snatched the basket and strode down the drive with long lopes, leaving everyone behind.
“We need to find more clocks for him to repair,” Rafe observed.“Riding for the post isn’t helping.”
“I don’t suppose Brydie could be using your ovens to bake bread while she’s watching over the inn and keeping Major Fletcher from offending guests?”Minerva knew she asked too much, but she couldn’t keep frying bread in the mornings.“I do not seem to have found time to learn.”
“Your skillet bread is excellent, my dear,” Paul said generously.“I do not expect you to do everything, especially with the holidays.”
“Rafe only has the hearth oven.It’s practically medieval and not made for producing large quantities, especially if he means to cook anything else.We must catch a killer and find out who owns Willa’s cottage so we can look for a new baker.”Brydie restrained her impatient long strides to accommodate Minerva and Kate.
“If the Bartletts owned the cottage, and Margery Turner was their only daughter, then it’s possible the orphans own it.”Damien adjusted Brydie’s cloak hood more warmly against the chilly December wind.“Unless Cooper has been named Bartlett’s successor.Has anyone written to see if the Bartletts are still alive?”
“We have,” Minerva said.“But it will be weeks, if not months, before we have any response.Cooper is family, he’s an adult, so surely he can make decisions in the interim?”
Except Brydie was the only baker they knew, and she’d be watching over the inn.Minerva was almost desperate enough to offer to take her place, but a curate’s wife had more important duties.Paul would not appreciate indulging their need for bread over his parishioners.
“I’ll have a word with Cooper,” Damien suggested.“He’s not been doing anything useful that I can see.”
Fletch’s bellows from the inn sent them all racing down the drive.
Eighteen
Brydie
A spewof unintelligible curses emerged from the inn, not in just Fletch’s baritone.
As Brydie raced into the muddy inn yard, Damien attempted to restrain her, but she dodged his protective embrace and strode for the open door, calling over her shoulder, “Have you never heard a tantrum before?We should send Kate in.It will be amusing.”
Brydie checked to see her shorter sister lagging only slightly behind Rafe.Minerva and Paul had slowed down, though, presumably so as not to sully their ears.
“We need to enforce the cursing fines,” Kate declared, not hesitating but marching ahead of the laggards, with Rafe on her heels.“If Arthur is anywhere within hearing, I’ll have that lout’s tonsils out.”
Brydie snickered and let her older, exceedingly capable, sister proceed inside.“You see?”she whispered to her bewildered intended.“She is not a little girl any longer.”
The three of them, along with Damien’s brother, had grown up together.Only recently returned to Gravesyde, Damien hadn’t spent much time with busy Kate.He was still adjusting to the fact that Brydie was no longer the naïve adolescent he’d once left behind.
“Neitherof you are little girls,” he agreed, which didn’t stop him from following her.“That still doesn’t mean you have to do your own fighting.”
“Maybe we’ll learn to send the pawns ahead,” she laughed.“But right now, with a killer on the loose, we’re too confused, angry, and terrified to be logical.”
“I think we’ll be on our way,” Paul called from the yard.“We have a list of tasks waiting and the inn is in good hands.”He turned Minerva around and steered her toward the parsonage.Staying out of a brawl was probably a wise decision on the curate’s part.
Reluctantly, Damien took Brydie’s elbow and followed Kate inside.
In the lobby, Fletch bunched his fists and glowered thunderously, but he snapped his mouth closed when Kate snatched up the basket he’d taken from her.
