Page 93 of A Devil in Silk
“Murder?” Mrs Peverill stared at the card as though searching for bloodstains. “Good heavens, and here I was hoping to gain new pupils. What bearing does it have on me?” Her gaze darted towards the hall, genuine unease marring her tone. “Am I to deliver distressing news to one of the girls?”
“No, not today.” With a deft turn of his wrist, Bentley redirected her gaze to Clara. “I’m sure my colleague is eager to enlighten you.”
Unaware he was remotely peeved, Clara thanked him before addressing the matron. “Clues found at the properties of both victims name this seminary. We believe someone connected to Rosefield may hold the key to uncovering the killer’s identity.”
“But I scarcely deal with the parents or guardians,” Mrs Peverill said sharply. “And I’ll not have you questioning my girls. They’re distressed enough after we chased an intruder offthe premises.” She gave a sudden gasp, one hand flying to her throat. “Good heavens. You don’t suppose he’s the murderer?”
Bentley stiffened. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “When was this?”
“A few nights ago,” Mrs Peverill replied, her voice unsteady. “A man dressed in black. It was dark, and I couldn’t see his face. He’d been rummaging through the old cabinets in my office. There’s nothing there of any value, but he took a file and escaped before we could stop him.”
Bentley’s gaze sharpened. “Nothing of value to you, perhaps. What was in the file?”
“I don’t know. The drawer was open, papers scattered. I’ve yet to identify which are missing. The gardening boy was still tatting around outside. He saw the devil but wasn’t fast enough to catch him. Would you like me to summon him?”
“Yes,” Bentley said. “Fetch him.”
A few minutes later, a boy of no older than twelve shuffled into the parlour, cap in hand. He bobbed his head politely. “Milords.”
Mrs Peverill gave him a brisk prod between the shoulder blades. “Tell them what you told me, Alfie. Don’t be shy.”
“I saw the fellow cutting through the herb garden,” Alfie said, pride brightening his eyes. “Chased him with my rake, I did, but lost him in the woods. My short legs were no match for his long ’uns.”
Bentley took in the boy’s steady stance and the grip he had on his cap, like a young soldier awaiting orders. “What did he look like?”
“Can’t rightly say, milord. He wore a long black coat, a scarf over his mouth, and a slouch hat pulled low. Kept his head down, but I weren’t about to let him get away easy. Moved quick, though, like he knew the paths better than me.”
“Did you see which way he went once he reached the woods?” Bentley asked.
Alfie shook his head. “Not for certain, milord.” Mrs Peverill gave him another little push on the back, an unnecessary poke that roused Bentley’s ire. “Soon as he hit the trees, he was gone. Might’ve turned towards the old folly, but I can’t swear to it. I followed as far as I dared, but the ground’s uneven, and I near lost my footing.”
Miss Woolf advanced a pace. “Really, Mrs Peverill, must you shove the poor boy like that?”
Rothley regarded Alfie with interest. “How old are you?”
“Twelve, milord.”
“Does the head gardener permit you to work so late?”
“I’m the only gardener since Mr Reeves passed last January.”
“We’re struggling to find a replacement,” the matron added.
“Do your parents live locally?” Rothley asked.
“Alfie has no parents.” Miss Peverill laid a gentler hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’re his only family.”
Bentley knew what was coming next. Rothley’s hard exterior hid a heart shaped by childhood scars. It meant they would leave with an extra passenger.
“Would you like to work for me?” Rothley said. “I’ve a dozen gardeners, and there’s room for a trainee groom if you like horses. You’d live on a grand estate, eat three square meals a day, and I’ll triple whatever pittance they’re paying you here.”
Alfie’s mouth dropped open, but Mrs Peverill stepped in. “I’m afraid I can’t spare him. Alfie is … indispensable to Rosefield.”
Rothley’s gaze fixed on her. “Mrs Peverill, if I wish to employ the boy, I will.” The authority beneath his tone was unmistakable. “You may keep your dignity and agree, or you may have it known that you refused the generosity ofa marquess. Don’t force me to complain to the board of governors.”
Colour drained from her face. “I … of course, my lord.”
Rothley’s attention returned to the boy. “If you want the position, fetch your things. We leave within the hour.”
