Page 63 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
Rafe gave up and headed for the door, then swung around with another thought. “Has anyone tried to sell elixirs?”
Oswald squinted at him. “That’s what set Annie off a week or two back. Said she’d heard I was selling them. I set her right. I don’t take to them patent medicines. If you want alcohol, Henri will sell it to you the way God meant for it to be drunk.”
Rafe didn’t question God’s commands about ale. “Why did she order a bottle?”
Catching his drift, the old man straightened his stooping shoulders in alarm. “She gave me an address, said she wanted to compare it with what I wasn’t selling.” He glanced out the window at the few carts. “You don’t reckon...”
“I have no way of knowing. Just keep your eye on them, if you will. And find the address you ordered from.” Rafe stamped out. He’d been here a week, bought vegetables off these carts, and the killer could have been right here all along. She may have handed him carrots.
All old women in black looked alike. He groaned at his stupidity.
THIRTY-SIX: VERITY
Standingin the inn’s momentarily empty lobby, Verity studied the letter she’d picked up at the mercantile. She’d almost panicked when Mr. Oswald told her she had a post. Who would sendVerityPortera letter? The only people who knew that name lived here.
Except the bank in Stratford, she realized, unfolding the official letterhead. Skimming past the formal greeting, she read the contents once, then again. Someone had inquired after her? How? Why? Who could possibly know her new name besides the bank and people living in the village?
It wasn’t conceivable. In terror, she studied the writing, the bank’s address, the signature... The letter seemed very real.Someone had asked after Verity Porter at the bank.Panic seeped into her bones, freezing them. This was how she’d ended up living in a cellar for ten years. . ..
Footsteps clattered on the stairs. “Six rooms now have chamber pots and wash bowls,” Minerva cried cheerfully. “Cracked, stained, and ugly, but very elegantly trimmed in gold and silver.”
When Verity failed to respond, the librarian entered the lobby. Verity unfroze enough to shove the letter into her apron pocketand offer a weak smile. “Thank you. Once we have shutters, perhaps Mrs. Underhill will consent to be my companion again.”
“You don’t have to live here, you know.” Minerva studied her through wise eyes but didn’t question. “The manor can house you until you decide where you want to live.”
That was an open question—should she flee Gravesyde and seek security elsewhere?
Obstinacy raised its ugly head. She didn’t want to be driven from still another home.
Again, that was how she’d ended up in a cellar.
Verity offered a small smile at the suggestion but didn’t answer. “Did Lavender think any of the old draperies can be salvaged? The windows will look better if we dress them up.”
“By the time Paul teaches his new assistant to build shutters, Lavender should have a few panels complete. She thought she might fashion matching bedcovers of spare pieces. We’re about to return to the manor for another load. Come up and see what she has,” Minerva urged.
“Maybe later, around luncheon. I still haven’t learned to cook,” Verity said ruefully. “I hate imposing.”
Minerva sniffed dismissively. “You’ve seen how much Elsa prepares. If she didn’t have new victims to try recipes on, she’d be desolate. Will you be all right here alone while we start another load?”
Excellent question, another one she wasn’t prepared to answer. Her spineless demon clamored to run far, far away. The demon of obstinacy refused to give up another home—even though she had stayed too long in the last one. She had no idea which fiend to listen to.
Reassuring Minerva that she would be fine cleaning and polishing all the new furnishings, Verity watched the cart roll out of the yard. She most likely didn’t belong in an inn either, but this was the home Rafe had chosen. It wasn’t cozy, but for now, the sprawling structure was empty enough for her to breathe. Familiar tasks provided an anchor of security.
Wolfie had returned without Rafe, but that wasn’t unusual. She set out fresh water and gave him one of the old bones collected from the butcher. Together, they wandered out to the garden Rafe had begun plowing. She had to water the roots she and Patience had dug up and replanted yesterday while the men galloped the countryside in pursuit of the thief she’d let escape. Guilt ate at her for that. She should learn to think and act swiftly, take risks, if she wanted to live freely.
And not just survive. There were the two demons again.
She pumped water for the cuttings. Verity didn’t remember what they were, but Rafe had been pleased.
Wolfie growled low in his throat and watched the woods up the hill. The blacksmith had cleared a line of young trees from behind his shop for a storage shed, but the forest still encroached on the inn yard. Rafe had said he’d clear it off this winter for firewood.
He planned on staying in Gravesyde.
She wanted to stay, she decided. She liked the people here. She liked the idea of building a new life with everyone else. She wanted to be useful. Casting aside doubt and caution, she dug in her heels. She was staying.
That decided, she had to work out how to be safe. She should ask Walker if her account at the bank was in good hands or if there were better places to put her savings. The steward was responsible for the estate’s funds and ought to have wisdom to impart.
And she’d write the banker to warn him not to reveal her whereabouts. It was good to know he protected her. Refusing to leave her father’s home had been a form of cowardice. The new Verity Palmer must be courageous and move forward, one small step at a time.
