He paused to look back at her. “Not for much longer. Francine killed your husband. But if I don’t find her,I’llbe the one to hang.”
“No,” Nancy gasped, eyes wide. “Aunt Rutherford mentioned stopping by their London town house before heading home. Don’t let her get away with blaming you for Papa’s death.”
Gavin nodded as he sprinted from the room and down the hall. Within minutes, he was on the back of a horse and tearing down the dirt road to catch a killer.
Chapter 42
Evangeline’s head was still swimming from Gavin’s confession when she finally returned to her bedchamber. She didn’t know what to think. She’d been positive he’d had nothing to do with his parents’ death.
She closed her bedchamber door and headed to her bed, intending to throw herself atop the mattress and scream into the pillows until she made sense of her life, and decided whether to stay or to go. That plan, however, did not come to fruition.
There, in the center of her bed, sat what appeared to be a brown clay pot filled with dirt.
She stepped closer. Definitely a pot. She stuck her finger in the moist black soil. Definitely dirt. And lying atop was a small card simply reading, “Think of me. Gavin.” She blinked, reread, poked the soil again. She’d been unlikely to forget him in the first place, but he’d vanquished the possibility altogether by being the first man to present her with a pot of farewell dirt.
Mystifying.
No matter how much she stared at it, turned it, prodded it, it steadfastly remained a brown clay pot filled with dirt.
She picked it up. Heavier than she expected, but not too heavy to lug around England. Was that what she was supposed to do with it? Lug it around England and think of Gavin? If ever she required a sign from God that she wholly and unequivocally did not understand the world of theton,surely this was that sign. Couldn’t he have just given her a locket with his miniature inside?
Having nothing else pressing to do, she balanced the pot on one hip and shouldered through her connecting door to beg an explanation from the residenttonexpert.
Susan took one look at her, leapt backward against a hanging mirror, and threw up her arms for protection.
“I apologize! I apologize! Please don’t throw dirt on me!”
Evangeline paused. “For what?”
“For not finding Francine in time.”
“You didn’t find Francine?”
Susan peeked through her fingers. “You didn’t know?”
Evangeline shook her head slowly. “Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know.” Susan’s hands lowered. “But Lioncroft went to find her. I’d hate to be her right now. He’s frightening when he’s angry.”
“He is not,” Evangeline began, then stopped, startled. Her defense of him was automatic. She had not liked to hear his role in his parents’ death, but was not a murderer then or now.
“I’ll be honest,” Susan said. “Despite everything you said, I never quite believed he was innocent until today.”
“I told you.” Evangeline dropped into Susan’s chair and settled her clay pot on her lap. “There was no way he could’ve smothered Heatherbrook in his office, or even knocked him out and carried him through the entire mansion, sight unseen.”
“I might’ve agreed with that logic had I not witnessed you prying open the wall yesterday afternoon. I imagine it’s quite simple to move about unseen when one is secreted within hidden passageways.”
Evangeline stared at her. “I never thought of that.”
“Of course you didn’t. Why would you? You thought he was innocent. You were trying to think of ways other people might’ve done it. I, on the other hand, was convinced of his guilt, so of course, I was looking for ways he might’ve committed the crime.”
“You’d make him a terrible wife.”
“Oh, piffle. We both know he’s never going to marry me.”
Perhaps she had known, but nonetheless, a blessed sense of relief settled in Evangeline’s tense muscles to hear Susan speak the words aloud.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Susan said hesitantly, “why are you walking around with a pot of dirt?”
