“Cecilia, love, I am in all my dirt,” he said tiredly. “Can’t I tell you everything after I’ve changed?”
“Yes, you can; however, first…brandy. You deserve it,” she said, rising from her seat on the sofa, much to her cat’s meoweddismay. She poured James a glass of brandy, then took it over to him.
“She spoke to me,” James revealed tiredly.
“She did?” Cecilia’s eyes widened. She’d known she’d been alive, but she hadn’t realized Mrs. Jones had had any moments of communication.
“Yes. It wasn’t much, and I’m certain our magistrate will make a hash of it,” James said.
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“There wasn’t the opportunity with him taking command as he did. We were his enlisted soldiers, told what to do and basically ordered not to speak or think.”
Cecilia laid a hand on James’s arm. “What did she say?”
He took another sip of his brandy before answering. “She saidnoand thenpennyroyal, thenstop,and she was quite agitated when she saidstop.” He paused and looked across the room, like he was visualizing again what had happened. He turned back toward Cecilia. “That effort, I feel, is what took her to the edge. She fell into unconsciousness. She passed soon after, before Dr. Patterson scaled down the cliff face to examine her. …I confess, my love, my realization of her life, followed so swiftly by her death, hit me hard, as it reminded me too vividly of my men dying in Spain,” he confessed. He handed her back the brandy glass as his head dropped down to his chest..
“My dear heart,” she said. She reached up to lay a hand on his pale, dirt-streaked face. “Thank you for seeing to Mrs. Jones during her last moments. I’m sure it gave her comfort not to be alone. Wait a moment, and I’ll pour you another glass of brandy to take upstairs.”
He clasped his hand around hers and held it against his cheek, then moved it to his mouth and kissed her palm. She sighed at his attentiveness. She saw him sigh deeply when he dropped her hand.
“Tomorrow’s inquest should prove interesting,” he said in a sad, pained manner.
Cecilia’s heart went out to him for what he’d been through to be with Mrs. Jones, and with the memories it evoked. “You look so tired,” she said. “Would you like to forego the dining room tonight and have a dinner tray in your chambers?”
“Will you join me?” he asked, looking at her fully, his dark eyes clouded with pain.
She smiled slightly. He was ever so steadfast, so phlegmatic. It hurt her soul to see him brought down now. “You get your bath while I get Hugh settled for the night, then I consider dining privately together to be an admirable idea.”
CHAPTER 4
THE VICAR’S SORROWS
Sir James pulled up the phaeton in front of the rectory, then went around to assist Cecilia to descend. She briskly walked to the painted door to knock. She waited, but no one answered. She rapped again as Sir James walked to the right side of the house to look in a window. He looked back at her and shrugged. Cecilia walked to the other side of the house. She stopped, smiled, then waved James over.
The left side of the house boasted the rectory garden, which included a small, near-ground-level herb maze. The vicar stood in the middle of his wife’s beloved low-lying garden maze, looking helplessly at the plants.
“Mr. Jones!” Cecilia called out.
He turned, nodded, and raised an arm in greeting, then he bent down to pluck a sprig of mint from the center of the maze.
Cecilia walked to the little garden, her husband coming up behind her.
“Mrs. Jones was always fussing with this mint,” the vicar said, rolling the sprig of mint between his fingers. “Said it was a naughty plant that would try to take over her entire garden if she didn’t keep it tended to its space.” He smelled the plucked mint, then tossed it back on the ground.
“I don’t know much about the other plants, I’m afraid. Regretfully, I didn’t listen closely when she talked of her herbs. They were her babies and her passion—along with her painting.”
He moved on to touch another delicate plant, studying it, as if this were the first time he had seen it. “Her painting surprised me. Started that two years ago when a painting set was sent to the grocer by mistake. When Mrs. Sandiford didn’t know what she was going to do with it, my Miranda said she’d buy it from her. Said it might be fun. For months, she painted everything around here.” He laughed tightly. “Soon, she was spending all her pin money on paints, brushes, and special paper. She was like a young girl, giggling at capturing some image entirely as she liked it, pouting when the picture she had envisioned didn’t come together like it ought.”
He stood up and brushed his hands together to wipe off stray pieces of plants and dirt. “Then one day she ventured to the meadow up there,” he said with a jerk of his head in the direction of the cart track that led out of the village and up the hill to the meadow. “She loved the meadow for all the bits and pieces of nature she found to paint, and for all the changes each hour of the day brought.”
Cecilia allowed her gaze to follow where he pointed, then turned back to the vicar. “Lady Aldrich told me sometimes she drove the pony cart up the hill and other times she rode a horse. What did she do the day before yesterday?”
“Rode. The cart was here when I got home, and last night, the horse she rides turned up back at the Mortlake stables.”
“The Mortlake stables? Why there?” Cecilia asked.
“We acquired the horse from them. The horse was too old, and they were thinking to put the creature down. My Miranda would have none of that and asked if she might have him. He was a sorry lot when she first got him, but under her care, he grew strong enough for her to ride him and pull her little cart.”
