“How far?” Brodie inquired.
“Just down the way. “You might want Gilly, who brought you from the station, to take you there, what with the weather. He’llbe back soon after returning with Mr. Soames from a meeting with the church council.”
The rain had thickened and the roadway, mostly dirt, was awash and not the best for walking. It seemed we had no other choice but to wait.
“You’re welcome to wait here, or across the way at the ale house. My wife makes excellent sandwiches with fresh meat.”
And that answered the question about that apron. He obviously worked two positions, as clerk for the mayor and at the tavern.
“That will do verra well,” Brodie replied and thanked him.
We set off for the ale house, Brodie’s hand on my arm as if he thought I might wash away with the rain in the street.
The ale house was full for that time of the day, no doubt due to the weather. The customers appeared to be farmers, workers apparently from the local mill, a local leathermaker by the conversation at the bar, and Gilly, who had stopped by after delivering Mr. Soames to his meeting and was waiting to return to pick him up after.
Mr. Ross waived Gilly down and explained that we would need his services after the midday meal.
Gilly was a lanky, ruddy-faced lad with dark hair and dark eyes. I liked him immediately. It might have been those dark eyes, full of mischief and keen appraisal of myself.
Brodie put in an order for two sandwiches, that Mrs. Ross prepared.
“Are ye certain one will be enough?” Brodie teasingly inquired.
“Perhaps one for the return to London,” I suggested which brought the intended response.
“The lady and gentleman have come calling on Cora Walmsley,” Mr. Ross informed Gilly.
I caught Brodie’s bemused expression at being called a gentleman.
“They will need a ride in your rig.”
“I can take you as soon as you finish,” Gilly replied. “The mayor said it was going to be a long meeting and there was no need for me to wait.”
As boasted, the sandwiches were delicious. Afterward, Brodie signaled to Gilly, who had taken up a game of dice with one of the other customers while he waited.
He brought his rig around from across the street in front of the Borough Hall.
It was an old coach that carried passengers as well as cargo, evidenced by the small wood crates that filled the seat across as well as the boot.
“Deliveries I need to make,” Gilly explained as he shifted the crates. “Eggs that I picked up on the way back. These will go to the grocer after I deliver you.”
Eggs. I caught Brodie’s amused expression.
In no time at all, even with the weather, we reached the small cottage Mr. Ross had spoken of.
There was electric in the village proper, however none here. A faint light glowed from the small window that faced out onto the road and smoke curled from the stone chimney.
“Mrs. Walmsley takes in mending,” Gilly explained. “Poor lady lost her husband winter past. Doesn’t seem to have any other family. Mostly keeps to herself.
“The vicar sees that she has food when she needs it,” he continued. “I heard that she’s not well.”
An older woman who had lost her husband, apparently had no other family, and took in mending and sewing to support herself.
I didn’t know what to expect when we set out. What did a woman who was forced to accept church charity in order tosurvive have to do with Charlotte Mallory? And for what reason had she sent those letters?
Brodie seemed to sense my hesitation. “It canna hurt to ask a few questions.”
I knew that he was right. Yet, it was this part of our inquiry cases that could be difficult. Still, C. Walmsley had sent those letters.
