“Are you sure it was a man?” Rafe asked, appreciating Kate’s patience in not beaning the ninny.
That stopped whatever protest she meant to utter. Mouth still open, Miss Vivien considered the question. “I don’t know.”
“And where did this person go after pushing you?” Rafe told himself she was little more than a child and had probably never been so frightened. Some people never grew out of their helplessness.
She frowned. “Upstairs? Back the way he came? Maybe he's still in here!” She glanced around in fright.
The stairs were narrow. If she'd been sprawled awkwardly as Ana Marie had been. . . There was a chance the miscreant hadn't tried to leap over her to reach the exit but had returned upstairs. But where would he hide?
Rafe needed to find out who had been in the upper and lower halls yesterday and the day the maid died. He'd not wanted to believe them more than accidents, but now?—
Curse all the demons in hell, they might have a murderer on their hands.
Twelve
Kate
Ana Marie's funeral had been set for noon. Since she and Brydie had arranged the services, Kate left the manor early, avoiding walking with Vivien and the other mourners by doing so.
To her relief, an auburn-haired stranger who could only be Ana's son waited uncertainly in the chapel yard. “Mr. Marie?”
He turned at her call. Kate wore a bonnet covering her hair, but once she let it fall, his expression lit.
“The cousin mother wrote us about?” He bowed.
“Caitlin Morgan, yes. I so very much regret not making the time to know her better. We were never introduced, and we only discovered each other by accident.”
“You look just like her, as she said!” He tied his horse to a post and offered his arm to traverse the chapel yard bursting with rhododendrons. “Mother knew we were originally from Gravesyde. I believe my grandfather once worked for the last earl. But we had no notion any family remained. She was thrilled to meet you and had hoped a better acquaintance could be arranged.”
“I have family and it was difficult. I should have made it happen, but I thought we had plenty of time!” Kate tried to hide her distress as they traversed the walkway. “I understand she was a seamstress, but I do not understand why she did not apply to Miss Marlowe. We could have worked together.” She led him inside the village's tiny chapel.
Despite her confinement, Patience had still arranged huge bouquets of forsythia and smaller vases of daffodils for the altar. The sun had finally peered out, illuminating the ancient stained-glass windows, producing a truly heavenly effect to send off a good woman to the next world.
Kate introduced Mr. Marie to Mr. Upton, the curate, so he could discuss the words to be said in the service. She desperately wished to know more of this family she'd never known. She equally desperately didn't want them to believe their mother may have been pushed. . .
And she might be the reason.
The interview with Vivien had not exactly been enlightening, but it had forced Kate to look at what she did not wish to see. . . Hugh Morgan had been at the manor when Vivien was pushed and in Gravesyde the same day that Ana Marie died.
She didn’t know why he’d attack Vivien, unless she’d been in his way, but Kate looked so much like her older cousin that even her son recognized the resemblance.
Her brother-in-law hadn't seen Kate in years. That first day, after pushing Ana Marie, had Hugh thought he'd killed Kate, thus making the farm free for the taking? The horror of that possibility overwhelmed her. Her tears during the service were as much fear as sorrow.
Afterwards, before Mr. Marie could follow the other gentlemen heading for the cemetery, Kate placed a hand upon his arm. “Must you leave immediately? We really need to talk.”
“I cannot miss too much work.” He hesitated as the curate and others left the churchyard. “But I will need to eat before riding home. Is the pub respectable?”
She smiled in relief. “More than respectable. It's owned by our bailiff.” She nodded at Rafe, waiting to escort the ladies safely back to the manor. “I will meet you there later.”
As the men departed on their grim task, Brydie caught up with Kate. “You are conspiring.”
“I am being hospitable to a grieving son. And conspiring. We need to arrange a luncheon at the pub. Let me warn Lavender I will not return immediately.”
Avoiding Vivien was the order of the day. Kate hastily spoke to her employer while the other seamstresses went ahead. She needed time to think about the girl’s tale. Might someone else have pushed Vivien, hoping Hugh would be blamed? Heaven only knew, the girl was irritating, but hardly worth killing.
Kate could not imagine how Hugh might gain entrance to the manor without anyone noticing. Vivien had been found on the stairs between Lavender’s office and Sofia’s laboratory. Admittedly, Sofia hadn’t been present, but still, wouldn’t someone have heard Hugh if he hid in there? And how would he have escaped?
If he’d run up instead of down. . . there was no escape into the manor from the laboratory. He’d have to climb to the crowded schoolroom on the next floor. No, that simply did not make sense. Could a short, middle-aged man leap over Vivien and escape through the entrance in the cellar? Without Vivien noticing? Impossible to imagine—unless she’d fainted.
