Or was there some reason for Vivien to lie? Had she seen her assailant and was afraid to say?
With Rafe attending the funeral, Brydie and Kate took charge of the inn’s kitchen staff. Kate fretted at her lost wages, but Ana Marie deserved mourning. And if Hugh had killed her—she had no idea how to make amends for that.
Apparently smelling food, Fletch entered the back door, saw women instead of Rafe, and backed out again.
“I heard you had a visitor last night. Do Damien and I need to stay tonight?” Brydie asked, slicing old bread for toasting.
“I haven't planned that far,” Kate admitted. After last night’s fiasco, she preferred not to even remember Major Ferguson existed. She’d concentrated on the funeral instead. “I'm hoping Hugh will be caught today. He's been knifed and shot. How much more can he take?”
Brydie grimaced but put her mind to food rather than reply.
With the aid of kitchen staff, they had a luncheon prepared when Rafe and Damien accompanied Mr. Marie to the pub after the burial. Refusing to let the men take over any questioning, Kate and Brydie carried out a tray and joined them.
“My mother was a stranger to you. My sister and I are grateful for everything you have done.” Of average height, with the Calhoun hair, Mr. Marie had the manners of a gentleman, even though his coat showed signs of wear and his frayed collar had been turned to look new.
“Tell us about her,” Kate suggested, taking the seat offered.
While the others dug into their food, he sipped his ale and sought words. “She was kind and generous. After our father died, she worked long hours building her dressmaking shop so I could attend university. When my sister married and her husband could not provide a decent home, Mother decided Noreen should take over the shop and house. She had heard about Wycliffe manor and the factory for women and wanted to see for herself. I think she may have been lonely.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Damien commiserated. “Our loss as well, it seems. Do you know if she was prone to dizzy spells or any other reason she might have fallen?”
Kate raised her eyebrows. That was not how her thoughts had gone. But Damien hadn't heard Vivien’s tale.
Why was she believing Vivien and not accepting the fall might have been accidental? Hugh’s threats had muddled her mind.
Mr. Marie shook his head. “Mother wouldn't have told us if she was ill. That could explain much, I suppose. She wouldn't want us fretting over her.”
“And you don't know why she didn't apply for the dressmaking position?” Kate asked. He'd not answered earlier. “Perhaps her eyesight was bothering her?”
“No, that's a puzzlement.” He sipped his ale thoughtfully. “She wrote that she had applied but was told she wasn't needed. So she applied to the housekeeper, who seemed delighted to have her. I think she stayed just to find out why she hadn't been accepted as a seamstress. She was rather insulted. She had an excellent reference from one of her best customers.”
“Very odd, indeed.” Kate gave up eating. “We are in dire need of experienced hands. I would have loved to have had her assistance. I don't suppose you know to whom she applied?”
He shook his head. “She only wrote of her disappointment. I should have come to see her sooner, but I'm just starting out in my position and can't afford to leave work for visiting.”
He was probably courting as well, Kate thought. He was of an age. Men needed a woman.
Her cheeks heated as she recalled Fletch's rude suggestion. She set aside her serviette and stood up. “On that note, I must depart for my own work. We are far behind on our deadlines. It was good to meet you, sir. I hope you and your sister will visit occasionally so we might come to know each other.”
“My mother would have liked that, I believe.”
The gentlemen rose to bow her out. Kate fled, her thoughts bouncing inside her skull. She needed to find out who had turned Ana Marie away. Why did it matter? It wouldn't bring her back.
But it would keep Kate from thinking about the badly wounded man beneath Fletch’s angry facade.
Thirteen
Fletch
Deliberately shutting out memories of his uncivilized breakdown in front of Kate—and the humiliating Never! she’d replied to his advances—Fletch hid behind the long case clock.
He spent his morning diagramming its eccentric escapement. Once that was done, he gathered all the working parts in bits of felt. He needed a shop where he could set up the proper equipment for cleaning and sanding and repairing. A project like this required far more work than a cog in a toy.
Ebony-haired Miss Vivien, and the slower, plumper woman who must be her sister, stopped at the foot of the stairs, their arms laden with billowing silks. “Mr. Fletcher, how thoughtful of you to clear our path.” The young flirt flapped long, dark eyelashes at him.
Here was an attractive female who wouldn't reject his advances. But he wasn't interested in a jade who would no doubt claim she was with child and demand he marry her. One look at her scowling older sister revealed what the little minx would become in a few years. He'd spent a lifetime avoiding entrapment.
Without replying, he continued his task. Kate would have kicked his boot in retaliation for his surliness.
