Lavender’s desk was notoriously cluttered. Kate shouldn’t be suspicious but two missing applications? She had only sent her letters to Worcester yesterday, so she had yet to confirm Ana Marie had applied. Hard to question a dead person. “Why don’t you fill out another when we reach the shop, and I’ll see that Miss Marlowe receives it? She was rather disappointed at the low number of applications.”
“Well, most of us won’t suit for one reason or another, and Miss Vivien has everyone convinced she has Miss Marlowe’s approval, so they didn’t even try. But I saw no harm in offering competition.” Maryann flashed a gap-toothed grin.
“I’m surprised Odila applied, then. She’s so quiet, I feared she’d be too shy.” Kate knew better, but she was interested in learning more.
“Odila ain’t shy!” Maryann corrected as they entered the inn lobby. “She filled out her paper right in front of Miss Marlowe.”
Hmmm, that might explain a lot.
“Morning, Mrs. Morgan,” Parsons called from behind the desk. “Postmaster says you have a letter. Should I fetch it?”
A reply from Worcester overnight? Who else might write? “Thank you, Mr. Parsons. I’ll stop later. We need a vase for the flowers, if you will. Do you know Miss Maryann? She’s applying to work in the shop.”
Kate assumed if Rafe trusted the ex-convict to guard his till, it was safe to introduce young ladies—although the ragged-haired, scarred and tattooed clerk still looked like a pirate. Rafe needed to clean him up—as if Rafe had the time to care.
An outsider with a criminal record, Parsons would be the ideal suspect had he any motive at all for pushing Ana Marie or poisoning Mrs. Young. Perhaps they’d caught him stealing? How did one find evidence of that?
Once they opened the shop, Kate handed Maryann a receipt form to fill out. “Is there anyone else you think might be interested in the position? We should probably train several once we’re open.”
Maryann filled out the form with alacrity, proving her ability. “Edna was interested, but she really is shy. I thought Jane meant to. Everyone loves working with Miss Marlowe.”
“Encourage them to apply and hand the papers directly to me or Miss Marlowe.”
“Encourage my competition?” Maryann flashed her grin again. “But I suppose Miss Marlowe knows what she’s doing.”
“Let us hope. We will officially open the day after Easter, but we need practicing a bit and will be open a few days before that, for short periods, to let people pick up ribbons for Easter and bits like that. And we are still discussing what prices to set. So there is time to decide who works when.”
They placed the books and supplies where they belonged and locked up. Parsons wasn’t at the desk, but Fletch was, looking even less clerical than the ex-convict. He still wore his frayed coat and unstarched linen, although he’d bothered to knot his cravat. His dark hair was so long, it brushed the edges.
“I’ll walk you back.” He didn’t even ask if he might.
“I’m going to the mercantile. You might escort Miss Maryann if you fear wild boars in the hedgerows,” Kate said more acerbically than she ought.
“Parsons will be happy to do so.” He bowed briefly to the startled seamstress and shouted for the clerk.
“Boars?” Maryann whispered.
“Spelled b-o-r-e. Fletch has naught better to do than pretend we’re still at war.” Kate did not whisper.
But she didn’t argue when Fletch appropriated her arm and led her toward town. She needed to discuss her suspicions with someone. He could pass them on to Rafe.
“The manor has footmen,” he said in his best surly tone as they traversed the rutted yard.
“Who do not have keys to the shop and have better things to do than follow us around. Try asking questions instead of flashing weapons. They’re more effective.” Someone needed to teach the man civilized behavior.
“What questions?” Instead of growling, he almost sounded interested.
His interest shouldn’t thrill her quite so much. Kate did her best to explain her suspicion about Vivien and Ana Marie and the recent missing applications. They’d reached the mercantile by the time she was done.
“I do not see the connection between an overeager chit and Ana Marie being pushed down the stairs,” he argued, opening the door for her.
“I know, it doesn’t seem reasonable, not any more so than Hugh pushing her because she looked like me.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “I still think both deaths had to be accidents. It seems ridiculous to suspect a flibbertigibbet like Vivien to plot murder. And I still maintain Hugh does not have the wits. How would he possibly enter the manor, even if we know he was there that day, making a spectacle of himself?”
She greeted Mr. Oswald, discussed the price of bean seeds, and took the letter he handed her with some trepidation.
It was from Worcester. Ana Marie’s daughter had to have replied by return post. It was a fat letter, requiring extra postage. Fletch paid the coin.
Thirty
