The temptation to drive out very strange strangers was large, but Rafe had enough experience to know that people who were different were more likely to be circumspect than people who blended in. He either had to suspect the whole damned village or no one, until he had evidence otherwise.
“And if there is a killer among the troupe?” Rafe took the simple way out of this argument. “We should send them to another town to kill again?”
“Better than that they kill here,” Miss Marlowe said angrily. “What if they decide to kill Kate so Hugh might steal her home?”
“I think Damien would have a word to say about that,” Kate said dryly. “He’s read my father’s will. Brydie and I have life estates and Arthur inherits. He’d have to kill all of us. And even then. . .” She hesitated, looking uncertain.
“If George never owned the land, then there is no chance of inheritance,” Fletch concluded for her. “They’re delusional if that’s the object.”
“Unless there’s a law that says he inherits upon Arthur’s death—and maybe Rob’s.” Kate gave up her sewing and crumpled.
Fletch snatched up her sewing basket, dropped it in her lap, and uncovered the pistol she carried there. “Shoot first, ask questions later.”
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up, but with his pale coloring, no one ever noticed. “Have Damien write Arthur’s will,” he suggested. “Make it known far and wide. Shatter any illusion that Hugh might inherit.”
Kate clung to her basket handle as if it were a lifeline, but she nodded and appeared a little more defiant. “Damien suggested that. I’ll tell him.”
Fletch returned the clock to its shelf. “The troupe wants to perform a pantomime on Saturday. It might be a distraction to rob us blind. Or they could be genuinely interested in practicing their skits. Do we have enough men to shadow all the potential villains in this piece?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to question them?” sensible Kate asked.
“And let them know they’re under suspicion? They’d only lie. Actions are better evidence.” Fists bunched, Fletch seemed to prefer the action involve punching someone.
“I’d rather surround Kate and her family with guards,” Rafe concluded. “I don’t see what else they can possibly be after. It’s not as if we’re drowning in gold here.”
Miss Marlowe sat up straight. “Gold! Have they heard of the earl’s lost treasure and that’s why they are here?”
Rafe wanted to say that was preposterous, but even the inhabitants of the manor kept looking for the jewels they swore the late earl had hidden. And pirate’s gold had been found in the tower. Anything was possible. Who knew what rumors were spreading in the world at large?
“I’ll talk to Hunt about guards,” he agreed with a sigh. “And then we will talk to the troupe and tell them Saturday is open for entertainment.”
Thirty-one
Fletch
Fletch left the clockworks rolled in felt on the landing with the long case clock. He had more important matters on his mind. But the talk of hidden jewels had reminded him of the puzzle solvers in the attic.
He carried his sketch of the pendulum engraving and a copy of the clock’s odd configuration to the nursery, where Rob and the eight-year-old prodigies worked under the tutelage of Mr. Birdwhistle, the gentleman tutor.
The boys didn’t require much explanation. The clock had been an object of curiosity too long. In what passed for delight in the solemn pair, they carried off the drawings, leaving Mr. Birdwhistle to inquire, “Engraving is unusual on pendulums?”
“Of course not. Quite common place. But clocks are handmade to order. Buyers request initials or crests or symbols of some significance, not hieroglyphs.” Fletch was impatient to proceed with his other plans, but the tutor deserved explanation.
“Do we know when the clock was built?”
“No earlier than the 1730s, not as old as everyone believes,” Fletch warned. “I’d say the last earl had this one made. Unless they were inventor geniuses, seventeenth-century pirates did not have clocks. The weights do not work well on rolling ships.”
“I suppose the etching might represent a star chart to buried treasure. The earl’s pirate ancestors didn’t win their title and wealth with ignorance. The date may help, but the earls were eccentric. It could be someone’s initials arranged as a puzzle.”
“Which is why I give it to you. Now, if only the earl’s brilliant ancestors had thought to install spyglasses to watch the ballroom for evil-doers, they might have been useful.” Fletch turned to leave.
The tutor cleaned his throat. “The boys can work from the gallery without being seen.”
Fletch hadn’t set up a military operation in years. He’d never set one up with minors. But the gallery overlooked the ballroom where the women worked. If he had eyes in the sky, so to speak. . . He’d feel much better about Kate working here.
He didn’t have to tell the tutor everything, just enough to understand the suspects. He was already running late. He needed to see that Kate and her family reached home safely, but he hastily made a list of people whose actions should be noted. The tutor agreed to have the boys work from the gallery while the ladies were below.
After the schoolroom, he sought out Hunt. Fletch and the manor’s executor didn’t have reason to speak much, but unlike Rafe, Fletch had no compunction about making demands. Rafe cared about what people thought, as a good innkeeper must. Fletch didn’t give a fart.
