Dark and piratical with his one good eye and a scar running the length of his jaw, Hunt snarled after learning the gist of Kate’s letter. His aristocratic reaction was much like Miss Marlowe’s. “Throw the bastards out!”
“No proof of wrongdoing,” Fletch countered, not easily intimidated by bad temper. “And we can’t find Hugh to throw him anywhere.”
“And the solution is to hold a circus?” the American engineer asked with incredulity.
“We’ve done this before.” The last trap they’d set had been terrifying, but it had worked. “The solution is to gather as many suspects as possible at the inn, where we can keep an eye on them, and follow the rest to see what they do when they think no one is watching. The community will be safely in the well-guarded pub while we do so.”
In the company of possible killers, but like Kate, Fletch simply didn’t think any of their suspects clever enough to make murder look like an accident.
But thieves. . . bumbling pilferers like the Jamesons were often stupid and careless, which was why Ana Marie had suspected the culprits. Even she hadn’t had proof.
Hunt paced, cursing, then nodded curtly. “I’ll speak with Clare. The women have to know. They’re intrepid and will plot the entertainment better than any tactician. Who will invite the entertainers?”
Fletch grimaced. “I’ll take Damien with me. He needs to know his tenants.”
Just finishing a stack of legal documents, Damien greeted Fletch’s arrival with wariness. It might have been easier to have Kate explain to her sister and let Brydie tell her husband, but Fletch couldn’t be assured that they’d effectively communicate the nuances of his plan. Not that he was good at it, but he knew more than they did.
When Fletch finished explaining, Damien ran a hand through gilded hair laced with silver. “One assumes the thieves aren’t stupid enough to believe the farmhouse contains treasure. So you think they’ll rob the manor?”
“If they’re thieves, that’s most logical. The Priory has valuable art and the ladies have jewels. Vivien has made herself available to the dowagers and has blatantly made herself at home in the halls. She’s had time to locate anything not locked up. If Hugh, the actors, or her sister are accomplices, they could empty the place in hours.” Fletch feared the thieves might believe in the manor’s pirate gold, but then, criminals were stupid.
Damien tapped a pencil on his desk, frowning, giving Fletch time to arrange his words before speaking his fear. “They may have originally employed a lunatic like Hugh in hopes of driving out Kate and using her house as headquarters. Now that the actors have the Hall, they don’t need the farm, but a lunatic won’t necessarily give up.”
“We’ll stay at the farm this week,” Damien concluded, standing. “The manor has their own army. If you’ve alerted Hunt, they’ll be on guard. I’ll talk to Jacques while you invite our thespians. We could be making mountains out of molehills, though.”
“I want to believe that, but two women are dead, and Kate narrowly escaped the same fate. Whether or not Vivien’s accident was a ruse is impossible to say. Tying these unlikely incidents to a gang of conscienceless thieves is all I can think of.” Fletch followed Damien to the door.
“Ana Marie’s accident happened after the Jamesons set up housekeeping but before the actors arrived,” Damien noted with a frown.
“Well, the actors could have followed the Jamesons for reasons unknown. They may even believe Hugh’s delusions about owning the farm. Or they could just be waiting for an opportunity.” Fletch stepped out, eager to escort Kate to safety, weary of talking.
“I’m going to bring Upton into this,” Damien warned. “He may know the vicar in Worcester, who might have more reliable information.”
“Excellent idea, thank you.” Fletch could hear Kate’s offspring upstairs with their aunt. They should be safe enough for the moment. “I’m heading back to the manor to escort Kate. I’ll explain our plans on the way here.”
More talking. He needed a drink.
No, actually, he didn’t. He needed Kate. She was even better than a clock to keep him on task.
Thirty-two
Kate
“I am no longer your responsibility,” Kate argued as she marched down the hill, unable to outpace the tall man accompanying her. “Especially if Damien and Brydie are moving back in.”
She hadn’t decided whether to be irritated at Fletch’s plotting or surprised that he’d made the effort. She was just very confused about everything. Her dinner guests might be thieves. Vivien could be scouting the manor for treasure. It all sounded so unlikely.
“I have ordered a ham for Sunday,” he informed her, not bothering to argue.
A ham? For Sunday? Perhaps he’d listen if she jabbed him with her shears. Probably not. He was walking about with cracked bones. “You said the pantomime will be Saturday. They may kill us all with mushroom poison.” That was spiteful, but it had been a long day.
“Bring a picnic basket to the pantomime. I doubt we’ll hurt Rafe’s feelings. He simply wants to halt any criminals who think we’re an easy mark.” He held her arm and steered her from the manor drive, toward the bakery, giving every appearance of indifference.
But she sensed his tension and knew he noted everything, like the other women chattering behind them, discussing their Easter bonnets. Vivien and her sister had gone ahead, so they were already halfway down the main road. Odila and Maryann walked together, as did Jane and Edna, following the Jamesons through town.
Kate couldn’t believe anyone wished to hurt these women. There had been no sense in Ana Marie or Mrs. Young’s deaths. They had to be accidental. Although, if Vivien had actually been pushed, Kate understood the desire to do so. The chit was annoying.
This all had to be a tragedy of errors, no more.
