“We’ll save them for another time, then. I do hope your friends are not too rude. Lavender is still a little young but she’ll want to watch.” Clare turned to leave.
“My staff of religious zealots will most likely walk out if they’re rude,” Rafe called after her. “Which means the drinks stop flowing, and the actors will quit.”
Clare’s laughter floated out with her.
His wife narrowed her eyes at the empty space they’d created in a corner of the pub for the stage. Fletch, Damien, and the actors had hauled in Kate’s piano for the performance. Rafe waited for her conclusion.
She just sighed wistfully. “It would be fun to have regular entertainments. Do you think we could find local musicians to play occasionally?”
“If this lot doesn’t insult or rob everyone present, we might try,” he agreed. “Let’s take this one lunacy at a time.”
Fletch stalked in carrying his service rifle. He stored it behind the bar and started out again, until Rafe shouted at him. “I thought you took that piece apart.”
Fletch shrugged. “I put it back together again. It just needed a new catch. Not very useful in close quarters but if we have to run after anyone, it will be ready.”
They’d already decided that displaying weapons might scare off their suspects, but Rafe was carrying knives and had a sword at hand. He knew Fletch had more than one weapon concealed on his person and quite possibly elsewhere. By the time the manor gentlemen arrived—most of them former officers—the place would be bristling.
He might need to water the ale.
“I want to see the shop,” Verity declared, setting down the last of the tankards. “I’m trying very hard to resist buying a new bonnet, but maybe a few ribbons. . .”
The inn was barely covering expenses. Verity kept the books and knew that as well as he. But she had a nice nest egg of her own that Rafe refused to touch. If his beautiful, intelligent wife wanted to spend her coins on frivolity, that was her choice.
But he wouldn’t let her out of his sight while potential killers and thieves roamed. He followed her across the bustling lobby, past the manor ladies adorning the dull premises like flowers in their colorful attire.
The shop was less active. As predicted, Miss Vivien was there, attempting to direct every action as if she were the producer of a play. She removed a blue bonnet from the window display to hang it with blue ribbons on the wall and snatched a straw one from a short lady to place it in the window.
“Just for today,” she cried, “or it will grow brittle in the sun.”
“Should we ever see the sun again,” Kate muttered, handing Verity a fluffy silk rose. “I saved this for you. Henri just brought in a new collection of old bonnets and I snipped this before anyone could see it.”
“Anyone, as in your young general?” Verity asked in amusement. “This is perfect to go with my new Sunday gown, thank you. Will Odila fix it to my bonnet if I bring it in? And have you decided who will be working here yet?”
Kate ushered them back to the hall, out of the chaos, and whispered. “No. Upon Fletch’s orders, we’re waiting until today is over before choosing a clerk. He has this insane theory that our sewing ladies are competing for Lavender’s good graces and that they are responsible for the accidents.”
Rafe didn’t believe a clerk’s position worth killing over, but his opinion hadn’t been asked. He supposed, if the Jamesons were trying to hide their past. . . still not worth hanging. Although. . . Rafe grimaced as his thoughts tumbled erratically?—
Thieves would hang, if charges were brought and witnesses produced.
As usual, Fletch was one jump ahead of him. Ana Marie had been a witness. Mrs. Young? Maybe.
“If the sewing ladies are competing, that should make all the applicants especially eager to sell your goods today!” Verity crowed, not grasping the seriousness of Fletch’s theory. “And be on their best behavior?”
Kate cast a despairing glance into the shop where Vivien was now removing the fashion plate books from the shelf and ordering Maryann to dust them off. “It is a matter of opinion as to what best behavior might be. I feel exceedingly unnecessary. Do you have any tasks I can help with?”
“Prevent Major Fletcher from storing weapons under every table?” Verity suggested. “Do you think if we found a broken clock, he might sit down and work on that?”
Rafe snorted and Kate shook her head.
“He’s out ordering troops to surround the inn,” Rafe informed her. “He has young Jasper in the room next door, guarding the hall and the shop. He’s blocked any other access to the inn except through the lobby. He plans to have the captain and his friends loitering at the lobby door, as if they won’t look like bulls in a china shop among the cake stands and church ladies. We can hope our thespians don’t realize the ladies are accompanied by armed soldiers.”
“I daresay the curate won’t be carrying a sword, although Henri might have a knife in his boot,” Verity corrected. “They’re not soldiers.”
“Upton carries hammers under his coat. Damien has a walking stick with a knife in it and a pistol in his pocket. Henri is accustomed to riding the highway and is practically bristling with weapons. Just because they’re not soldiers doesn’t mean they haven’t spent time defending themselves. I’m afraid they’ll all kill each other,” Rafe added in disgust.
“I think I’ll stay in the shop,” Kate said faintly. “Someone bring me tea after it’s all done.”
“The actors are here,” one of the ladies called from the lobby. “Verity, where are you? You’re to be the hostess.”
