As Rafe, Damien, and others raced off, Fletch faced the glowering heir to an earl’s fortune. Damn. He’d hoped Hunt would stay home. The captain didn’t often wear a patch over his blind eye unless it was hurting. On a day like this one, anyone would have a headache.
“We found Miss Marlowe,” Fletch told Hunt in what he hoped was a sane voice. “Mrs. Morgan is with her. She was bound and gagged and is just coming around. I’ve not had time to question her. I thought it best that she awake to a woman’s care.”
Hunt’s relief was visible. It didn’t moderate his growl of fury. “The clerk and the younger Jameson?”
“Miss Marlowe said she sent them away. The actors?” Fletch patted Cantherius’s head, longing to escape the battlefield for the calm oasis of his clocks—fleeing the taunting memory of Kate in his arms, clinging to him as if he were actually a man she could rely on.
“I’ve told the motley fools not to leave town. And since apparently their wagon was stolen. . .” Hunt gestured at the cart sitting in the drive. “They’re not going anywhere soon. They may drink Rafe out of business though.”
Fletch nodded. “I’ll ride in, take them in hand. Damien can bring the ladies to the manor in his carriage.” Which was still blocking the lane. “Kate isn’t likely to leave Lavender until reassured she’s well.”
“Meera thinks Jasper was poisoned with mushrooms,” Hunt warned. “We need to find Vivien. Those two were stepping out, weren’t they? Is she the poisoner?”
“Deuced if I know. I’ll question the lad, if I can, and I’ll try not to eat any mushrooms.” Grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, Fletch swung up on Cant’s back, eager to escape. He couldn’t manage calm respectability much longer.
He couldn’t drink himself into a stupor either. He’d have to find a clock.
Thirty-eight
Rafe
Standing, hat in hand, in the small study amid the ancient stone walls of the original Priory Manor, Rafe wanted his supper. He wanted to be at the pub, enjoying the company. He wanted to hug Verity and his wards and pretend the world didn’t contain madmen who kidnapped young ladies.
Captain Huntley, who apparently needed none of those things, prevented Rafe from having what he wanted. Their magistrate required answers. Now.
“Just lock them all up,” Rafe argued wearily. He no longer feared losing his position if he disagreed. Right now, he’d love to be demoted. “It’s late. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. After today’s little party, half the town will have aching heads. We need time to find some crumb of evidence for the court.”
“Lock up the children too? I only have so many cells. Morgan is passed out in the crypt and the Jamesons are screaming in the wine cellar. Do we store the children in the belfry?” Hunt paced his study, most likely to work kinks out of his damaged leg.
Rafe rubbed his disheveled orange curls. He needed a haircut. Again. “The children are our only witnesses. They’re thieves, but I doubt they’re killers or kidnappers. Verity has them. I’ll feed them, give them rooms, lock the doors.”
“Find out where they keep the poison mushrooms? And how do we keep the actors from absconding?”
Rafe grimaced. “Jacques and Damien will have to handle the actors. Maybe promise them the sewing shop can make their costumes? How is Lavender? I don’t dare go anywhere unless I can report she’s well.”
“She only shared a little of Jasper’s luncheon. Meera says she’s small and it takes less to bring her down. Apparently, whatever they ate contained some mix of mushrooms and laudanum, meant to incapacitate, not kill.” Hunt looked grim, rightly so. They both knew how well that had worked for Mrs. Young.
They could have had two more corpses. Rafe shuddered.
Hunt continued. “Meera has given Lavender some concoction to clean the toxins. She’ll live. I think Lady Lavinia is prepared to hang the culprits, just for harming her granddaughter, but unfortunately, Lavender is our only real witness, and she was unconscious the whole time. Kate and Fletch can only speak to finding her at the Hall, which implicates Damien and Jacques and the actors as well as the lunatics. They can’t explain anything.”
Rafe already knew Jasper could tell them nothing except that he’d eaten the lunch Vivien had brought for him—which was why they’d hunted down Vivien and locked her up with her sister. “Is Hugh Morgan talking at all?”
“Meera says Morgan’s wounds have been treated with herbal remedies, but they’re infected. He’s too drunk and feverish to be sensible. This is ridiculous.” Hunt dropped into his desk chair. “We can’t be certain he’s the killer or even the kidnapper. I have to wonder if it isn’t safer to send all the ladies and children back to Town.”
Emptying the manor would destroy the village, but protecting the vulnerable had to be the captain’s priority. Hunt was feeling the burden of responsibility.
Rafe understood too well. “London has more scoundrels per square inch than the countryside. Running is not the solution. Bringing in more good people, workers, smart folk—that will make us safer than any city.”
“Education,” Hunt added wearily. “We need to educate ourselves in how to catch thieves and their ilk. And teach people their letters and numbers so they can find work and don’t feel compelled to steal to survive. None of this is easy.”
“One day at a time, Captain. Unless you know any magicians.” Rafe hoped he’d talked Hunt down from any notion of leaving, because he’d sunk his life savings into an inn that relied on the manor for patronage. “We’ll question the lot after church tomorrow. Gives us time to gather our thoughts.”
“Did you find Miss Maryann?” Hunt followed another path.
“Maryann went home to bake a birthday cake and is just fine.” Rafe shoved his hat on his head, determined to escape.
“And where did you finally find the wretched younger Jameson female?”
