“True.” She sighed. “But I am here now, so give me the details.”
“All right, but I still need a few dates to go along with th’ apples. Old lady Spivum has the best prices on the other side o’ the market.”
“It’ll be faster if we skirt this crowd.” Kit steered the pram down the aisle towards the edge of the stalls and glanced at her friend. “Well?”
“It were quite the thing.” Martha grinned. “Remember th’ day Mr. Baggett were stationed at the soup kitchen to keep watch o’er us? He were a distracted mess the whole time, which ain’t like him. Not a bit. So I knew somethin’ weren’t right. And when he rapped at my door after hours—”
“He came to your flat?” Kit’s brows shot up. Bold move.
“He did, and good thing too or we might all have been blown to—” Martha clamped her lips tight and whirled to a meat seller. “I’ll take a string o’ those bangers, if ye please.”
Kit narrowed her eyes. Martha didn’t need sausages any more than she needed a hole in her head. And, come to think of it, when Charles had relayed his account of the proposal, he’d staggered over his words as well. Could be nerves, emotion, the blush of love and all that…but Kit doubted it very much.
She leaned towards Martha. “What exactly might have happened?”
Martha took her time fishing out coins and packing the meat into her basket. At length she faced her, shrugging one slim shoulder. “I s’pose he might not have proposed, that’s all.”
What a whopper!
With quick steps and a firm grip on the pram handle, she herded Martha away from the stall and pinned her against the side of a shop. Bella laughed at the wild ride.
Martha scowled. “What the skip-nippity do ye think yer doin’? I’ve got work to get on!”
Kit set her jaw. “I’ll not let you go until you tell me exactly what Jackson and Mr. Baggett will not.”
“Don’t be a ninny. There’s nothing to tell.”
Martha’s mouth always twitched on the left side when she stretched the truth, and sure enough, her lip contracted. Kit folded her arms. “Either you tell me the truth or we will be here a very long time. And do not think to try to leap over the pram and escape. Though we are friends, that would not go well for you.”
Martha stiffened, jolting the apples in the basket to one side. “I’m not to say a word. I promised Mr. Jackson.”
Pish. Of course she had. Jackson would make the queen perform a blood oath if he thought it would protect Kit. “Very well,” she clipped, more annoyed with Jackson than her friend. When would he learn she wasn’t as fragile as a porcelain teacup? “You don’t have to say anything. Simply nod your head. Fair enough?”
“I dunno…” Martha leaned against the brick wall, blue eyes searching Kit’s. “I tol’ ye I gave Mr. Jackson me word.”
“And you won’t be breaking it. Now then, what I know is something awful happened the night Mr. Baggett kept guard over you, the very same night before Carky ended her life, so I suspect she was somehow involved. Is that true?”
Martha pursed her lips. “I honestly don’ know.”
“Even so, let’s run with it.” Kit paced in front of the pram, Bella reaching for her skirt every time she passed. “We moved Bella to your care for her protection in case Carky struck, which clearly she must have, or Jackson would not have sworn you to secrecy. That implies there was a danger to you and the children, wasn’t there?”
She glanced at Martha—who reluctantly nodded.
“But what sort of danger?” She paced a few more times, thinking aloud. “Carky favoured poison, so it could have been that. Was there some sort of poisonous threat?”
Her friend shook her head.
“All right. Carky also knew how to use a gun. Were shots fired?”
Another shake.
Hmm. What else would Carky—
Behind her a loud crack rang out, followed by bass thuds. Tensing, she whirled. Sweet potatoes rolled everywhere, spilled by an upset cart with an axle that’d cracked, the sound of the accident jogging loose a memory in her mind.
She turned back to Martha with a smile. “A bomb. That’s it, isn’t it? When Mr. Baggett came to your flat to propose, he discovered a bomb. Am I right?”
Martha’s lips flattened, and a breath later, she gave a hesitant nod.
