“Then perhaps the mausoleum is the centre, and the clue lies west of here, away from London and towards the Thames bend.”
They left the mausoleum and returned to the graves.
“Did you say you covered all the burial grounds on this road?” Gabriel asked, surveying the tilting headstones. “How many lie between the church and the cottage?”
“Three. Aside from houses, the only significant place west of here is the rectory. Mrs Hodge said Reverend Clay prefers to live away from St Luke’s.”
The rector had been left alone with Mr Lovelace at the watch-house, and had inspired Mrs Hodge’s move to World’s End, yet neither seemed capable of plotting the fall of the government.
“Perhaps we should call on the rector,” Gabriel said, like a barrister certain of a defendant’s guilt. “To express concern over the theft of a body in his parish.”
“You mean the theft of Justin Lovelace?” Why would he not say his name? “It is him. The man who visited my father.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“What makes you so unsure?”
The strain behind his eyes deepened the lines on his brow. “Because that would be too simple. And because I would know it, in my heart.”
“The heart you claim is made of stone?”
The heart she knew was anything but.
His lips quirked. “Yes, that one.”
“The countess confirmed his identity.” Joanna was strong and intelligent, not prone to sentiment. “She would have said if she had doubts.”
“We’ve not seen him in a decade. Her focus is on her own family. I suspect part of her seeks closure.” He paused, the silence heavy with uncertainty. “Besides, the man I knew would never hurt a woman.”
She touched her throat, recalling the strength and determination in her attacker’s ironclad grip. “People change. Not always for the better.”
How had a loving father become a revolutionary? A man who betrayed his family only to betray his comrades. She was certain he’d left evidence that exposed them. They simply needed to find it.
As if the Lord had heard her request, the sudden murmur of voices and soft tread of footsteps drifted on a breeze. Anticipating danger, Gabriel circled her waist, drawing her behind the shelter of the mausoleum.
“It may be mourners come to pay their respects.” She clung to him for no reason other than it brought peace.
He peered around the stone building, squinting against a ray of sunlight. “It’s not mourners. It’s Mrs Hodge and Reverend Clay. They’re examining the headstones and making notes. He’s kneeling beside a mortstone, searching through the weeds and grass.”
“Having seen the carriage on the road, I’m surprised they aren’t looking for us.”
“Kincaid would have given a bird call had they come through the main gate. There must be another entrance.”
“Yes, a path adjoining the field.”
“Well, we won’t find answers hiding here.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “They must believe we trust them. It will buy us time.”
“Assuming either of them is guilty.”
“In this case, they’re guilty until we prove them innocent.”
They stepped out, her confident stride belying the hollow pit in her stomach, and made no attempt to disguise their approach.
Mrs Hodge looked up first, her face blanching as if she’d seen ghosts. She tapped the rector’s arm, drawing his attention from the notes he was scribbling in his book.
The clergyman looked equally startled. He snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm. “Lord and Lady Rothley, good day to you.”
Mrs Hodge’s mouth fell open, yet she masked her surprise with a curtsy. As she rose, she held Olivia’s gaze but said nothing.
