For once Cassandra was grateful for Mrs. Towler’s presence, to put an end to the questioning.
With a rusty smile Mr. Shepard bowed toward her and took the satchel back from her. “Thank you, Miss Hale. I’m truly sorry for what you have endured today.” He turned to Mr. Warrington. “Accompany me out, will you?”
The men bowed toward Cassandra, and she curtsied in response and watched as they departed.
***
As James and Shepard returned to the grounds, a fine, cold mist started to fall, shrouding the property in a filmy gray veil. But even so, the men who had gathered to help in the investigation continued with their search for any information on the circumstances of William Longham’s demise.
“How well do you know this young lady?” Shepard asked as they walked the path back toward the garden.
“Well enough to let her be the governess of my children.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Just over a month. It was the letter from Robert Clark she told you about that brought her to Briarton Park in the first place.”
“And how did she make the jump from searching for information to being your governess?”
James considered his answer. He would not lie, but he would not divulge his sister’s indiscretion either. “She needed employment and had appropriate references. My children took to her right away. It was a natural progression.”
James had always had a cordial relationship with Shepard, but now a thread of tension stretched between them. He could almost tell what the man was thinking, and he wanted to be clear. “You certainly don’t think she had anything to do with this, do you?”
Shepard clicked his tongue. “Unlikely. She’s a small person, and Longham would have towered over her. He was struck from the top, you know. With the nature of the injury, I don’t think she would have the physical strength for something like that. But you never know. More than likely it was a random attack, considering the activity with the weavers as of late, but my next call will be to Peter Clark, to be sure.”
James adjusted his hat to deflect the drizzle, but as he did, one man in particular caught his eye.
Mr. North was approaching.
It was appropriate that he was here. Heshouldbe here. After all, a man was dead and he was the vicar. But instead of heading toward the scene of the death, he was walking toward the house.
Mr. North took notice of them as he came up the path and lifted his hand in greeting. “Shepard. Warrington. What a horrible event this is.”
“It is,” responded Shepard. “Did you know Mr. Longham?”
North shrugged. “Never met him before in my life, poor soul. This sort of discovery in our parish is a terrible shock. I believe I heard that Miss Hale was the one to find him. Is that true?”
“She was.”
“I thought I might speak with her and offer some consolation. I can only imagine it was a harrowing event, especially for a woman of such a sensitive nature.”
James eyed him. It was not fitting to question a vicar’s motives, and yet he’d seen his behavior at the party. Nonetheless, James could not interfere. Not with this. “She’s inside, I believe. You’re welcome to go on in.”
North bowed and continued down the path.
Shepard scoffed, and a flash of amusement brightened his otherwise somber face. “Consolation indeed. I’ll wager he’s something else in mind, vicar or not.”
James did not respond, but he recognized the tightening in his stomach. As much as he hated to admit it, jealousy—or something fiercely akin to it—roiled inside him. He did not like the thought of North, with his sickly sweet smiles and elegant words, within any distance of Miss Hale. She was an intelligent woman—did she really not see past his facade? But to forbid a vicar from calling on a woman who had just been in such distress was cruel.
But what was the alternative to North’s attention to her? That James would be the man to offer consolation? It was impossible. She was in his employ. She was caretaker for his children. And, if he were honest, there was a thin transition between consolation and romantic intentions.
Even so, a part of him wished he could be the man she would want during this time. But he had to be practical. She was the governess. There were questions about her parentage. Questions about her motives. They all had their role to play, and blurring any lines could be dangerous for everyone involved.
Chapter 30
Cassandra pressed her palms to her forehead as Mr. Warrington and Mr. Shepard departed the great hall. She squeezed her eyes closed as if by doing so she could shut out the horrible sight she’d seen earlier that day.
How her head ached with the day’s events. She’d fully anticipated that someone would question her about discovering the body, but she’d not expected to feel like a suspect or to share family details with a stranger.
