Milton quipped, “Whatever you say.”
As they rode toward the bridge leading to Briarton, the conversation weighed heavily on James’s mind, mostly because he was annoyed at himself for allowing his emotions to control him. But beyond that, he’d been honest when he said he didn’t trust the man. His manner was too familiar. His nature too complimentary in general. Something seemed amiss, and James was determined to find out what it was.
Chapter 36
As Cassandra and Rachel gathered with other village women just inside the church after distributing baskets, Cassandra’s tensions eased, and her heart felt light. She was content with her role at Briarton Park, but she had missed the companionship of the other people she’d met, especially Mrs. Pearson and Betsy.
Mrs. Pearson was helping Rachel organize donated cloth, and Cassandra stood with Betsy returning undistributed apples to a barrel. They’d not spoken all week, and yet news had traveled far and wide. With the exception of Cassandra’s mother’s identity, Betsy seemed to know almost as many details about the entire murder and inheritance as Cassandra knew herself.
As they stood folding linens and preparing to finish up their tasks, Betsy wiped her hands together. “I just can’t believe how quickly all of this happened. You must have been so frightened to find a body like that. I’d have been terrified.”
“I was more sad than frightened.” Cassandra placed more apples into the barrel. “Mr. Longham was very kind to me. So helpful.”
“But to see his body in such a state,” continued Betsy. “It must have been horrific.”
“It was.”
“Did he have family? Do you know?”
“I don’t think so. From what I understood he was a bachelor.”
Betsy’s tawny brows drew together in question. “And no one knows for sure who might be responsible?”
“Mr. Shepard and a couple of constables have visited Briarton Park this week, and he spoke to me once, but most of his interactions have been with Mr. Warrington. Honestly, I hear so little where I am. Almost my entire time is spent with the girls. I did hear, however, that one man was arrested, but I can’t seem to get a clear answer of what the evidence was.”
Betsy pivoted and propped her hand on her hip. “Oh, that is suspicious.”
“It is, and it isn’t.” Cassandra removed the linen from a basket and began to fold it. “Mr. Warrington had said numerous times that there are men who are retaliating against the mill owners and their property, so that is a possible motive as well.”
Betsy leaned closer and lowered her voice, her gaze very direct. “Is the rest of it true? About the inheritance? Everyone says that you will inherit land. Land, Cassandra!”
She nodded in response. “It’s in the will, but I must prove my identity. That, I cannot do. Not without Mr. Longham’s statement and the documents he possessed. Besides, I have no funds to pay a solicitor to assist me in the courts now. I fear the cause might be lost.”
As the day’s activity began to fade, Mrs. Pearson took Rachel and the other young volunteers to the vicarage for tea. Betsy and Cassandra and the rest of the women were left at the church to finish organizing the donations. Over time the others dispersed, and before long Betsy and Cassandra were alone in the church’s nave.
A glance through the window confirmed the hour was growing late. It would be dark soon, and Briarton’s carriage was waiting for them. She looked over at Betsy, who was fiddling with her cloak. “Hurry, Betsy! I promised Mr. Warrington that Rachel would be home by nightfall.”
And yet Betsy tilted her head to the side and made no steps tothe door. An impish grin curved her lips. “I’ve never been in here by myself before.”
“That’s because everyone else has gone and it’s time to go.”
Even in the dimly lit space, her mischievous expression twinkled. “Didn’t you say you were searching for birth records or something of the like?”
“Mr. North already said they weren’t here. He looked.”
“And you’re not the least bit curious to see for yourself? I never trust what anyone says. Not unless I see it myself.”
Uneasiness wound its way through Cassandra. “I think it’s best we leave.”
Betsy stood firm. “I’ve heard the parish chest is in there, in the vestry.”
The wooden door to the small office stood ajar.
She had to trust Mr. North, didn’t she? He was her friend. He would not knowingly lie to her.
But the last several weeks had taught her the danger of being naive, and her interest was piqued. If she’d been born at Briarton, as Mr. Longham and Mrs. Hutton had claimed, her name would be there, for she’d been told she was baptized, and that would be one step closer to proof of her identity.
In an intentional flick of her wrist, Betsy tipped a basket on the stone floor, and the apples rolled through the open door. “Oh bother. We should pick those up.”
