Her friend’s intentions were clear. “Betsy, I—”
“I’m only picking up the apples. Help me.”
With a sigh Cassandra put her basket down as well and began to retrieve the apples that had rolled onto the floor. She paused at the door to the office and watched helplessly as Betsy stepped inside. Betsy motioned for Cassandra to join her.
Against her better judgment, Cassandra cast a glance over her shoulder and joined Betsy to look around the narrow space. A deskstood in the middle along with two chairs. A tall wardrobe was against the far wall, and on the far end stood the parish chest.
She’d never been in this part of the church before, but she knew right away that this was the office Mr. North had referenced upon their first meeting. This little room was frigid and dark, with naught but light from one narrow window to brighten the space.
No wonder he had not wanted to meet with people in here.
But someone had been in here recently. A half-burned candle sat atop the table. Papers were strewn over the desk haphazardly.
Betsy hurried to the parish chest and tried to lift it. But it didn’t budge. “Locked.”
“It is a sign we shouldn’t be here.” Cassandra gaped as Betsy started to rifle through the papers on the desk. “What are you doing? Put those down!”
“I’m only looking.” She moved to the drawer and opened it. Then another. “After all, if these were truly private, this door would have been locked.”
Cassandra pressed her lips together. She was about to reprimand her friend when shuffling could be heard. “Someone’s coming!”
“Ladies!” Mr. North’s voice echoed in the tall room. “What is happening here?”
“I dropped a basket of apples.” Betsy emerged from the room with a congenial laugh. “How clumsy of me. We’re to put them with the donations that came in, but they fell and rolled in here. Miss Hale was helping me retrieve them.”
“Ah. I am sure the poor will be most grateful to receive them. I was about to lock up, but—”
“We were just about to leave,” Cassandra said hastily. “Then I was going to head to the vicarage to collect Miss Warrington.”
“Ah, then I will join you. I was hoping to speak with you privately anyway. If you don’t mind?”
Cassandra nodded nervously.
“Very good,” added Betsy. “I’ll finish up here and see you by the vicarage then.”
***
Cassandra’s nerves tightened as she fell into step with Mr. North when they exited the church.
One sideways glance at him confirmed he seemed quite calm and unsuspecting of their snooping.
Even so, his customary good-natured smile was absent. His jaw clenched with unusual solemnity before he spoke. “I’ve battled my thoughts on this matter, but I cannot remain silent. So I’ll just say it. I had a most distressing encounter with Mr. Warrington last night at the Green Ox Inn.”
She stiffened as they drew to a stop on the path. She had not been aware that Mr. Warrington had gone to the inn last night. But why would she? “A distressing encounter with Mr. Warrington?”
“Yes. He seemed quite out of sorts. And bluntly, I’m concerned.” He turned to face her directly. “Men like him, with position and power, are used to having their way.”
Surprised at his grim opinion of Mr. Warrington, Cassandra studied Mr. North a little more closely.
He, too, seemed a bit out of sorts.
His thick hair, which was normally so tidy, was ruffled and windblown, and his cravat was uneven and hung slightly askew. A strange tension coiled around his mouth.
But as quickly as she made these observations, he continued, his words rushed. “Has he said anything or made any suggestions to you regarding your father’s will?”
Her shoulders tensed at the question. “Why?”
At this, he reached out, touched her arm, and then dropped his hand. “I hope by now you know I’m not a suspicious man, but youmust keep one thing in mind. There is no one in the area who would benefit from owning Linderdale more than James Warrington. Personally, I know you to be good. Kind. Trusting. Be wary, my dear, dearMiss Hale. Be wary of who you trust. Men like him are clever and not what they seem.”
