Rafe wrinkled his brow in thought. “The professor is writing a book. The lame lad and his twin sister are his assistants. They arrived together a little after eleven. They said they were expecting to meet Comfrey at noon.”
“So they had only just arrived and hadn’t yet met Comfrey? Unless they’d met him in Stratford at some earlier time? What time did they leave the inn?”
Rafe appreciated being given a means of organizing his thoughts. “They ate a small luncheon and went to their rooms to freshen up. Then Professor Greybourne and the lady walked into the village about one. The lad has a clubfoot and apparently doesn’t like walking. He took the curricle shortly after they left. He said the house was unlocked but he couldn’t find Comfrey, so he explored on his own, which was when he discovered the pump wasn’t working. The twins and Lord Greybourne were together when the body was discovered around two.”
Hunt shrugged. “We’ll need to find out who saw the professor and the lady last, and at what time, but if Meera is correct, it sounds as if your guests, particularly the lad, had opportunity. We have only their word about when and how they found the body. While Minerva is writing the bank and asking about Comfrey’s family, I’ll have her ask if Greybourne met Comfrey while they were in Stratford.”
Rafe preferred to suspect strangers, but a baron and the polite twins? Unlikely. Besides, the village was full of strangers, these days, ones who were far more likely to get drunk and brawl.
But grim experience had taught him not to rule out anyone or anything.
Eight
Eleanor
“I’m not certain it is safe to stay in Gravesyde,” Andrew protested as he and Eleanor lingered over tea in the inn’s quiet pub that evening while the professor visited the manor. “Perhaps we ought to go to Bath, as Greybourne suggested.”
They’d appropriated the only chairs and table in the pub. All else were trestle tables with benches. Made of solid oak, the chairs were uncomfortable, as was this discussion, in Eleanor’s opinion.
She had steered her own independent course for years now, but the straits had been narrow. She finally had a glimpse of a wider world beyond gray city alleys, and she wasn’t eager to turn back.
“Miss Talbot says the village is looking for a tailor,” El murmured, not certain if the kitchen staff could hear. “The manor has a sewing manufactory for women, but no one to alter men’s clothing.”
Andrew pressed his temple. “I am not really a tailor, El. I only apprenticed for a while.”
“You altered clothes to fit me! And you can measure men, whereas ladies cannot. The inn has a shop down the hall where they sell second-hand goods, but they have no one to alter boys’ and men’s clothes. Is that something that might interest you?” El asked in concern.
“I brought my scissors and patterns and such, but I hadn’t thought of doing it professionally.” Andrew played with his teacup. “I enjoyed what little I’ve done. I’m good with my hands.”
“Then it’s a possibility to consider.” El had no notion what she would do in a village this small, but once Andrew had a solid position, she’d worry less. Not needing to walk distances was ideal for him.
She might even spread her wings and go elsewhere once she knew he was happy. Best not to plan too far ahead when they didn’t even know if they were staying.
“I suppose, if we can earn enough these next months with Greybourne, we might save to rent a small cottage, although finding one with a decent roof might be a challenge.” Her twin wrinkled his brow doubtfully. “But staying in a house where someone was murdered. . .”
“Mr. Comfrey died outside, and it might have been an accident.” El tried to sound confident.
“His corpse was stuffed down a well, El,” Andrew protested. “Do you really wish to draw water from it?”
She hadn’t given it a speck of thought. Domestic details when their entire future was at stake didn’t interest her. She pouted and spun tales from thin air. “The well is fed by a spring. We can scrub the stones but the water should be fine. It is a very nice house, once we bring in our own linens and things. We’ll have servants. It should be quite fun.”
She lied, but she’d overcome her squeamishness if it meant her twin eventually finding happiness. In the city, every day had been a scramble to survive. Here, they might make choices in comfort.
That the village contained cold-blooded killers shook her, but they’d met many agreeable people too. If they could catch the culprit. . . They might have a nice home again. Her salary as Grey’s assistant had barely covered the rent of their two-room hovel in the city but surely would not be so high here.
Ever since they’d lost their parents, they’d had to be practical, not sentimental, moving to ever cheaper housing and struggling to keep food on the table while Andrew completed university. El had taught French to wealthy young ladies. She’d done Andrew’s lessons in the evening. He’d brought home work from other students like him, ones who could afford to pay her to write their papers.
She’d first worn men’s clothes and pretended to be her brother to access the university’s library. He learned a little tailoring to help. By the time she’d taken Grey’s position, they’d moved so many times that the neighbors had no idea they weren’t two brothers. Plain, self-effacing, keeping her head down, she didn’t possess the kind of looks that caught the eye.
It had been a struggle, but now Andrew had a degree that qualified him—or her—for good situations, like working for Greybourne. Returning to male clothes in a village where everyone now knew she was female was not feasible but having choices was progress, wasn’t it?
As if drawn by her hope, Lord Greybourne strolled into the pub, removing his elegant top hat, looking for all the world like a gentleman content with his world. Although he’d supposedly eaten dinner at the manor with his cousin, he hadn’t bothered dressing in a formal frockcoat. El wondered if he even owned one. Surely, he must. He wasn’t a poor man. His embroidered waistcoat and tailored, box-pleated tweed most likely cost a year of her wages.
Did his air of ease mean they’d solved the mystery over dinner? She hoped so. Greybourne was not a man to share his thoughts—at least not with lowly assistants.
He threw the hat down on the table, releasing his untamed lion’s mane, pulled a chair over, and straddled it impolitely. “Well, if the bank allows, have we decided to stay? Or shall we set out for Bath in the morning?”
Interesting. He was leaving the choice to them? Was he drunk?
