She bade Elise sit with her. “Are you currently engaged in any employment?”
“Mrs. Drable tries, but so far nothing, not even another short-term hire.”
“I have something that should last a few days. I will bring it to Mrs. Drable if, after hearing about it, you are interested. First I need to see if you have the temperament.”
“I’m considered very even tempered, if that is what you mean.”
“Not entirely. In this assignment you will have to act. You must be someone other than you are. I want to see if you can do that. I’ll ask you to show a mood or emotion, and you try to do it.”
Elise nodded, but her puckered brow indicated she thought this very odd.
“Good. First, I want you to show sadness.”
Elise thought about that. Then she closed her eyes. When she opened them she threw back her head and began wailing. Loudly. Her moans and cries rang through the garden.
Minerva veered back, startled. Beth threw open the kitchen door. A head poked out the upper window of the neighboring house. Jeremy came running through the garden. Elise continued wailing so loud the whole street must have heard. Minerva half expected the girl to tear her hair and rend her clothing.
Minerva grasped Elise’s shoulder. “Not like that.”
Elise quieted. “You said sad.”
“Yes, but not grieving sad. Disappointed sad.” She waved for Jeremy to go back to the carriage house. Beth closed the kitchen door. “Let’s try this instead. Pretend you are a lady of high breeding and I am a shop owner. Ask me if I have any better muslin than you have seen.”
“Am I rich?”
“Fairly so.”
“Am I conceited?”
“No. You are nice.”
Elise thought about it. She smiled vaguely. Kindly, but a bit patronizing. It was not the smile one gives an equal. Her eyes sparkled with good humor, but also expectations of deference. “These muslins are quite nice, but do you have anything better? With primrose sprigs, perhaps?”
Minerva was impressed at how well she transformed herself. Elise Turner was a natural actress. She would do very well.
“I will speak with Mrs. Drable.”
Chapter Eleven
Chase dismounted in front of the inn. Beside him Nicholas did the same. A groom took both of their horses to be rested, watered, and fed.
“I’m glad we rode,” Nicholas said while they entered the coaching inn. “It has been both faster and more leisurely, since we make these stops. I think at this one some food is in order.”
Chase was hungry too, and he accompanied Nicholas into the large public room. A busy crowd filled the inn, with the tables occupied by the people traveling in the stagecoach having its horses changed in the yard.
Nicholas led the way over to a counter where the publican dispensed beer. “They should leave soon.”
“I don’t mind standing a while.” A couple of hours on a horse and his body begged for some stretching.
They bought pints and lounged against the counter while they watched the quick movements and quicker eating of the patrons.
“I called at the Home Office,” Nicholas said. “I asked Peel what theories were being considered about Uncle’s fall. I received much attention and deference, but no information. Perhaps they are not looking into it at all.”
“While we are at Melton Park I will take a better look at that parapet. My examination after the funeral was necessarily quick and cursory, but perhaps more can be determined.”
“You do that, but—he went up there regularly. He probably knew every stone and slate tile. Even if he tripped, going over that wall would take some doing.”
Those were Chase’s thoughts too. It was one small step after that to debating who had done it. To avoid that conversation he shifted his stance a bit away from Nicholas and watched the stagecoach party collecting themselves to leave.
