“Maybe this is a more worldly type of vicar. I like a man who knows what’s waiting for him in London and is prepared for any eventuality,” Bolt mused. “Which found him.”
Like the ladies, they took to heart that he’d been assaulted practically on their doorstep and this made them quietly furious.
Hardy grunted.
If one was a country native and a vicar, London wasoften their version of Gomorrah. But every man in the country knew how to shoot.
Hardy continued his tour of the man’s pockets. “There’s something in the lining.”
After some determined maneuvering he retrieved a miniature of a girl, or young woman.
She had dark hair and blue eyes.
“She’s pretty,” he said absently.
Bolt looked over his shoulder at it. “His sweetheart, perhaps? Did Mr. Bellingham mention whether he was married?”
“I don’t think his letters mention a wife.”
Hardy turned it over, but nothing was written on the back.
They suddenly both felt as though they were rummaging around in the man’s heart.
Hardy put the miniature back in his coat pocket. The guns and knife and money they took for safekeeping.
That evening,everyonein the sitting room felt like tumbled dice.
When they spoke, it was in short, dazed sentences or fragments of sentences. Everyone was still pale and spent and a little bit mussed. The men did not go to smoke and swear and break wind in the smoking room after dinner. They wanted to be where they could see the women.
“If Mr. Bellingham dies, do you think he’ll haunt The Grand Palace on the Thames?” Dot asked.
“Perhaps,” Angelique mused sadly, as Delilah hurriedly said, “Of course not, Dot. Don’t be silly. And he’s not going to die.”
“But it is a nice place to spend eternity,” Mr. Delacortemaintained stoutly. “In fact, I might just decide to do that!”
“We’d be happy to have you for an eternity,” Delilah said warmly.
“Areyougoing to die, Mr. Delacorte?” Dot’s voice had gone up a quavering octave. Probably as much out of fondness for Mr. Delacorte as fear of another ghost.
“Not for decades,” Mr. Delacorte assured her.
“And Mr. Bellingham isnotgoing to die,” said Mrs. Pariseau sagely. “He’s a big strong country-bred man and they last for ages.”
Of course, no one knew this for certain, but they liked her confidence. Mrs. Pariseau always seemed to know a lot about many different kinds of things.
“No doubt he’d confine himself to the attic, since he hasn’t paid for the room, if he does become a ghost,” Angelique mused.
“I don’t know why a ghost would only want to live in an attic when there are so many comfortable rooms here and you could just float from one to the next,” Lucien said somberly.
Captain Hardy bit his lip against an inappropriate laugh.
Delilah shot Angelique and Lucien a reproachful glance.
Dot made a tiny whimpering sound.
Mrs. Gallagher was upstairs with him now. He was still sleeping, lightly, it seemed, and fitfully.
Delilah and Angelique had provided her with fresh clean cloths and pitchers of water and a basin in which to dip them.
