Page 12 of The Case of the Curate

“Still awake?” Noah said cheerfully, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull off his shoes.

“Just about to lie down. What’s happening downstairs?”

“Interminable talking. And some kind of fuss—I think one of the maids must be very ill.”

“Oh dear,” Margaret said, though inside she smiled.

Chapter Three

As soon as she wakened the following morning, Kate went to her pretty little desk and sat down. Drawing paper toward her, she reached for the pen. She would write to Winster now, just to be on the safe side. Determined as she was, she nevertheless sat unmoving for so long that her poised pen dripped ink onto the paper beneath.

Ridiculous childhood loyalty would not let her do this. Without being told in so many words, she and everyone else understood that being ordained into the church had not been Rupert’s idea but his father’s. It was a well-worn and honorable career path for younger sons of the nobility and gentry. But this sideways step into pastoral care as a lowly curate was Rupert’s choice, whatever his reasons, and if he wanted his father to know about developments at Chadbon Court, he would tell him. She could not, in honor, interfere.

Besides, nothing had happened except that Rupert had undoubtedly been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Her bedchamber door opened and Grissy, her maid, entered bearing a cup of strong, aromatic coffee.

“Miss Kate,” she scolded, “only you can manage to get ink stains on your nightgown!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hastily, Kate returned the pen to its stand. “Never mind. No one will see. Thank you,” she added with some relish, taking the cup and saucer from her handmaiden.

Ada Grissolm had served Kate’s older sisters before they had married. Kate herself had not expected to have a lady’s maid when she left her father’s house—after all, she was marrying a man of modest means—but Gilbert had insisted upon the dignity and, somewhat to Kate’s surprise, her father had agreed. She rather thought Gilbert had hoped for one of those very superior London dressers, but Kate had dug her heels in and insisted that if a maid there had to be, it should be Grissy.

The parallels with Rupert’s church career—if it has to be the church, I shall be a country curate—struck her now. It seemed they were both malleable up to a point, and then immovably stubborn. Though how the overworked, underpaid life of a curate had attracted the debauched Lord Rupert Grande was unclear.

Kate sipped her coffee, watching Grissy set out clean clothes for the coming morning. “How are things belowstairs?”

“Subdued,” Grissy replied. Only a few years older than Kate, she was a good-natured country woman with rosy cheeks who had learned her craft from Lady Hynde’s stately dresser. As a result, her natural curiosity was suppressed by propriety, but she remained observant and good humored. “There’s a rumor that maid, Dinah, who collapsed last night, is actually dead.”

“Oh?” Kate took another sip. “What do they say about the poor girl? Was she ill?”

“A bit peaky at times, according to some. Others say it was just another way to avoid her share of the work. They say she was more interested in flirting.”

“With whom?”

“The footman, the coachman, the squire’s son, Her Ladyship’s guests…”

“But not Lord Chadbon?”

“He don’t bother the maids, though his son used to when he lived here.”

Mr. Gerald Chadbon, His Lordship’s heir, lived largely on his new wife’s estate in Devon and rarely visited. According to his mother.

“Did you see Dinah leave the kitchen last night?” Kate asked.

“No, they were keeping her busy.”

Kate finished her coffee and stood up to go to the washstand. A jug of warm water already stood by the bowl.

“What do they say about the new curate?” she asked casually.

“The footmen aren’t keen, but the maids think him a vast improvement on the old vicar. Why?”

“Because between ourselves, he’s one of the Winster boys, and you haven’t to let on if you see him.”

Grissy’s eyes widened. Her mouth shut with a snap, but she set about pouring the water into the washing bowl and soaking the cloth beside it.

“Don’t get up to anything, Miss Kate,” she said austerely.