Page 47 of The Case of the Curate

Kate had the urge to walk away from him very quickly. Instead, she stood still. “How do I know? Because she did tell someone. Someone who was helping her. But you didn’t know that either, did you?”

He exhaled in a rush, and she marched on, her neck prickling, her knees shaking slightly. She tried not to cringe when he caught up with her.

But there was no aggression about him. He merely walked beside her as if he didn’t know what else to do, his mind clearly elsewhere. Until they stepped onto the drive that ran across the front of the house, and he groaned. A closed carriage drawn by two horses had just lumbered up the hill and was approaching them at the trot.

“It’s Elizabeth,” Carver said. “And Mr. Gibb. I beg you, Lady Ambrose, say nothing—” He broke off as the carriage came to a halt beside them.

The window was pulled down by a bluff, round man with a balding head and spectacles. “Well, Kit!” he said with obvious affection. “You see, even the weather can’t keep my girl away!”

Carver made a visible effort to not grimace. “And I am very glad of it!” Interestingly, his smile looked genuine too. Either he was a natural actor, or he was genuinely fond of these people. As well as of Dinah.

If Kate could believe anything about him.

“Forgive me,” Carver added quickly. “My lady, allow me to present my betrothed, Miss Gibb, and her father, who is our nearest neighbor, Mr. Gibb of Tetley Hall. This is Lady Ambrose, a guest down at Chadbon Court. Her horse has turned lame.”

“Oh dear,” Miss Gibb said, looking Kate up and down. “I hope you were not thrown or hurt in any way?”

Even seated in a carriage, Carver’s betrothed was clearly a tall young woman, almost statuesque. She was not beautiful, precisely—her face was a hint too sharp and bony—but she did look to have character and intelligence.

“Oh no,” Kate said cheerfully. “I’m not hurt in the slightest. If I am covered in mud, it’s because I was foolish enough to ride in such conditions. The ground is much dryer up here.”

“I hope you weren’t flooded at the court,” Mr. Gibb said. Interestingly, his accent was not quite that of a gentleman. Taken with the Carvers’ need of his money, Kate suspected he was some kind of cit or mill owner who had made his fortune by hard work and bought a small country estate so that his sons and grandsons would be regarded as gentlemen. Marrying his daughter to the next squire was an excellent step forward.

“Not at the house,” Kate answered him, “but I believe the river has burst its banks and flooded the London road. So poor Lady Chadbon is obliged to put up with us all for another night at least.” She smiled from one to the other of the carriage occupants, and surprised a particularly acute stare from Elizabeth, hastily softened.

Jealousy, Kate thought. Like Margaret Newman. She turned to Mr. Gibb. “I believe we just missed each other on Tuesday, when you called upon Lord Chadbon. I must have arrived a bare hour or so after you left. Such hospitable hosts, and he is quite the collector, is he not? Did you see his antique weapons?”

“Many times,” Elizabeth said haughtily. “Is it convenient for us to call on your mama, Kit?”

“Oh, yes,” Carver said at once. “She is always pleased to see you. Perhaps you would take Lady Ambrose up to the house and introduce her? I’d better discover the condition of the horse and clean myself up a bit…”

“Oh, I shan’t bring my mud into your carriage,” Kate said. “Or to Mrs. Carver’s home! I believe I shall just walk back to the stables with you, Mr. Carver, and see how the mare does.”

That clearly did not please Elizabeth either. And indeed, Kate had made the suggestion partly to see her reaction. The young woman smiled easily enough, but her posture was stiff with disapproval. Her father, on the other hand, looked as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Of the two of them, Kate would suspect Elizabeth of murder before her father. But at least, now that she had been seen here by so many people, she did not feel unsafe walking back up the deserted path to the stables with the squire’s son.

Kate said bluntly, “Remembering where you both were as you waited for Lord Chadbon to join you in his study—and where you all sat or stood when he joined you—could Mr. Gibb have…borrowed His Lordship’s dagger?”

She wondered if Carver would try to deflect the blame from himself or instinctively protect his bride’s father. The latter, it seemed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, staring at her. “Of course he did not, and would not! The man is excessively honest.”

“You and Elizabeth were childhood friends,” Kate said. “Did you and she ever escape your respective schoolrooms or nurseries and get up to mischief together?”

He blinked. “I did. With several of the village children. But Elizabeth was never like that. It would never have entered her head to do anything so improper.”

On the face of it, and on very brief acquaintance, Kate tended to agree. But jealousy was a powerful emotion, and Elizabeth was clearly jealous of her gently born betrothed. And while Carver clearly imagined she was ignorant of his relationship with Dinah, Kate was not so sure of that.

She itched to question the servants in both households.

Reluctantly, however, she put the idea aside. Servants tended to be loyal to their masters, so she had little chance of discovering the truth. And in any case, the storm of outrage she would initiate with such inquiries would hardly be in keeping with her promise of discretion. Reaching the truth of this crime was like trying to open a box with both hands tied behind one’s back.

Unsurprisingly, Graham the groom had found nothing wrong with the mare. Kate pronounced herself overjoyed and accepted the groom’s help in remounting.

The sky was definitely lighter now, and from the back of the stables, Carver pointed out the path back to Chadbon Court, and the other road to Chadleigh. On impulse, Kate turned the mare toward the latter. She had a notion to call upon the vicar.

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