Page 52 of The Case of the Curate

Rupert smiled. “I daresay he did. You didn’t by any chance walk up to Chadbon Court, the biggest house around here, and camp in their barn, did you?”

“There’s a few big houses around here. Might know the one you mean… Got a glass building stuck on the back?”

“That’s the one,” Rupert said, trying not to raise his hopes, but he couldn’t stop the excitement tugging at him.

“I fancied sleeping in there,” Salter confided with regret. “Under the glass roof. Thought it might be fine to be warm and sheltered and still see the stars.”

“It is,” Rupert said. “I sat in there one night and never noticed anything but the stars.” And a girl who had once worn pigtails and a muddy dress…

Salter grinned. “I’d have come in if I’d known, had a drink with you.”

“Where did you go?”

Salter wrinkled his nose. “I did peer over the wall into a real neat garden, but I saw someone lurking there, and in any case, I couldn’t heave myself over the wall one-handed. So I gave up on the glass building and dropped back down to find a barn instead.

Rupert’s heart thumped. “What night was this, sergeant? Last night?”

“Maybe. No, ’cause last night I met the dog. Tuesday night. I think.”

“What time?” Rupert asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

“No idea. Time I was asleep. I knew that much.”

“Was anyone else in the garden? Apart from the lurker?”

Salter shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

“And what about the lurker? Did you get a good look? Would you recognize this person again?”

Salter’s eyes were suddenly in focus, as though the soldier had pushed the drunk aside.

*

Kate had spent a frustrating afternoon trying to engage busy servants in conversation without their noticing they were being questioned. She had learned precisely nothing new by the time she wandered into the library after tea.

The Chadbons’ guests were restless, she thought. They had not planned to spend quite so much time in each other’s company, and the unnatural alliances and temporary truces were in danger of splitting apart. Lady Chadbon believed their best hope was to keep everyone entertained and away from serious subjects—and preferably from each other, in some cases—until they left on the morrow. Kate tended to agree and did her best to be entertaining.

Unfortunately, everyone’s hopes of departure in the morning were endangered by the return of another downpour immediately after tea. Which prevented further solitary walks and any chance of garden games like pall-mall.

Although she didn’t harbor much hope of discovering anyone alone enough to be questioned, Kate was lucky to eventually find Mr. Otteridge snoozing by the library fire. And for once, no one else was present.

Kate walked across the room, humming, ready to beg Otteridge’s pardon when he woke. Unfortunately, he was not easily disturbed—according to Gilbert, he quite frequently slept his way through even quite acrimonious debates in the House, and had to be shaken awake to vote.

Kate did not feel she could shake him awake. However, she did gather together a few large, illustrated books about art and travel and dropped them with a slap on the table nearest her quarry.

To her relief, Otteridge jerked up his head with a vast bluster of harrumphs, throat clearings, and “What? What?”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir,” Kate said. “I carried too many books, and they landed with rather a smack! I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” Otteridge said with blatant untruth.

“Oh well, that’s fine, then.” Kate smiled brightly and sat down at the table, drawing the books toward her. “I see it is raining again. I do hope this doesn’t make the flooding worse.”

“Bound to,” Otteridge said gloomily. “Not sure how much more I can take of that fellow, Nye.”

“I like his sister,” Kate offered. She drummed her fingertips on top of the book pile for a couple of moments, as though unsure, and then said, “May I ask you a question in confidence, sir?”

Otteridge at once donned a serious, paternal expression. “Of course, my dear. You must miss your husband’s guidance.”