“She did indeed. What has Stephen Ripley’s death got to do with that?”
“Do you suppose she also brought some to Keenan that morning?”
“If she did, she didn’t mention it to me. Does it matter?” Mum’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you saying, Evie? Alice is a married woman. She wouldn’t simply show up at the home of a bachelor bearing baked goods. Not without very good reason.”
“No, I don’t suppose she would.” Eva went to the pantry to find the tin of tea. When she reentered the kitchen, her mother was setting the cups and saucers on the table. “Mum, were you able to find out why Alice came without the children?”
“Alice explained why.” Mum tried to turn away, but Eva placed a hand on her wrist.
“You told Dad you were certain something was wrong and you were going to find out what. Have you?”
“Oh, Evie, can’t you leave well enough alone?” With a dismayed look, Mum sank into a chair at the table, and Eva guessed that she, too, had her suspicions about Alice and Keenan but was loath to admit it. Eva pulled a chair closer to her mother’s and sat. Betty Huntford lowered her voice, as if they weren’t the only two people in the house. “All right, yes. I do think there are problems for Alice at home. But what they are remains a mystery to me, because your sister won’t admit to a thing. Tells me all’s well and not to worry. Humph. That’s the same as telling me to mind my own business. I ask you, what devoted mother has ever done that?”
Alice seemed determined to keep her secrets. But Eva was equally determined to find out the truth. She only hoped it didn’t destroy what was left of their relationship.
CHAPTER 10
“I don’t see why you had to drag me along for this.” Julia stood beside the Vauxhall as Phoebe came around the nose of the vehicle and stepped up onto the pavement. The village bank had opened its doors only minutes ago, and several early morning customers filed inside. They were all men, some in workman’s clothes, others in merchants’ attire, and one in a tailored, dark wool suit. Phoebe knew him from St. Paul’s board of directors, a country squire who owned a modest estate a mile outside the village.
“I need you because I couldn’t come alone and be taken seriously,” Phoebe replied. “Your presence will lend just the right note of authority.” Indeed, especially in the new suit Julia wore, with its elongating lines and fur trim on the collar. Phoebe didn’t know when Julia had had time to be fitted for the ensemble, but she suspected her sister had decided to update her wardrobe before she made it obvious by emptying her cupboards and dressers.
Julia folded her arms and looked about to dig in her heels. “How so? You’ve told me precious little about this latest scheme of yours.”
“We’re going to see Mr. Evers and say we’re here on behalf of Grampapa.”
Julia narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Are we?”
“In a way. Depending on what Mr. Evers says on the matter, I’ll approach Grampapa about my plan when we get home.” With no small amount of apprehension, Phoebe glanced at the plate glass window with the words BANK OF ENGLAND gleaming back at her in gold lettering. “I just hope he’ll be amenable.”
“Again, to what?” Julia pursed her lips, and Phoebe recognized a distinct possibility that her sister would refuse to cooperate.
“Need I remind you, Julia, that you didn’t tell me the first thing about your little plan in Cheltenham before we arrived at the tea shop. And then you went and lied about it with that ridiculous claim that Olive Asquith recommended the place to you.”
“That was different. I knew you’d never agree to go if you knew my purpose. You’d have got up on your high horse and told me I was wasting my money and my time. And yours, for that matter.”
Julia had a point, and besides, Phoebe needed to persuade her sister to play along today if her proposal was to work. “You know Stephen Ripley wanted to sell his family’s orchard, yes?”
“Everyone knows that by now.” Julia spoke impatiently. “Isn’t it a moot point now that he’s dead?”
Julia’s bluntness drew a grimace from Phoebe, but she quickly gathered herself. “It is not a moot point. The American still intends to purchase the land, right out from under Keenan Ripley.”
“As far as I can see, the land won’t do Mr. Ripley a bit of good if he’s spending the rest of his life in prison, or worse, joining his brother in the hereafter.”
Phoebe winced again. “Julia, please. Must you be so insensitive?”
Julia issued her patented one-shoulder shrug. “I’ve never understood what good it does to mince words. But that’s neither here nor there.” She made circular motions with her hand, indicating she wished to hear more from Phoebe.
“All right, here it is. I wish to let the bank manager know that Grampapa is also interested in buying the land.”
Julia pulled back in surprise. “Is he?”
“Well . . . no. At least not yet. I intend to tell Mr. Evers that he is, that I’m to gather all the pertinent information, and that Grampapa will contact him once he’s gone over everything with his solicitor.”
“So you’re intending to lie.”
“Not exactly. I do intend to bring a proposal to Grampapa, and with any luck, he’ll see the benefit of buying the land, or half of it actually, to save the orchard. The Ripley perry is, after all, essential to the economic well-being of the village.”
“You want him to buy Stephen Ripley’s half.”
Phoebe grinned at Julia’s perception. “Yes, and become a shareholder in the orchard and brewery until Keenan turns enough of a profit to buy back the land. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”
“And what makes you think Grampapa will go along with something as ridiculously ill-conceived as this? With what funds do you propose he make this purchase? You know now as well as I that our family doesn’t have those kinds of disposable assets anymore. Are you really eager to put such a financial strain on our grandfather, not to mention the guilt he’ll feel when he’s forced to turn down the proposition?”
For several heartbeats, Phoebe wished to melt into the pavement. Julia was right; what had she been thinking, coming here to volunteer her grandfather’s money—and Fox’s inheritance—to alleviate someone else’s financial difficulties?
But then she remembered those financial difficulties, and the prospect of Keenan Ripley losing land that had been in his family for generations, didn’t only affect Mr. Ripley himself, but the entire village. Eva had told her about the efforts of the villagers to harvest the pears and save next year’s perry yield. It had sounded as if nearly the entire adult population of Little Barlow had shown up in support of their neighbor. Shouldn’t the Renshaws make the same effort?
And even if Grampapa couldn’t purchase Stephen Ripley’s half of the orchard outright, he might be able to extend Keenan Ripley enough of a loan to ward off foreclosure. Besides, simply showing an interest in the land could be enough to scare off the American and send him elsewhere to build his resort.
She seized her sister’s hand. “I am going inside and you are coming with me. You’re going to agree with everything I have to say, and you are going to work your considerable charms on Mr. Evers to persuade him to see things our way. Now, let’s get on with it.”
An appalled look spread over Julia’s features, and Phoebe very much expected her to yank her hand free, climb back into the motorcar, and demand that Phoebe drive her home. Phoebe also braced for a dressing down, certain Julia was gathering breath to deliver one. A cool wind stirred Julia’s golden blond curls and sifted through Phoebe’s redder locks. Julia’s dark blue eyes turned darker still as they held Phoebe, unblinking.
Then her expression cleared and, inexplicably, Julia grinned. “I suppose a bit of subterfuge might be fun. All right then, little sister, let’s go talk to Mr. Evers.”
* * *
After downing her tea quickly, Eva left her mother and retraced her steps, this time taking the turn into the village rather than continuing on to Foxwoo
d Hall. Lady Phoebe and Lady Annondale should be at the bank, as planned; perhaps Eva could squeeze into Lady Phoebe’s Vauxhall with them for the ride home.
By now, Alice probably would have concluded her business at the police station. After all, how long did it take to give a man a basket of scones, provided Chief Inspector Perkins had allowed her to visit Keenan at all? More likely, the chief inspector had taken the basket with the excuse of having to carefully examine its contents, pilfered several of the baked treats for himself, and delivered it substantially lighter.
As Eva expected, Alice was not at the police station when she arrived. She would try the shops, and berated herself for not thinking to ask Mum if she had sent Alice into the village with a shopping list. But then, as villages went, Little Barlow wasn’t particularly large and there were only so many places Alice could be. A sudden inspiration sent Eva to the post office. Her sister would of course wish to see if any letters had arrived from home.
Eva was reaching for the door handle when someone pushed the door open from inside, forcing her to step out of the way or be struck. The image of a trench coat and black derby filled her vision. Those were common enough garments, but the hastily spoken, “Excuse me, miss,” with the flat intonations of an American accent was not.
The land developer. The very sight of him made her temples throb and her throat tighten around words she had been taught never to utter.
His back now to her, he paused on the pavement glancing in the wrong direction in preparation of crossing the road, as Eva had seen Americans do in London because they weren’t used to cars driving on the left. Luckily for her, a farm truck lumbered by. It gave her the time to not only make up her mind about what she would do next, but to reach Mr. Walker’s side before he set off on his way.
“Excuse me. Sir.” She added that last out of habit rather than any respect she felt for him.
He turned to regard her with a bland expression. His eyes were muddy gray, his hair the same, as were the bullish features that sagged with late middle age. Judging by his pallor, she guessed he smoked, a good deal. Eva found nothing pleasing about him, and as their gazes connected she permitted him to glimpse her mounting contempt, which was something she rarely, if ever, allowed to happen.
Their eye contact broke as he swept her with an assessing look. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“There is something you can do for this entire village.”
Before she could continue, he had the audacity to snigger. “I didn’t realize I held such importance in the lives of the local populace.”
“Not importance. Significance, perhaps.” She steeled herself with a deep breath in through her nose. “You have the significance to disrupt our lives and destroy the harmony of Little Barlow. You, who can never understand life here or the bonds we share. You’ll never contribute anything worthwhile to this village. You may build whatever you wish—perhaps we can’t stop you—but you’ll never belong here, and because of that your resort will be an empty shell of a building and nothing more. And I see that as a useless waste of money.”
“Do you indeed?” Stretching his broad mouth into something resembling a smile, but without the warmth, he looked her over again. “I remember you. You were trailing after the earl’s granddaughter the other day. So what are you? Her personal lapdog?”
It was Eva’s turn to snigger. “If you mean to insult me, you’ll have to try harder, Mr. Walker. I couldn’t give the slightest fig what you think of me, as long as you know your project will fail if you build it here in Little Barlow. For one, you won’t entice a single villager to work for you.” The claim was a bold one, and Eva hoped it would prove true.
“Oh, I think they will, especially when I offer them more money than they could ever make scratching their living from the dirt of their wretched farms.”
“Wretched farms? I’ll have you know, Mr. Walker, that even as we speak, nearly the entire village has gathered at Keenan Ripley’s orchard to harvest the pears. He’ll be able to pay his mortgage and then some. That’s how much these people care about their farms.”
“Are they really?” His eyes gleamed like steel, the first sign of animation Eva had detected. “Well, isn’t that lucky for me?”
“Lucky? How so?”
“I’ll have you know, miss, that the trees will be easier to clear without the fruit clinging to them. Much more convenient this way. So, my thanks to the villagers.”
He started to move away, but Eva wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip past. “I can think of another convenience. The death of Stephen Ripley.”
He once again turned to her, this time with a glare that prompted her to back up half a step. His bulky chin jutted forward. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, isn’t it so much more convenient to have both Ripley brothers out of the way?” Even as she spoke, Eva marveled at her audacity and wondered where it came from. “Now you may purchase the land in total without having to share your profits.”
Hot, fiery color suffused his face. His already wide nostrils widened yet more, and his lips became an inverted crescent, the lower lip protruding beyond the top. “How dare you.”
The hissed words sent a chill through Eva, who perhaps should have taken into account the harm he could do her, and the Renshaws, if he chose. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to apologize, and what he uttered next made her glad she hadn’t. His anger seemed to cool as quickly as it had ignited, and once again he swept her with a leering gaze.
“You can’t have much of a future as a lady’s maid. I could put you to much more lucrative work in America. Or London. Or Paris, for that matter.” He stepped ominously closer. “Yes, I think you’d do very well in the career I have in mind for you, Miss Huntford. Or may I call you Eva?”
Her mouth dropped open, both in outrage at the kind of work he alluded to, and in astonishment that he should know her name. The thought of being on even the barest of familiar terms with this man sent a slithering sensation along her spine. Before she could gather her wits to respond, he gave her a mocking wink, tipped his hat to her, and crossed the street.
Oh, vile, vile man!
Her admonishments had failed miserably, and she was left miserable because of it. Miserable and shaking with anger.
She traced Mr. Walker’s progress as he strode along the pavement. He’d just reached the corner in front of the Houndstooth Inn when Joe Murdock, back from pear harvesting, sauntered out of the building and directly into the American’s path. Eva strained her ears to hear what passed between them, but they were too far away. Joe held something long and heavy-looking in one hand, while slapping its end against his other palm. Realizing what it was, Eva set off across the street.
“You’ve no right to speak to me that way,” Mr. Walker was saying in a strident tone that resembled the bark of a dog. “Now go about your business or I’ll bring a world of trouble down on you.”
“That so?” Joe didn’t sound impressed. He stood a head taller than the American, and a good deal wider through the shoulders. Eva had no illusions of the kind of damage a man like Joe Murdock could inflict in a fight. In fact, the entire village knew it, which was why altercations rarely if ever broke out at the Houndstooth, no matter how inebriated the patrons. Joe looked up at Eva’s approach, his features softening a fraction in greeting. “Miss Huntford, was this man bothering you over by the post office?”
Mr. Walker barely took notice of her over his shoulder. “She approached me, not the other way around. I was minding my own business.”
“We’ll thank you to mind your business somewhere else,” Joe growled to the other man. “Preferably in whatever hole you crawled out of. We don’t need your kind here in Little Barlow.”
“Come now, I’m growing weary of hearing the same complaints from everyone I meet.”
“Then maybe you should heed those complaints and know you’ll never be welcome here.” Joe slapped the club, which he always kept behind his bar as a precaution aga
inst thieves and troublemakers, against his palm again, this time with a resounding whack. He stepped closer to the other man, forcing Mr. Walker to raise his chin to look up at him. Fear swam in the whites of his eyes, but he held his ground.
“One more step and I’ll have you arrested. Don’t think I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t worry. If I take another step, it’ll be to throttle you so soundly you won’t be able to make a peep for a week at least.”
Fearing violence, Eva thrust herself between them, forcing both men to step back. “Gentlemen, that’s enough. Joe, thank you, but whatever Mr. Walker said to me, I’m more than happy to ignore. Please go back inside your pub.” To help persuade the large man, she placed a hand on his forearm and gently turned him toward the door of the establishment. Mr. Walker took the opportunity to step around them and continue on his way.
She took another moment, alone on the pavement, to gather her composure. Good heavens, while she knew Joe had only meant to intimidate the American, she wondered if, in other circumstances, he might have been moved to violence and used his club on Horace Walker. She hadn’t time to contemplate the possibility for long. A familiar motorcar—a large, black, shiny one—traveled along High Road and stopped outside the bank not far from Lady Phoebe’s Vauxhall. Fresh alarm shot through Eva. Lady Phoebe and her sister were still inside, executing a plan that would ultimately involve her grandfather, though he didn’t yet know it. But he was about to find out, for his driver was just then holding the door of the Rolls-Royce open for him.
And oh, dear, for his wife, the countess, too.
* * *
Phoebe bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Julia had risen to the occasion by utilizing her most charming skills of persuasion with Mr. Evers, who sat listening to her as if transfixed.
“So you see, Mr. Evers, my grandfather considers this a smart investment for himself as well as a contribution to the economic well-being of Little Barlow. Why send his money to work elsewhere, he said just this morning, when he can help the local people, himself, and our family by investing in the village itself? After all, what is Foxwood Hall without Little Barlow? And what is Little Barlow without its people, its farms, and its businesses?”
A Silent Stabbing Page 14