Regency Wolfe: A de Wolfe Pack Connected World collection of Victorian and Regency Tales

by Mary Lancaster

  Today was the first time she’d ever compared his features to those of his son. Ginny had never seen Reverend Fletcher’s wife, as she’d passed away before Ginny and her family first attended services at St. Dunstan’s. But Wesley Fletcher must have received his blond hair and angelic blue eyes from his mother, because he didn’t resemble his father in the least, except perhaps in his height and the sharp angle of his nose. Otherwise, there were very few similarities that Ginny could see.

  The most notable difference was in their eyes. Where Reverend Fletcher’s dark eyes seemed warm and friendly, Wesley Fletcher’s held an uneasy coldness. Perhaps that chilly demeanor went deeper than just the frost in his eyes.

  Before Ginny realized that an hour had passed, the organist struck the chords of the final hymn. Reverend Fletcher gave the benediction and the organist played a robust postlude while the parishioners filed out of church.

  Since Ginny was seated toward the back, it gave her the perfect opportunity to observe the members as they exited the church, especially Wesley Fletcher and Rodney Baker… and William de Wolfe.

  The inspector left with his relatives, and as he came up the aisle, his gaze caught hers. There was a warmth in his hazel eyes that caused her heart to flutter as it swelled within her breast. That warmth remained even after he’d walked past her and exited the church.

  Ginny lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. It had happened without her even knowing, this feeling of fondness for William de Wolfe. She couldn’t say she’d fallen in love with him, but she couldn’t say that the emotion she harbored for him was far from turning into something much stronger. No one had ever affected her as he did.

  The church emptied pew by pew, and finally it came time for the pew Ginny and her sisters sat in to join the procession.

  The line leading from the church moved slowly. Reverend Fletcher was a man beloved by his congregation, and everyone stopped to say a few words to him. Finally, Ginny made her way to the door and stepped out into the sunlight.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Reverend Fletcher greeted Ginny and her sisters with a friendly smile. “As always, looking upon your faces from the pulpit brings me the greatest joy.”

  The Wattersfield sisters returned his greeting as he shook their hands.

  “Your sermon was very inspiring,” Della said. “The parable you preached this morning is one of my favorites. I always appreciate hearing the parables explained.”

  Ginny separated herself from Della. She knew from experience that when Reverend Fletcher received a compliment, he always prolonged the conversation. Lucy must have felt the same, for when Ginny stepped away from Reverend Fletcher, Lucy did, too.

  “Good morning, Miss Wattersfield.”

  Ginny turned and her heart momentarily misremembered its rhythm when she found herself face to face with William de Wolfe. “Good morning, Inspector. I was surprised to see you here this morning.”

  “Were you? After our conversation the other day, this was the most logical place for me to be. Besides, I could hardly pass up the opportunity to come where I knew I’d find you.”

  The sincerity Ginny heard in William’s voice caused her cheeks to warm. She knew they must have turned red. Before she could find words to answer him, they were interrupted.

  “Inspector de Wolfe. It’s a pleasure to have you worship with us this morning. It’s been far too long.”

  Ginny turned to find Reverend Fletcher behind her. She’d always considered him a handsome man. Even though his hair was quite gray, his features didn’t show signs of aging. There was a humorous glint in his eyes which she’d always felt indicated his enjoyment of life.

  Ginny scanned the area around her and noticed several middle-aged widows watching him, most likely wondering why he hadn’t taken another wife after the late Mrs. Fletcher died. It wasn’t that he lacked for willing candidates.

  “I thought the same, Reverend,” William answered. “And I’m very glad I came. It allowed me to see my de Wolfe cousins, as well as affording me the pleasure of seeing Miss Wattersfield again.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted,” the reverend said.

  “Yes, we’ve recently come to find we enjoy one another quite a lot.”

  Reverend Fletcher gave Ginny and William a smiling nod of approval. “How wonderful. I’m glad to hear you haven’t come on a matter as serious as the last time we met.”

  “No, no. Although I still hold out hope that I will discover who was responsible for Lizzy’s death and bring them to justice.”

  “As do I. Such a tragedy. Have you discovered anything new that would allow you to reopen the case?”

  “I’m sorry, Reverend, but I’m not at liberty to say at the moment. Sometimes a new development springs from the most unlikely place.”

  “That sounds very promising, Inspector. I wish you the best of luck then. If anyone can find your cousin’s killer, it will be you.” Reverend Fletcher turned his attention to Ginny. “You know, the inspector’s reputation is legendary. He is one of the most famous investigators on the force.”

  “Hardly famous,” William answered. “But I thank you for the compliment. And I must compliment you, as well. I enjoyed your sermon this morning. Your message of how precious life is was especially relevant concerning my line of work.”

  “Then I’m glad you were here to hear it.” Reverend Fletcher looked around as if searching for someone. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to greet more of my flock before they depart for home.”

  Ginny watched Reverend Fletcher greet several other parishioners, then step to where his son stood talking with Della and Lucy. The moment he interrupted their conversation, Wesley excused himself and left.

  Ginny couldn’t help but notice the hostile look on Wesley Fletcher’s face when he saw his father. It was obvious there was something contentious between them, something Reverend Fletcher was trying to heal but his son was unwilling to do.

  “Did you want Reverend Fletcher to know you might possibly have discovered some new information in Lizzy’s case?” she asked the inspector.

  Will looped her hand through his arm and led her away from the people leaving church so they couldn’t be overheard. “Yes. Only because it’s probable that he will tell his son.”

  Ginny continued walking at Will’s side as they left the churchyard. “By the abruptness with which Wesley Fletcher walked away when his father approached him, it doesn’t seem as if that might happen.”

  They strolled on until they reached a small park area where they stopped in a shaded area. Will leaned against a tree trunk and looked off toward the churchyard. “What do you think of the relationship between Reverend Fletcher and his son?”

  Ginny considered Will’s question for a moment. “They don’t appear to be on the best of terms,” she answered, turning to watch Wesley Fletcher leave the churchyard.

  “No, they certainly don’t. I wonder what the cause of the rift is.”

  “Perhaps it’s nothing more than a family disagreement.”

  “Perhaps,” Will answered, then looped her arm through his and walked with her to the side of the church, then beyond to the graveyard.

  Ginny didn’t say anything when she realized their destination. She simply kept pace with him, enjoying the tranquility of the grounds on a Sunday morning. She was surprised when Will didn’t lead her through the gate that led to the graves, but instead followed the path that skirted the burial plots.

  “Where are we going?”

  Will didn’t answer, but held his finger to his lips to silence her.

  When they reached a spot where they had a clear view of Lizzy’s grave, he stopped.

  Wesley Fletcher was there. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed. Ginny thought perhaps he was weeping, but couldn’t tell for sure.

  But one thing she could tell.

  Wesley Fletcher knelt on bended knees.

  Chapter Eight

  Will stepped into Wesley Fletcher’s law office
and asked to see the solicitor. The young clerk behind the desk greeted him with an interested smile that turned serious when Will explained that he was an inspector with the Metropolitan Police Force. The fellow rose from his desk and immediately announced his presence to Wesley Fletcher.

  “Mr. Fletcher will see you,” he said, stepping back to allow Will to enter.

  “Welcome, Inspector,” Wesley Fletcher said, getting to his feet.

  “Mr. Fletcher.”

  “How unusual to see you two days in a row. Especially after not seeing you for several months.” Fletcher pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Will sat, and Fletcher returned to his place behind the desk.

  “I have to admit,” Will said, gazing at the scattered papers atop Fletcher’s desk. “Your desk resembles mine. Which means you keep busy.”

  Fletcher smiled. “It seems someone always has need of a lawyer.”

  “Especially a good one.”

  The smile on Wesley Fletcher’s face faded slightly and he sat back in his chair. “Perhaps we can get right to the point of your visit, Inspector. Is it possible that you’ve reopened the investigation into Lizzy’s murder?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the investigation was never closed. It was only stalled for a time.”

  “Does this mean you have uncovered some new evidence?”

  “It only means the investigation has regained momentum.”

  Fletcher picked up a pencil from his desk and slowly turned it in his fingers. “What can I help you with, Inspector?”

  “After the service yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice that you and your father didn’t seem to be on the friendliest of terms.”

  Fletcher placed the pencil onto the desk. “I can’t see where that has anything to do with Elizabeth de Wolfe’s death, Inspector.”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t,” Will answered. “I’ll know the answer to that when I hear your reason for arguing with your father.”

  “If you’re as observant as you say, then you’ll have to admit that my father and I didn’t argue. We simply didn’t have anything to say to each other.”

  “That’s not entirely true. Your father seemed to have something he wanted to say to you. You, however, didn’t seem to want to speak with him.”

  “Very observant of you, Inspector.”

  “Would you care to explain why you didn’t want to speak to your father?”

  “Actually, no. I would not.”

  “Then let me phrase my request differently. What didn’t you wish to discuss with your father?”

  Fletcher rose from his desk and stood in front of a window. He kept his back to Will. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

  “No, Mr. Fletcher. I am not.”

  Fletcher turned. “Very well. But I consider this privileged information. You must swear not to make this information public.”

  “Come now, Mr. Fletcher. You know I’m bound to expose anything I feel necessary in order to keep our citizens safe.”

  Wesley Fletcher rubbed his jaw, then stepped toward his desk. “I say again that I am telling you this in confidence. You see, my father wants to have my brother committed.”

  Will raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “I guess I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  Wesley Fletcher sighed. “Most people don’t. My father felt it best for his career to keep that piece of information out of the purview of his congregants. My brother bears our mother’s maiden surname. So no, you wouldn’t know.”

  “What are his grounds?”

  Fletcher coughed. “He…that is, my brother has the mind of a schoolboy, though he’s thirty-five years old. He’s harmless, truly he is. But my father is convinced he’s going to run away, and we both know he’d die out there. I have a one-room flat. Taking in another mouth to feed and paying someone to oversee his activities would be a strain I’m not prepared to accept. Particularly because I truly believe he is in the best place possible for him. He’s happy. Productive. My father wants me to draw up the necessary documents for commitment. I felt he was going to press me for an answer on Sunday, so I avoided speaking with him. That’s all it was.”

  Will nodded. “No small matter, that. I can understand your quandary.” He rose to go, sensing he’d already pressed further than he had a right to. He shook Fletcher’s hand. “You’ll keep me posted if you feel you need any help with regard to your brother’s plight?”

  “I will, Inspector. Thank you very much.”

  Will turned to go, then stopped to ask one last question. “Do you mind telling me your brother’s name?”

  Fletcher hesitated, then with a sigh spoke the name. “My brother is Ralphy Weston.”

  Will paused for a heartbeat. He knew the name. Everyone knew the name. Buy why the good reverend felt the need to hide his paternity created a very interesting turn of events.

  “I see your dilemma. He seems a good sort.”

  “He is, Inspector. I can guarantee it.”

  “Then I shall keep your secret. Oh, one other question, if you would be so kind. Do you go to Elizabeth de Wolfe’s grave often, Mr. Fletcher?”

  He watched Fletcher slowly walk back to his desk. “Is following me part of your assignment?”

  “I wasn’t following you. I intended to go to Lizzy’s grave and found you already there.”

  “If you attended services regularly at St. Dunstan’s, you would know I visit Lizzy’s grave as often as I can,” he said when he was seated behind his desk. “I still miss her.”

  “Then we have that in common.” Will studied Wesley Fletcher for a few moments before he spoke. “Did you take her rejection badly, Mr. Fletcher?”

  Wesley Fletcher’s jaw dropped, then clamped shut. His reply came through closed teeth. “There was no rejection.” He rubbed a weary hand across his brow. “The morning Elizabeth died she accepted my proposal of marriage. It was…it was both the happiest and most wretched day of my life.”

  “But of course, you couldn’t have known of her death that same day, could you?”

  Fletcher gave Will a scathing look, as if he had just trampled on a prized bed of precious orchids.

  “Time is relative when you’ve suddenly lost something as precious as Lizzy. For me it has been two long, horrid, ghastly, devastating years. Are there any other wounds you’d care to open, Inspector?”

  “You mistake me, sir. I merely wished to be clear in my reporting. Now, since Lizzy’s death have you thought of anyone else who might be involved?”

  “No, Inspector, I haven’t.”

  Fletcher was brooding now, making it difficult to tell whether it was sorrow, anger, regret or wariness that hooded the man’s eyes.

  “Well, then.” Will said, turning once again to the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fletcher. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

  “I can’t imagine what more we might have to discuss, Inspector.”

  “One never knows what questions might arise,” Will said, then left Fletcher’s law office. He pitied Fletcher’s next client. Will had left the man in a very dark mood.

  The conversation he’d had with Fletcher continued to trouble him as he walked down the street. There was something about Fletcher that bothered him, and he didn’t know why it should, or what it might be—other than he was still the prime suspect in Lizzy’s death.

  A picture of Fletcher kneeling over Lizzy’s grave filled his mind. Fletcher seemed to have been in love with Lizzy. But none of her family had known of an engagement. At least, none had mentioned it. Was it grief that compelled him to visit her grave? Or a guilty conscience?

  Will was lost in thought as he walked onward. When he looked up, he was surprised at how near he was to Wattersfield Emporium. He crossed the street and walk into the shop, suddenly anxious to see Ginny. He found he missed her, and wanted to discuss his conversation with Fletcher with her. Perhaps he’d ask if she had a moment to walk with him. There was a pretty park just a few blocks u
p on Cornhill. They could go there to talk.

  He opened the door to the emporium and the bell above the door announced his arrival. The shop had several customers milling about, and both of her sisters were busy seeing to them. Ginny was the only one who wasn’t otherwise engaged. Will found his way to where she was rearranging a display of lace parasols.

  “Good morning, Miss Wattersfield.”

  “Inspector.”

  She smiled and his heart seemed to respond in a way that had become increasingly familiar of late.

  “You’re quite a distance from your office. Did you come to buy something for one of your cousins?”

  Will shook his head.

  “Ah. A lady friend, perhaps?”

  He chuckled. Was she just being cheeky? Whatever it was, he was gratified at the absence of any worry or guardedness in her eyes.

  “Not this morning. I’ve just been over to speak with Wesley Fletcher. I’m on my way back now and found myself near the emporium.”

  The smile left her face. “Was your talk with Mr. Fletcher productive?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looked around the shop and saw her sister Della finish a transaction and wrap a beaded handbag in brown paper and string. “Can you leave for an hour?”

  She nodded, then walked to where her elder sister stood behind the counter. After a few words, Ginny went to the back room and came out wearing her cloak.

  “Do you still think Wesley Fletcher is the most likely suspect responsible for your cousin’s death?” Ginny asked when they’d gone far enough from the main shopping area that the street was no longer as crowded.

  Will looped Ginny’s arm through his and walked at a slow, yet steady pace. They passed the small park he’d originally planned to stop in, having decided upon a more important destination. He hoped she hadn’t realized where they were going. At least not yet.

  “There’s much that indicates he had reason to be responsible, yet every instinct I rely on to help me solve a case tells me to keep looking.”