“Not even from Peregrine Mortimer?”
“Ah, well, that’s probably jealousy on Perry’s part, and Perry doesn’t live here officially. He is a mere visitor and doesn’t appreciate Ogden’s value to the village. Perry judges a little too much by appearance.”
Constance certainly agreed with that. “What is he jealous of?”
The vicar smiled. “Now thatwouldbe gossip!”
“Sir, our confidentiality is as rigid as your own,” Solomon said with one of his rare hints of hauteur. “It has to be.”
For the first time, the vicar looked uncomfortable. Constance couldn’t work out if that was in his favor.
“Mr. Mortimer admires Miss Chadwick,” he said at last. “And as a suitor, he is favored by her parents. Well, he is heir to Mortimer Manor, besides being a handsome and charming fellow. Sophie, however, appears to prefer the company of Mr. Ogden.”
And who could blame her?“I see…” Pushing that aside for future mulling, Constance moved on. “One thing that struck us is the simplicity of the letters’ language, and the way they are formed. Could this simply be children’s mischief? They might not fully understand the kind of trouble they are causing. There is a certain childishness about the accusations.”
Mr. Raeburn’s jaw dropped. “Children?I hardly think…” He broke off, his expression momentarily unguarded and yetunreadable. “But the letters are sent to adults, not other children. So far as I know.”
“Do all the children play together?” Solomon asked. “Or do their friendships tend to separate along class lines?”
“I hardly—”
“From your experience, of course,” Constance added. “Who are your children’s friends? Do they go out and play all together?”
“They play more according to age,” he said. “My eldest son is friends with Edgar Chadwick and the oldest Dickie boy, among others. But they don’t get up to mischief.”
“Then they were not among those Mr. Nolan had to chase away from the forge a few weeks ago?” Solomon asked, although he knew from Nolan that at least some of them were.
The vicar closed his mouth. “Perhaps you should be talking to my wife. She has more to do with the children, while my vocation—”
“Of course,” Constance said. She was eager to meet Mrs. Raeburn.
*
Mrs. Abigail Raeburnwas also eager to meet her husband’s visitors. She had seen them arrive from an upstairs window and knew at once who they were. Strangers in Sutton May tended to stand out, and in this case, the couple were both attractive and almost exotic.
Even looking down from the window, Abigail could see Mrs. Silver’s beauty—in fact, she was, possibly, the most beautiful woman Abigail had ever seen, which made the woman inherently untrustworthy in her eyes. None of the men would be safe.
As for her companion, he was too dark complexioned to be a proper English gentleman. He might have lived abroad, of course, and he certainly walked with all the elegance and self-confidence of royalty, so she would defer judgment. Surely Luke would bring them to meet her for morning tea?
Which meant she had little time to change…
She wore the new gown, which, though of muted colors, as suited a vicar’s wife, she knew to be flattering. Perhaps it would make the Silver woman feel overdressed for the country.
Abigail knew—as most of the village knew—that they were looking into the anonymous letter received by Emmeline Chadwick. Not that Emmeline wanted anyone to know. No wonder. She liked to play the good doctor’s wife to the point of martyrdom, did Emmeline, but the woman clearly had feet of clay. She was a little too free with her opinions at the Christian Women’s Circle and tended to forget the natural order of precedence. Even Hannah Jenson, the old biddy who thought her connection to the Mortimers gave her special privileges, had had to put Emmeline in her place.
And goodness, only think how impossible the woman would be if her even more opinionated daughter actually married Perry Mortimer! She would be lording it over everyone! By far the best match for Perry—should he wish to choose a local girl—would be found in the vicar’s family. In a few years, of course, when Perry was ready to settle down. He and her own daughter Bessie were of the same class, at least. No matter what the Chadwicks thought, a country doctor wasnota true gentleman.
Not that she had anything against Chadwick. He was a good doctor, and he worked hard. But he let the women of his family too much into his inherently unladylike profession. Even Sophie. One shuddered to think of an unmarried girl attending lyings-in and grisly injuries…
Abigail shuddered and examined her reflection in the glass, patting her hair in a satisfied manner. Still no gray strands there. Whenever there were, she pulled them out at the roots. It was not vanity, of course—she merely had a certain position of respect to maintain as the vicar’s wife.
She went downstairs to the parlor, most curious now to meet Luke’s guests. What on earth could they be talking about for so long?
Oh, the letters, of course. She rang the bell and Alice the maid appeared quickly, drying her hands on her apron. “Tea, ma’am?” she asked cheerfully.
“Indeed. Inform Mr. Raeburn in his study, and make sure his guests know they are invited. Oh, and give the fire a poke, would you? It feels cold in here.”
“I’ll put another log on,” the girl said.
