Silence had descended on the carriage, the distress of the Risleys a palpable miasma following them. Lucas spent the time mulling. He was glad he’d come to Cheshire if he could help find justice for the young girls.
Presently, the carriage turned off the main thoroughfare and rocked gently down the long muddy lane towards the vicarage.
“Do you think it’s important? The ring?” Miss Trewent enquired.
“It’s possible the murderer could’ve taken it. It’s also possible she mislaid it in a ditch somewhere, but it’s worth pursuing. Tell me about Sir Hector. Stone doesn’t seem to like the man.”
Miss Trewent’s delicate fingers dipped into her reticule and drew forth a comfit. She must have noticed his eyes following the movement, as she offered him one. He leaned forward and plundered the bag, searching for a green.
She chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t like Sir Hector either. He’s a blustering bully of a man. I don’t know how his poor wife copes. He’s always sniffing after other women. He loves his dogs, but not the actual animals; he enjoys them for what they can do – hunt and kill.”
“Lots of men enjoy hunting.”
“I know and we live off venison. But I saw him once with a dead fox, and although I know they are a pest to the farms, I found his attitude…disgusting. I think he’s one of those people that likes to cower the weak, but stand up to him and he’d crumble. Do you know the type?”
Yes, he did. Occasionally, you met them in the army. Types that thought it was flashy to join up, who bullied the younger recruits and then hid behind them when they were in the firing line.
His tone sharpened. “Did he sniff after you?” If he’d touched Miss Trewent, he’d rip the magistrate’s ballocks off.
“Oh no. He found I had a very…sharp wit.” Lucas raised an eyebrow. “I carry a knife,” she explained. “Mrs Tadlow always said a girl should look after herself.” Suddenly, she looked away.
“Mrs Tadlow sounds like a sensible woman. A friend?”
“Y-yes. A deceased family friend.”
“Well, I’m glad, Miss Trewent, that you carry a weapon. I was going to ask, as apparently ’tis most improper for you to enjoy tramping in the woods alone.”
She smiled back at him and popped another comfit into her mouth.
They sat in the vicar’s parlour, awaiting tea…and the vicar.
The vicarage was a pretty place. Nestled in the side of a small hill, it was constructed mostly from timber with brick infill – a large building for one man.
The vicar, according to Miss Trewent, was a widower and had been given the church living seven years ago.
The man that finally entered was not what he’d expected. He was strong, wiry and probably only in his late forties. He was also quite tall with a shock of dark iron-grey hair.
“Miss Trewent, a pleasure as always.” The lady demurely lowered her lashes as the handsome vicar lightly pressed her hand and murmured his delight.
Lucas gritted his teeth.
At his own Helmdon estate, they had Vicar Daniels. A rosy-cheeked man of sixty-odd years, he pinched children’s faces and patted dogs’ heads; he enquired about Mrs Weatherby’s gout and soothed the bereaved – everything a clergyman should be.
“Thank you, Vicar. This is Major Lucas Mainwaring. He is here to assist Sir Hector in this awful matter.”
“Ah, good.” And the man turned to a now-standing Lucas.
He noticed two things as the vicar shook his hand. One was that the fellow had drunk liquor this morning and then tried to disguise it with mint, and secondly that his palms were calloused. They were working man’s hands, not the usual soft vicar-type.
“I hope you don’t mind a few questions. I am visiting the entire parish today, just to introduce myself and so forth.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. Dreadful business, absolutely dreadful. When Bridget was murdered, we thought it may be an outsider; there were some travelling gypsies camped nearby. But when Miss Risley was found.” The vicar shook his head. “Dreadful. I presume you have experience of these matters?”
“Did you know either girl well?” Lucas deliberately ignored the vicar’s question.
“Bridget came to church but I wouldn’t say I knew her well, purely as a shepherd to her lamb.”
Lucas felt uneasy, but he couldn’t say why – it could be the oily smile or the way he looked at Miss Trewent.
