Page 32 of The Case of the Curate

“Ouch,” Rupert said.

“Tell me about Dinah. Did you really meet her in a public house?”

“Yes. We had a good time together whenever she could get away.”

Something twisted inside her. She ignored it. “Did Dinah think you would marry her?”

“Lord, no. To be fair, she wasn’t unrealistic enough to expect me to. She just liked to…live.”

The muscles of his throat worked, and she remembered his odd manner on the night of the murder. He hadn’t just been shocked. He had been grieved.

“Did you go to Brussels to forget her?” she asked suddenly.

He didn’t have to think about that. “Of course not. I went for a laugh. And to avoid my father, who was trying to set up a meeting for me with the archbishop.” His smile faded, leaving his eyes distant, almost desolate.

She leaned her forehead against the bars. “What happened in Brussels?”

“Waterloo.” He sounded surprised. “It was only a few miles away, you know. I never knew such suffering was possible.”

He wasn’t looking at her but at his hands—and seeing something else entirely. Something she could never imagine, and he would never tell her. And yet she began to understand.

On impulse, she reached through the bars and touched his hand. “That is how you found your vocation?”

He glanced up. “I’m not sure you could call it anything so grand as a vocation. But I made a difference to the dying and it was worth doing.”

I don’t like death.

No wonder, Kate thought. “Did they all die?”

“A horrific number. But no, not all.” He swallowed again and looked away. “Some needed help to get through the next few hours, or days, and that too was worth doing. I’m still not a good man, but I feel I could be. I want to be.”

Even as she feared he was pulling away from her, his hand turned beneath her fingers and grasped them. “I didn’t kill Dinah, and I’m not the father of her child. I didn’t love her, but I did like her a lot and I wanted to help.”

She tightened her fingers around his. “Then help me find her killer. Who is the father of her child?”

In the candlelight, his eyes seemed luminescent as they stared into hers. “No one must know.”

“Unless he killed her.”

Rupert nodded, as though it were a deal. “Christoper Carver, the squire’s son.”

Kate raised her head from the bars and whistled in an unladylike fashion. “No, he wouldn’t marry her, would he? Did he know about the child?”

“She said not, that there was no point telling him because his family wouldn’t let him marry her anyway. He’s engaged already to the daughter of another wealthy farmer—Elizabeth Gibb over at Tetley Hall. None of that really helps us, though, does it? Neither the Carvers nor the Gibbs were anywhere near Chadbon Court, and I’m dashed if I can see a way—or a reason—for any of them to kill Dinah.”

“That’s another thing,” Kate said. “Since the dagger was Chadbon’s, whoever killed her must have had taken it from his study at some point. I suppose I should talk to him about anyone other than his current guests who were in there recently. I’ve also been trying to work out which of the guests left the drawing room after you did and might have had time to kill Dinah.”

“Who did?” he asked.

“Nye. Otteridge. Newman. Nye’s sister. I haven’t been able to speak to them alone yet—I’ll need to nab them at breakfast, for they’re all due to leave tomorrow morning.”

“So are you, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’ve agreed with Lord Chadbon that I’m allowed to stay on and make discreet inquiries—on the understanding that I don’t make matters worse for him and his guests. I don’t suppose you’ve met Chadbon’s son?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“He bothered the maids when he lived with his parents. I’m wondering if Dinah was one of them, and if she tried to threaten him, or Lord or Lady Chadbon through him…”