Page 8 of The Case of the Curate

Kemp opened and closed his mouth with alarm, no doubt worried about his master’s reaction, but Kate was already hustling the magistrate across the hall to the closed orangery doors. Mr. Remington opened them, bowed her inside, and closed the doors behind them. As though he heard the sounds, Chadbon called from outside, and Remington strode across the orangery and out into the garden.

Kate followed, trying to look inconspicuous.

“Dear me, dear me,” Remington said. “What a shocking thing! One of yours, Chadbon?”

“Yes, one of ours.”

“Any idea what happened?” Remington asked, bending to look at the body.

“None.”

Rupert still sat where Kate had last seen him, so she slipped onto the bench next to him. He turned his head and blinked. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should she. They’re going to cover it up, Rupe.”

Too late—as his gaze clashed with hers, she saw the turbulence in his eyes, the grief and anger that was not remotely abstract. All the breath fled from her body.

He knows her. This hurts him…

In more ways than one…

“Who found her?” the magistrate asked Chadbon.

Chadbon nodded directly at Rupert. “He did. Fell over her and called out for help.”

Remington straightened with an effort and fixed Rupert with a scowl. “You’re Bancroft’s new fellow, aren’t you? The curate?”

“Grande,” Rupert said.

“What?” Remington scowled, as though suspecting him of some kind of impudence or mockery.

“My name,” Rupert said mildly, “is Grande. I am indeed Mr. Bancroft’s curate.”

“Then what the devil are you doing here?”

“We invited him for dinner,” Chadbon murmured. “Though to be sure, I thought he’d gone. What were you still doing here, Grande?”

The truth struck Kate like a blow. He hadn’t been waiting in the orangery for her but for Dinah. Of course. He was a rake, a womanizer who had never taken his vows of ordination remotely seriously…

Oh, Rupert, what have you done?

“Pastoral care,” Rupert said. Kate remembered him like this, making flippant, even witty comments while his mind was busy on something else entirely. In this case, he seemed to become aware that something more was required of him, for he stirred and added, “Dinah asked for my help.”

“With what?” Chadbon demanded.

“The matter was private.”

“She’s dead!” Chadbon exploded. “There is no privacy, so for God’s sake—”

“We’ll get to that, my lord,” Remington interrupted. “Is this how you found her, Grande?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t move the body?”

Rupert shook his head.

“At what time,” the magistrate demanded, “did you find her?”