Page 81 of The Case of the Curate

Rupert materialized by her side.

“Be careful,” he breathed. “He could be our man. He’s violent.”

And then he was gone again, with Mrs. Otteridge on his arm, and she had to smile at Otteridge, now offering his arm to her, while shock and speculation sped through her mind like flashes of a dream.

Chapter Sixteen

Part of Rupert wanted to break up the party by punching Otteridge to the ground and riding away with Kate across his saddlebow for her own safety. For it seemed the vicar was correct: Jane Otteridge was no stranger to her husband’s “discipline.” Rupert hadn’t expected to get the truth out of her so quickly—such confidences were always hemmed in with loyalty and shame as well as fear. Which was how Otteridge could play the genial man of morals in public and unleash his temper in private. Of course he insulted his wife in other ways too, most notably while “admiring” other women, her euphemism for adultery.

She claimed she had never told anyone before, and Rupert suspected her confidences now were more the result of unbearable nerves than his own skill as an understanding clergyman. Almost as though she, too, suspected her husband of more than infidelity…

“Do you think he admired the pretty maid who was here the last time I dined at the court?” he asked quietly as they progressed into the dining room.

“Of course he did!” Jane scoffed. “And Lady Ambrose, too.” Color flooded her face. “I’m sure he never caused the girl’s collapse, however.”

“She is not here anymore,” Rupert pointed out.

“I noticed that. Either Lady Chadbon dismissed her or is hiding her away.”

Dwelling on her own considerable misfortunes, Jane appeared not to consider anyone else’s. And he thought her ignorance of Dinah’s death was genuine. “When did you retire last night, might I ask?”

“Early,” she said, looking bewildered. “I find cards as dull as endless politics, so I went to bed.”

“Your husband did not accompany you?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t see him after that until morning. Except at a distance.” Her lip quivered. “From the window. He was with Lady Ambrose.”

“Ah. You were disturbed by the broken glass?”

Her lips thinned. “She has no reason to look at him. What is he thinking of?”

Rupert doubted the man had ever looked at anyone or anything from any other point of view but his own. He found their seats and held Jane’s chair for her, waiting until she was settled before he murmured, “I don’t suppose you saw anyone else from your window at the same time?”

She flapped her napkin with unnecessary force. “Only Kemp. They all went inside, and I returned to bed. I so want to leave this place.”

Rupert almost encouraged her to leave her husband, live a discreetly independent life. But he had no idea of their financial situation, and it was hardly a move the church would endorse. Like the men who ran it, the Church of England was not without its faults.

“You don’t enjoy these political parties?” he said now, feeling his way.

She sighed. “I suppose I have become bored by politics. When I was young, I was at least useful decoration. Now I’m here merely as a potential excuse so that Marcus doesn’t need to talk to Nye!” She flushed, casting a quick, hunted look up and down the table to be sure no one had overheard. “Please forget I said that. It was quite uncalled for.”

He smiled. Across the table, Kate sat beside Nye, chatting and smiling in her usual style, though surely there was something just a little tense about her posture, the curve of her neck? “I always respect confidences, ma’am. Why doesn’t your husband like Sir Colin?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say he dislikes him,” Jane said quickly. “He merely considers him…bad luck.”

Rupert blinked. “Bad luck? Why?” Nye was a respected member of Parliament who periodically held junior posts in government. Winster had praised him in the past.

Jane waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, some female they both pursued in their youth. She died. So did Nye’s wife. And then, later, his betrothed before she could become his second wife. It is all superstition on Marcus’s part, though I suppose we have to allow that Sir Colin has endured more than his fair share of ill fortune. The condition is hardly catching.”

Excitement surged through Rupert. Nye? Was there something to investigate there? Kate had mentioned the possibility of political sabotage, although killing someone for such reasons smacked of madness. But Nye, the Tory, could be pretending friendliness and causing scandal to discredit Chadbon and the Whigs—who, perhaps, they feared increasingly, given the unrest in the country and the unpopularity of the regent and his Tory support…

Nye had been out of the drawing room around the time Dinah must have been murdered. He had not been asleep in the library the whole evening when Kate had been shot, and one of his windows overlooked the side door. Or he could easily have been outside. What a shame Kate couldn’t have inspected everyone’s shoes last night…

Shoes. Who cleans the shoes?

Rupert needed to speak to the boot boy.

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