Page 97 of The Case of the Curate

But even that was unfair, Rupert acknowledged as the pair left the room together. Ambrose had only seen Kate hurling herself at an apparently frail older lady, the sister of a respected parliamentary colleague. He would not have seen the gun at first, wouldn’t have understood the reasons behind his wife’s attack.

In fact, now that Rupert thought of it, the whole scene was pretty funny. Yet as Kate took her husband’s arm and walked toward the door, asking lots of bright, interested questions, her entire attention on him, Rupert did not laugh. Not even at Salter still leaning through the open window.

Was Kate placating Ambrose? Or was she just overjoyed to see her beloved husband? Certainly she did not glance back even once as she left the room.

Rupert found himself rubbing absently at his chest, as though at some pain. Surprised, he dropped his hand and moved toward Salter.

“Thank you, sergeant,” he said. “You’d have been spot-on if they hadn’t moved.”

“She—Lady Kate—came out of nowhere. I could have killed her.”

Was that a tremor in Salter’s one hand? Rupert gripped his shoulder briefly. “You didn’t. She took us all by surprise, including Miss Nye! She does that. Give me five minutes and we’ll head back to the vicarage. You’ve earned your supper tonight.”

Although Salter’s eyes were still troubled, he raised a grin, ducked back out of the window, and closed the sash.

Chadbon appeared beside Rupert and deliberately locked the window. He blinked at the hole in the glass.

“It was only for this one hour,” Rupert said apologetically. “I might have needed Salter’s help.”

“You trust him that much?”

Rupert didn’t point out that the country had been content enough to trust him and his ilk through decades of war, but Chadbon seemed to grasp the matter anyway, for he gave a slightly embarrassed cough.

“You’re an odd fellow, Grande, but we all have cause to be grateful to you. Except poor old Nye, possibly… Though if Sophie is indeed mad, I suppose this is the best for him, too. And for her. Only…will you explain what happened here? Why the devil should she have murdered our housemaid?”

Rupert explained in a few succinct sentences, which had Chadbon’s jaw dropping.

“Good God.”

“Nye will see that she is confined, won’t he?” Rupert asked, holding the older man’s gaze.

“What? Oh yes. I’ll make sure of it. But he’s not a bad fellow, Nye—wouldn’t have his sister on the loose with murderous intent, you know.”

Again, Rupert refrained from pointing out that was exactly what had been happening.

He picked his hat off the slightly worn sofa nearby. “Well, sir, I really will get out of your hair this time. I know I should have informed you in advance of all this, but we didn’t find the evidence in time.”

Speculation entered Chadbon’s intelligent eyes, and Rupert braced to be asked questions about how the evidence had come to light. He couldn’t land Kate in such a breach of hospitality as searching a fellow guest’s bedchamber.

But in the end, Chadbon surprised him by thrusting out his hand. “Goodnight, Grande. You take all our thanks with you. I hope we’ll see much more of you.”

Rupert shook his hand with great amiability and left him to go in search of Salter.

*

Gilbert closed the bedchamber door with a snap and spoke with exaggerated patience.

“What the devil has been going on here, Kate?”

She told him the whole story, without embellishment. He listened with growing alarm and astonishment. Occasionally he groaned.

“But none of that was any of your business!”

Kate rarely argued with her husband, mostly because she always tried to see his point of view—which was generally reasonable. But at this remark, she could not be silent.

“Not my business? You mean the injustice of arresting an innocent man, or my own attempted murder?”

At least he had the grace to look discomfited. “I meant only that you are neither host nor magistrate. And you would not have been shot at had you left the matter to them.”