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CHAPTER ONE
Clementine slowly lowered her sewing and stared at the visitor through the doorway of the sitting room. She pasted a polite expression on her face but was full of curiosity as she waited for her father to lead their unexpected arrival into the room. It was highly unusual for the vicar to call upon them at any time, especially since neither she nor her father went to church very much. What on earth might draw him to call upon them today was beyond her. Her curiosity swiftly turned to concern when she saw the grave look on his face, and she briefly wondered if he had come to impart some terrible news. His demeanour was brisk, almost jerky when he nodded at her before promptly dismissing her and turning to pierce her father, Cameron, with a worried look.
“Please forgive the intrusion,” he gasped breathlessly. “I know it is most unusual for me to call by like this, but I simply must speak with you.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear Reverend,” Cameron replied politely, urging the clergyman to sit down before he fell. He certainly looked as if he would if he remained upright any longer.
The reverend slumped into a chair with a dull thud. The rush of breath whooshing past his lips was heavy as the dark frown on his brow.
“How can I help you?” Cameron asked after a momentary pause to give the vicar the time to gather his thoughts and get his breath back. It was most concerning to see the usually cheery and unflappable clergyman so pale and shaken. “I say, have you run all the way here?”
Cameron slid a look at his daughter, who dropped her sewing back into the basket at her feet and came over to join them before the fire.
“Would you like a drink?” Clementine hesitated to ask.
“Yes, yes, I think I would,” the vicar mumbled somewhat absently, as if he knew he shouldn’t but felt he ought.
Seconds later, Clementine pressed a goblet of wine into his hand and perched cautiously on the edge of the chaise beside him. The vicar stared absently at it as he wandered through his own thoughts until he eventually seemed to realise where he was, and why he was there. His guilty expression was followed by a brief smile at Clementine, which flickered and disappeared again almost instantly. His worried gaze flew randomly around the room as if looking for inspiration.
“Reverend?” Cameron prompted.
“I am afraid I have some rather bad news,” the vicar announced, his usual unflappable manner having now vanished completely. Sliding the drink in his hands onto the small table beside him, he removed his handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a shaking hand.
Clementine’s brows rose when she saw the violent trembling of the man’s hand but struggled to find a way to console him seeing as she had no idea what was wrong.
“How may we help you?” she asked gently. “What’s happened?”
Reverend Ormstone looked contritely at her. “Oh, dear. It is so dreadful; such dreadful news, and about someone so young too.”
Cameron leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Even his brows had started to lower as his concern for the vicar, and this unnamed victim, grew.
Reverend Ormstone looked anxiously around the room again. “I have to prepare my sermon for evensong,” he muttered as if he would rather do that than tell them his dire news.
Clementine nodded, as if she was fully conversant with what this entailed. She shared a look at her father, and knew he was mentally shrugging at her. He had no clue what this was this was all about either.
“I am sorry. Did you say you had some bad news?” her father interrupted, wondering if the vicar had come to them for inspiration.
Reverend Ormstone slid a cautious look at Clementine. “Yes. Yes, I am afraid I have come to impart some bad news. It is most dreadful. Indeed, it is.”
Clementine, who was about to start screaming with frustration, heaved a sigh but forced herself to remain patient. The vicar was prevaricating so much she suspected that by the time he had delivered his bad news whatever crises had happened would have been dealt with.
“I am afraid that Mrs Walcott has been found dead this morning,” the clergyman suddenly burst out. Again, he yanked out his handkerchief and began to dab at the fresh sheen of sweat on his brow.
“I beg your pardon?” Cameron gaped at him. “Mrs Walcott? Sally?”
