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Ralph wound through the alleys that threaded through the village, looking for the address of Mrs. Elizabeth Rathborn. Lizzie. The woman who’d found the earl collapsed on the trail.
It seemed likely that if there was foul play, poison would be the cause. It was the only thing that explained why the man had set off for his walk without realizing he was ill. Fortunately for him, the Earl of Kinross had an excellent library full of several reference books and he’d come across a list of common symptoms associated with poisoning.
For a moment, his feet hesitated on the cobblestone. What were Wyatt, Priscilla, and Clara doing right now? He wished he could be there with them, with Clara on his arm.
He wished he could tell her the truth. He needed to complete this investigation so that he’d step into the earldom and then be the exact man who married a woman like her…
Should he tell her?
He’d been sworn to silence. But if he brought her into his confidence, then he could also explain his lie and the reason she should stay far away from Kinross. The man had been stuck to her side last night like he’d been forged to her by the blacksmith. It had rubbed Ralph all sorts of wrong.
He protected women like Clara. And Clara, in particular, he wished to keep from harm. How had she become the one person he felt as though she was being fed to the wolf? His hands clenched.
But if he could conduct these interviews, he might be able put this investigation to rest, and then he could tell her the truth.
All of it.
That got his feet moving again, as he found Lizzie Rathborn’s home, tucked in a row of small houses.
He knocked on the door, nothing but silence greeting his request.
Again he knocked, shifting his weight. But it still didn’t open, instead the one to the left did. “Hello,” an older woman called.
“Hello,” he answered. “I’m looking for Missus Rathborn.”
“Gone,” the woman replied. “Went to see her sister. Won’t be back until next week.”
Damn. Next week was no good. “Thank you kindly,” he said as he looked down at the paper in his hand with the doctor’s address. His next stop. Hopefully, that man would have all the information he’d need.
“Should I give her a message?” the woman asked as he turned away.
Looking back, he shook his head. “No, thank you.” It was rude of him not to at least leave his name, but this was a secret investigation, after all. One he didn’t think he was likely to complete.
What would that mean for Clara? His feet picked up speed at the thought of her marrying a man like Kinross. Well, suspected man like Kinross. His only confirmed crime was being a selfish ass.
Ralph had noted the way he and Clara only ever spoke of the earl. His wants, his needs, his feelings, his fears. Didn’t Kinross realize Clara was special enough that she deserved a man to worship her?
He growled out his frustration. Arriving at the doctor’s surgery, that feeling was only amplified when he realized the doctor was attending a deathbed and would not return for several hours.
“I’m sorry.” His assistant shrugged. “I don’t know when he’ll return.”
Ralph shifted. He didn’t wish to leave a name, but Clara’s image rose in his thoughts again. He had a real reason to solve this crime now. Clara. Her future depended on it. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the seal. “I need some information from him when he returns.”
The man’s eyes widened. “What sort of information?”
“About the death of the Earl of Kinross.”
Twenty minutes later, Ralph made his way back toward the center of the village, wondering where Wyatt, Priscilla, and Clara might be now. He’d played his largest card, furnishing that seal, and it was likely that word would get back to the earl. Everyone in this village owed some level of loyalty to Kinross. He likely should go back to the house and question the earl one more time before word of what Ralph was doing got back to the man. But he had a powerful urge to see Clara first.
And fortunately for him, he caught sight of them making their way into the local inn and tavern. Clara followed behind Wyatt and Priscilla, her head hung low.
He started after them, intent upon joining them for the meal at least and preparing an answer for what he’d been about. He’d need better answers than he’d had in the carriage. His walk slowed. What had he been doing this morning? He hated to lie.
He’d tried the doctor… That was the truth. And he had a sore knee thanks to pushing that carriage out of the mud. Granted, he’d never see the doctor for such a thing, but neither was that a lie.
He blew out a breath, considering telling her the whole truth. He’d been listening to Clara for days. She was a good woman with a solid head on her shoulders. She’d understand. Wouldn’t she?
But he stopped as he watched five men enter the inn after Clara.
Two of them visibly stumbled. How could they be drunk at two in the afternoon? Very easily, he amended as one pushed another, the first yelling out his dissent.
Ralph picked up the pace. While drunk men didn’t mean anything in particular, trouble frequently followed.
