The Vanishing Thief(78)

The church was on the edge of the village, a small, green, tree-shaded graveyard spreading out on two sides. Seeing no one about, I opened one of the heavy doors and walked into the sanctuary. It was beautiful, with stained glass sending sparks of color over the pews, rich cloths covering the carved stone altar, and shadowy corners.

The vicar came out from the side and said, “May I help you?”

“I was told Lady Margaret is here.”

“Yes, near the oak tree.”

“I didn’t see anyone outside.”

He gave me an odd little smile. “Her grave is there.”





Chapter Seventeen





I FELT, rather than heard, my gasp. None of the books on the peerage listed a date of death for Lady Margaret Ranleigh. “When did she die?”

“Nearly two years ago.”

“Quite suddenly?”





“It was an accident. Drowning.”

I lowered my head and said a silent prayer for this life cut short. Then I said, “Will you show me?”

He led me outside and walked slowly with me. Her grave was past the oak tree in the sunshine. Her gravestone was large, but it only said her name, her dates of birth and death, and Beloved sister.

“The duke must have been beside himself.”

“Yes.”

“Was he the one who found her?”

“He was in London. Took him until dawn the next day to return here after we sent the telegraph. He was on a borrowed horse, splattered with mud, and ready to fall out of the saddle he was so tired.”

I couldn’t picture the duke in that state. He must have been heartbroken. “Does he come back here often?”

“Once a quarter, to visit her and check on the estate.”

Her death changed everything I knew about the Duke of Blackford. He’d kept his sister’s death a secret in defiance of law and custom. Did he hold Nicholas Drake responsible? I could barely contain my excitement over this clue to our case and the duke’s mind, but there was one more thing I hoped to discover in this village. “Did you know Nicholas Drake? He was from here.”

“Before my time. I’ve only been here three years.”

“And the Carters?”

He pointed. “That’s their house over there. Second one from the end.”

“Thank you.” I started in that direction, but the vicar called after me.

When I turned, he said, “This is a close community. Don’t bring trouble from the outside world to their doors. Especially trouble that doesn’t concern them.”

The priest must have known Lady Margaret’s death was being kept secret from the outside world. I didn’t know why he’d gone along with what had to be the duke’s idea, but it didn’t matter. “What trouble could I bring here? I’m sure no one here cares about the records of the peerage.”

“Everyone is very loyal to the duke.”

With a nod, I walked to the small, two-story stone cottage so like its neighbors. At my knock, an old lady opened the stout door a few inches. The doorway felt so low I ducked slightly. “I’ve recently spoken to the Carters’ daughter Anne and would like to bring her greetings to her parents.”

The door opened wider. “I’m Mrs. Carter. Anne’s mother. Come in. You’ve seen Annie? How is she?”

There was a second door to enter, as low and thick as the first, and then I was in a dim parlor with lace curtains at the small windows, no fire in the fireplace, and stiff, uncomfortable-looking chairs.

When I opened my mouth to answer, she said, “No, wait. Sit down, please. I’ll fix tea and call Anne’s da.” She bustled out of the room. “Papa, come here, please,” she shouted to someone.

I sat, admiring the braided rug on the plank floor and wondering how long it would be until someone reappeared. And how long I could breathe the musty coal-fire smell in this chilly room without sneezing.

Finally, a man as ancient as the woman appeared and sat down across from me. “Ma says you’ve seen Annie.”

“Yes, she’s in good health and sends her greetings.”

“She shamed us, she did. Did she tell you about going to prison? And all because of that lout she married.” He stared fiercely through faded blue eyes set in leathery, wrinkled skin.

I stared back. “She’s still married to him. They’re in London.”

“As long as they don’t come back here.” He waved a hand and looked away.

The old woman returned carrying the tea tray. “Annie’s in London, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s there with Nicholas Drake, in good health and spirits.”

“I’m surprised she found him once she got out of prison. I would have thought he’d abandon her, him with his fancy ways,” the old man said.