Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(80)

Clara wiped away tears of mirth. “I would have given anything to see her face.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll offend someone else again soon, with you on hand to witness it. That’s typical Angelika.”

“A penny and some dung was too generous for that woman,” Will said from his armchair. He was not served beef stew, and had only picked at the vegetable pasty that Mrs. Rumsfield had made for him. Christopher still found his dietary choices deeply odd, judging by how many times he glanced at the plate.

Saying the name Father Arlo Northcott aloud had not jolted Will back into himself, if that was indeed his identity. He was still the same person she had rode to the village with, and on the ride home he was quiet, and also empty-handed. He had found nothing in the office. Overtired and pale, he had returned to his cottage alone, only reemerging for supper.

They had agreed to keep it a secret for now, given the presence of Christopher and Clara. But Angelika wondered if she could make use of her well-connected source right here and now—discreetly, of course.

“Christopher, did you hear about the new priest who was killed on his way to this parish? Father Porter told me about it. What a shame.”

“It was my second troop that found him,” Christopher said, using what Angelika now thought of as his Commander Voice. “Terrible business. The horses were cut loose, drivers killed, carriage ransacked, and Father Northcott was left for dead. He was too thirsty and feverish to last much longer.” It was a strong, dramatic retelling; it was no wonder Lizzie was taking notes, and Clara turned the page to begin a new sketch.

“How long do you think he remained in the carriage?” Will asked faintly.

“Judging by the, er, condition of the drivers, the priest had lived for a number of days after they were killed.”

Will did his best to mask his feelings. “Why didn’t he break free?”

“The carriage had been tipped over. It slid down the ravine upside down and was pinned against one of those big yew trees. The windows were too small to ever climb out of. But I’m told he tried so hard to kick out, the sole was off the bottom of his boot.” Christopher’s voice rang with admiration.

“A fighter,” Angelika observed.

The pieces fit too well. Charity-minded. Always providing good, character-building advice. Uncomfortable in confined spaces, like during the carriage ride to the academy. Stubborn, and with an exceptional will to live. So uncommonly devout and abstinent, he felt he was unable to ever, ever wed her, let alone bed her. When she looked at Edwin, she swore the baby winked at her.

Christopher was on to Will. “Do you ask so many questions because you think you may be connected?” He assessed him for a beat. “You’d make a fine footman.”

“The timeframe fits well,” Will admitted.

“Nobody made it out of that alive. Trust me on that.” Christopher finished his wine in a large swallow. Will was brooding into the fire. Edwin was tinkering with Victor’s boot buckle and hoping for his attention.

Clara asked as she continued to draw, “Why would someone do this to a Christian man?”

Christopher explained, “A priest traveling to his new parish would be carrying a great deal of personal effects. Cash, jewelry, clothing, books, plus the extra security would have flagged it as a lucrative prospect. One of the drivers could have been in on it, judging by the strange route they took into the village.”

Now he gave Will a stare.

“I don’t feel safe living in this village anymore,” Clara said quietly. Her pencil strokes slowed, and shyly, she displayed her page to the room: a steep incline, the shape of an upturned carriage, and the trunk of a tree. Everything was rendered quickly, but somehow captured the desolation of the moment. Her skill in one minute of work was astounding.

“Very good,” Angelika praised her. “I want you to fill that book.” She regretted her thoughtlessness when she saw Will turn his face away from it.

Christopher patted Clara’s knee. “I must say, I’m glad you’ve decided to live up here. The villagers are growing desperate, and food is in short supply. I’m even wondering if it was our big forest monster who caused this tragedy.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” Victor said out of nowhere as he laid his spoon down at last.

“Vic,” Lizzie gasped. “What a thing to say.”

“That’s horrible,” Angelika hissed at him. “Victor, I cannot believe you.”

He was defiant. “I’m just saying, maybe there are no more vacancies for talentless men who care more for marble than their parishioners. They all need to get a real job.”

“You have no idea if he was like that.” Angelika resisted the strong urge to look at Will, but she felt his helpless anger. “You simplify things in a way you should be ashamed of, Victor.”

“And I’m saying, just among friends, that if I had my way, they’d all be tossed out into the street with nothing, so they could experience what their worshippers endure.” Victor was stroking his fingers through Lizzie’s shiny black hair, and nobody but Angelika noticed how Will’s hands were clenched with the effort of staying silent.

That reminded her. “Are your knuckles sore? I am not the only one who did a little rescuing today. Will saved some poor woman from a beating.”