He said, “Do you know the name of the firm of solicitors in Ludlow?”
“No; I’m sorry. Rowena LaMont could tell you.” She hesitated, then pulled a face and added, “Although if you desire her cooperation, it might be best not to mention our meeting.”
“She didn’t approve of Emma’s decision to join you once she came of age?”
“Miss Lamont and I did not part under the most amiable of circumstances.”
Sebastian studied the schoolteacher’s pinched, tightly held face. “It was over Emma, was it?”
She hesitated, and he thought she meant to deny it. But then she nodded. “Fortunately, a cousin who’d died six months before had left me this cottage and some land I rent to a local farmer. So I had someplace to go. The worst part was leaving Emma.”
“When was this?”
“Two years ago. She asked if she could come to me when she turned twenty-one, and of course I said yes.”
“Did she know then about the inheritance?”
“She knew she would come into something, but she had no idea of the amount.”
“And Miss LaMont never said anything that might suggest who her family are?”
She frowned with thought. “I know Miss LaMont was extraordinarily impressed by them, whoever they are. Unfortunately, it somehow never translated into kindness to Emma. In fact, it was as if Rowena LaMont was determined to punish the child for the parents’ transgression. But she was always extraordinarily tight-lipped about their identity.”
Jane Owens was silent a moment. Then her eyes widened as if with a sudden thought. “Dear God. If that’s why Emma was in Ayleswick, could they have killed her? Her own family?”
Her gaze met Sebastian’s. He knew from the hopeful look in her eyes that she wanted him to tell her she was wrong.
Only, he couldn’t.
Chapter 30
Later that afternoon as the sunlight deepened to a rich golden hue and rooks swooped in to nest in the dense branches of the churchyard’s ancient elms and yews, Hero walked up the hill to Ayleswick’s sprawling vicarage and asked to see the Reverend’s wife.
“My dear Lady Devlin,” exclaimed Agnes Underwood some minutes later, hurrying into the parlor where Hero had been left waiting by the awestruck young housemaid. “My most sincere apologies for not coming sooner. But Bella—silly girl that she is—didn’t have the sense to interrupt when I was speaking to the butcher just now.”
“I do hope you didn’t break off your discussion with him on my account,” said Hero, gently disengaging her hands from Mrs. Underwood’s tenacious grip.
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing, believe me. Please have a seat, Lady Devlin. I’ve already sent Bella for tea and cakes, so it shan’t be but a moment.” Her hostess settled on an uncomfortable-looking settee and clasped her hands in her lap. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me more about the two young women who died in the village some ten or fifteen years ago.”
The smile slid off Agnes Underwood’s face. “The young women . . .” She pursed her lips and pulled her chin back against her neck like a turtle drawing into its shell. “Whatever for?”
“You said that at the time of their deaths it was believed the women committed suicide.”
The vicar’s wife clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disdain. “There is no greater sin against God than to take one’s own life.”
It was a sentiment that Hero had never been able to understand. How was it worse to take one’s own life than to steal the life of another? At least someone committing suicide had the permission of his or her victim. But she kept that thought to herself, saying simply, “Tell me about them.”
“Well . . . the first was Sybil Moss. Her father is a cottager on Lord Seaton’s estate. Quite the flighty little thing, she was. Beautiful, of course.” Agnes Underwood sniffed contemptuously. She was the kind of woman who considered beauty an outward sign of frivolity and actually saw her own plain features as a mark of her innate superiority. “Gave her notions far above her station, I’m afraid.”
“How old was she?”
“Fifteen or sixteen, I believe.”
“Was she seeing anyone in particular?”
“In particular?” Agnes huffed a scornful laugh. “As to that, I couldn’t say. But she certainly had half the men in the parish trotting after her like dogs after a bitch in heat. And not only the young ones, either, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh?” said Hero encouragingly.
The vicar’s wife leaned forward and dropped her voice. “It was quite the disgusting spectacle. Why, even Lord Seaton was falling all over himself, sniffing around the Moss cottage and—”
She broke off as the young housemaid, Bella, staggered in under a heavy silver tray loaded with teapot, cups and saucers, and plates of small cakes and biscuits.