“I know. It took effort to grab at something to break her fall. There are several bushes protruding out of the rocks there. She must have landed on the bushes and managed to grab one.”
She ran her tongue over her dry lips, trying desperately to keep hold of herself. Her aunt Ellie didn’t need her weeping all over the ground; she needed someone to find out who had killed her. “That means, then, that she was still alive when she was pushed over and tried to save herself.”
“Yes, it seems likely. But she was very weak. I don’t think she suffered long, Caroline.”
She was silent a moment, the words stuck in her throat. Finally, she said, “I must know, North. How did she die, exactly?”
“She was stabbed in the back.”
“Who could have done such a thing? I mean, there’s Mr. Ffalkes and he’s a bad man, a desperate man, but even he wouldn’t stab someone in the back and shove them over a cliff—that’s evil, North.”
“Evil,” he repeated quietly. “Random evil or a great hatred or simple greed, Caroline.”
“Do you think anyone could have hated my aunt that much?”
“I don’t know. As for greed, you are the heir, Caroline, so that isn’t the answer. You weren’t here.”
“Evil,” she said. “Great evil.”
He frowned down at her for a moment, then said, “I’ve hired a local man to help me. Oddly enough, he’s a former pickpocket, but a smart fellow nonetheless. Sir Rafael Carstairs, a former ship captain and now a neighbor, swears by him, told me he helped him solve a mystery down near St. Austell and saved his hide as well. You’ll like him—his name is Flash Savory.”
“Flash, I assume, refers to the speed with which he picked pockets?”
“I would imagine so.”
She looked back out over the sea. “Dr. Treath was very fond of my aunt.”
“Yes, when I rode to see him immediately after I found your aunt, he was in shock, his grief palpable. I felt very sorry for him. His sister, Bess, has been taking very good care of him, I hear.”
“Here’s something you’ll not credit. Bennett Penrose told me my aunt was a strumpet and that she’d probably even had Mr. Brogan for a lover so he’d cook up a fake will.”
“A wastrel’s disappointment. Do you think he’ll cause trouble?”
“I don’t know. Right now he simply can’t credit what Aunt Eleanor has requested that he and I do together.”
“And what is that?”
“We’re to be the trustees of Scrilady Hall, a refuge for pregnant unwed girls.”
“Oh my God.” He stared down at her, both appalled and fascinated.
“Well, yes, it’s difficult, but there it is. There are currently three girls in this condition, living in St. Agnes, under the vicar’s eye.”
“I’ll wager that old fool thinks they’ll go out and corrupt the village.”
“I haven’t yet met Mr. Plumberry. Is he truly a fool?”
“You should have heard his eulogy for your aunt. If there were ghosts, then your aunt will come back and give him endless grief. He said things like… ‘Even though she was a lady, she was still an endearing creature. Even though she took in loose and worthless females, she still had a kindness that couldn’t be dismissed.”’
“I will stuff his scepter down his throat.”
To North’s surprise, he laughed. “The scepter is quite large.”
“It sounds like his mouth is even larger.”
“I still can’t get over your aunt asking you—who are barely nineteen—to be in charge of pregnant girls.”
“Evidently they’re not just any pregnant unwed girls. They’re girls who were seduced or raped by their employers. Girls with no father or brother to protect them are very vulnerable, North. And when the family is poor, I imagine protection is but a word bandied about, with no real meaning.”