Victor was scornful. “Marble? What does he want with that?”
“He’d like white marble for the altar, to give it a fresh new look. And his Italian artist friend needs to come for a working holiday, to touch up Christ’s eyeballs.” The word artist inspired Angelika to reach over to the bookcase for a blank journal. Wordlessly, she passed it up to Clara, Lizzie passed her a pencil, and after a minute, the young widow took the hint, and began to sketch.
“He can keep dreaming,” Victor said. “If he says it’s a choice between marrying there or not at all, I’m sorry, Lizzie, but we’re having a bastard.”
She did not laugh, and the entire room went silent.
“What grand adventures you have had today, Angelika,” Clara said to break the tension after processing that statement. “Tell me again what you told Mrs. Winchester. The part with the penny.”
Angelika grinned up from the carpet and mimed flipping a coin. “‘Invest in a new attitude.’ I forgot to tell you this part: at the same moment, Percy grunted out some dung on her doorstep. It was the best moment of my entire life.”
“What a frightfully good line,” Lizzie said, writing in her IDEAS FOR PLAYS notebook. “I’m stealing it.”
“I’m happy to be a muse.” Angelika patted the floor and Edwin came scuttling back, quick as a crab, his blue eyes bright.
She was wrong. This was the very best moment of her entire life.
She was surrounded by her friends, full of good food, warm from the fire, and a baby was pulling her hair. Sitting in the church pew today had reminded her to notice every moment with those she loved, no matter how mundane.
She looked up at Will. He was withdrawn and rattled by the day’s events, but oh, to witness the firelight in those eyes was an honor. The entire moment was unforgettable. If only Victor would start to think this way. He was blithely unaware of Edwin’s presence, and equally unaware of how much it must hurt Lizzie.
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.