Page 19 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“You were joking!” Hopefully. “Good Gad, Verity. You realize, I presume, that you are absolutely mad.”

“I thought you were in need of cheering up.”

“So of course your thoughts went to murder.” Nathan grinned.

“It distracted you, didn’t it?”

Nathan thought how very much he would like to pull her to him and kiss her. Instead he said grumpily, “Do you always go about carrying a knife?”

“Usually.”

“You had one the other night? At Arden’s party?”

She nodded. “Though I had to strap it to my calf. The dress didn’t allow for much concealment.”

“That’s the truth.” His blood flooded with heat at the memory of her low-cut gown and bare arms. He scrambled to distract his thoughts. “Are you always in danger?”

“No. I very rarely have to use it. But I find it’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.”

Nathan had not been involved in Verity’s world long enough to fully understand it, yet he had to admit what she said made a certain sense.

When they reached Clerkenwell Green, the driver stopped to ask a passerby for the directions to the church. The man looked back at him in surprise. “Saint Agatha’s?”

“Yes. Saint Agatha’s, the church,” Verity leaned out the window and added.

This caused the man to turn his head toward her and then whip off his cap and begin to stutter. Nathan sympathized.

Finally the man burst out, “It’s down the road past that alehouse and turn to the right. At the end of the lane. But you’ll not have any luck there. The church burned down, oh, two or three months ago.”

“Thank you,” Verity almost purred. She settled back in her seat, turning to Nathan with a satisfied smile. “I think we’ve discovered why Malcolm Douglas chose this church.”

The blackened stones still stood, but the inside had been gutted by fire. There was a cemetery beside the rubble, and a man with the collar of an Anglican priest was occupied with pulling up weeds from around the graves. He straightened and smiled when they approached.

“I am sorry to hear about your church,” Nathan began.

“Ah, yes, it was a terrible thing. They had to pull down the manse to keep it from spreading to the other houses.” He gestured toward a ruin beyond the church. “It will be a good while until it’s rebuilt.”

“Did anything inside escape the blaze?” Verity asked. “Were you able to save the church’s records?”

“No.” The man sighed deeply. “It happened in the middle of the night, and by the time I realized it was on fire, it was too late. Everything in the vestry and the office—the chalices, the candles, the vestments—all burned. They can be replaced but the records cannot. All that history lost.”

“What started the fire?” Verity asked. “Was it set?”

“On purpose, you mean?” The priest stared at her, shocked. “No, of course not. I mean, well, we’re not sure what caused it. But why would anyone set a church afire?”

“No doubt you’re right,” Nathan said soothingly. “Thank you. We won’t bother you any further.” They left the man frowning at the building.

“I knew it!” Verity declared triumphantly as they climbed back into the carriage. “Douglas made sure we couldn’t disprove his story.”

“Burning down the church seems a bit extreme.” But Nathan couldn’t help but smile at Verity. He felt elated, too. Surely this meant Malcolm’s story wasn’t true.

“Perhaps he had nothing to do with the fire, he just looked for a church that suited his needs.”

“I still don’t understand what he hopes to do. He has no proof,” Nathan said. “Even if his story were true, if my father really had married his mother, the record of it is gone.”

“He could still sue. His mother could testify. Perhaps they could bring in a false witness to the ceremony.”

“But the vicar who performed the ceremony...”