Aurora by Joan Smith Page B

Dead drunk and walked into a pond.”
    “No, it can’t be that,” Rorie pointed out. “You must have met a more disgraceful end, or you would have been buried properly, with an announcement and funeral service and so on.”
    “How quick you are, Miss Falkner. And perfectly right, of course. I met with some disgracefully fitting end.”
    “She has dropped dark hints from the beginning that you performed acts too atrocious for us to hear about,” Marnie reminded him.
    “Suicide! She’s had you killing yourself,” Malone decided at once.
    “I wonder if that’s it. No—that isn’t bad enough for me. It was more likely justifiable killing. I was caught out in some beastly crime and it was necessary for one of them to do me in.”
    “A duel?” Rorie mentioned.
    “We’ll just have to wait and see what the carcass tells us,” Raiker said. “Do any of you happen to know where I am buried? I would like to pay my last respects to whatever remains of my mortal remains. I am in the family plot, Clare says.”
    “Oh, in that case, I think I know,” Marnie said. “There is an unmarked grave just at the very edge of the family plot. It has been there ever since I came to Kent with Bernard—a recent grave when first we came. We asked Clare about it, and she implied, though she didn’t actually say, that it was a stillborn child of one of the unmarried servant girls. The inference was that it was done up quietly to save the girl from public disgrace. It is rather a smallish grave, but would hold an adult I suppose. The corpse must be in a small box.”
    “I wonder if I got a coffin at all. A simple shroud to hasten my decay is more like it. Can you show me the spot, Marnie?”
    “I can’t leave at the moment. I am expecting Mr. Berrigan,” she explained with a becoming blush. “On business. He is helping me look about for a cottage, as you were kind enough to say, Kenelm, that you would help me a little in that respect, and I would not like to continue on here with Clare.”
    “I have been looking into a place for you myself, and thought you might be happy at Gypperfield’s place. It is up for sale, you know, and Dougall tells me it is quite a bargain.”
    “Gypperfield’s place! Oh, I could never afford it; it is much too grand.”
    “I told you I would look after you, my dear, and I don’t wish to see Bernard’s family in a cottage. Have Berrigan take you to Gypperfield’s. The agent—Hudson is his name—has the keys. He will be happy to take you through it. I told him we would probably be around to look it over.”
    “Oh, Kenelm! I hardly know what to say. It is finer than here. Ever so lovely. I would adore to have it.” Her eyes shone. “But are you sure you can afford it?”
    “Certainly. I didn’t quite sit on my thumbs while I was away, you know. Full of juice. There is plenty of money to be made in the east. Can you tell me exactly where the grave is? And I’ll go have a look by myself.”
    “Rorie—you know where it is. Why don’t you take Kenelm?” Marnie suggested.
    “Would you?” he asked, turning to her.
    “I would be happy to.” She was happier, more excited than a trip to a graveyard warranted, for this excuse to be walking with Raiker alone. Many times she had seen Lady Alice swaggering through the village on his arm, and had always felt a twinge of anger, jealousy, to see it. She felt in some unreasonable way that as she had seen him first, as a gypsy in the forest, she had a claim on him. She was nearly totally convinced now he was Kenelm, and indeed the neighbourhood at large no longer admitted of such question in the matter. In the interest of justice she did not completely close her mind, but if her mind still held a doubt, her heart had long since decided on his innocence.
    But as they went together, their talk was of a business nature. “Other than Clare’s little surprise, how did the questioning go?” she asked.
    “It was ridiculously easy. I had them all