Free The Grub-And-Stakers Quilt a Bee by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig

Peregrine up for money.”
    “Um ah. How much money?”
    “Surely you don’t think Mrs. Fairfield would have been vulgar enough to tell me? She apologized afterward for having mentioned money at all.”
    “Indeed? Noo, lass, could we go back over this entire conversation.
    Who said what to whom, and in what order?”
    Since the conversation had been so short and so fraught with unexpected revelations, Dittany succeeded in repeating the whole thing. Sergeant Mac Vicar nodded once or twice but did not interrupt. When she’d finished, he asked, “And that was all? Nothing after Churtle told you he was writing his memoirs?”
    “I think he said, ‘Ta-ta, miss.’ Then it was boots, saddle, to horse, and away. I’m surprised he didn’t go straight to the station if he was so hot after his blocks and tackles.”
    “Aye, and why did he choose this particular morn to pick it up, syne he’d been content to leave it here so long?”
    “Because he figured we’d all be off baking custards for the widow, and he’d have the place to himself.”
    “Pairhaps. There’s food for thought here, lass. According to your account, Churtle did not deny knowledge of a death here yesterday, albeit he either did not know or feigned not to know the demised was the friend of his youth. Furthermore, and this is the part that puzzles me, when he did find out, he failed to ask when the funeral is to be held. I believe I will pay my respects to Mrs.
    Fairfield. She is in the back parlor, you say?”
    “Yes, only she’s calling it her office now. Come on, I’ll show you.”
    Dittany knew perfectly well Sergeant Mac Vicar didn’t have to be shown. He knew she knew. Being a perspicacious man, however, he also knew Mrs. Fairfield had been giving Dittany a rough morning, that Dittany in any event would have no intention of being left out of whatever was going on, that he’d waste his time trying to keep her back because she’d been aye the same since she was a wee bairn, and that considering the lemon oil, he didn’t blame her. Therefore, he contented himself with making her presence official.
    “Dittany, Mrs. Mac Vicar always maintains a woman needs another’s supportive presence in time of grief and stress. Therefore, you will be good enough to remain whilst I ask Mrs. Fairfield a few questions. I will endeavor not to tax your sensibilities unduly, Mrs.
    Fairfield.”
    “Oh, please don’t fret yourself about my sensibilities, Sergeant.”
    Mrs. Fairfield touched a folded handkerchief to the corner of her right eye and brought it away, Dittany noticed, perfectly dry. “I’m trying to be a good soldier. I know what a bore it must be for you all, having something like this occur to a stranger within your gates. I shall be so relieved when this apartment finally gets finished and I at least have a place to call my own. Not that Mrs.
    Oakes hasn’t been the soul of kindness, but you know how it is. Or perhaps you don’t, never having been in a similar position. I must say, when I broke up my own lovely home to come here, I never dreamed anything like this would happen.”
    She plied the handkerchief again. “Ah well, you don’t want to hear about my troubles. Ask your questions, Sergeant, and I’ll do my best to give you sensible answers. If I can just keep my poor wits about me, that is.”
    “Then suppose we start with something easy. Tell me about Mr.
    Churtle. Dittany tells me he is an old acquaintance whom you had not seen for many years.”
    “That’s correct. At least thirty, possibly more. Frederick Churtle was my husband’s acquaintance, not mine. They’d been boys together.
    He was never, I must say, one of my favorite people.”
    “And why was that, Mrs. Fairfield?”
    “As I’ve already told Mrs. Monk, I resented the way Frederick took advantage of my husband’s good nature. I despised him as a person of low habits and no principles. To put it in a nutshell, he drank, gambled, and consorted with loose women. He