The Deathly Portent by Elizabeth Bailey Page A

with him?”
    As one, the three visitors turned to look out of the window.
    “Is it?”
    “Not met the fellow yet, so we can’t know.”
    “Ah yes,” came from Netherburn. “He’s the fellow on the right. I caught a sight of him earlier and thought it must be Kinnerton.”
    This was enough for Ottilia. She rose swiftly. “Pray excuse me for a moment. I must speak to my husband.”
    Without pausing for a response, she darted to the door and was into the hall and outside before any could think of accompanying her. She had no wish to make the vicar’s acquaintance in the company of the village gossips, who would undoubtedly hamper her in a bid to discover all she might of the witch’s champion.
    She waved to Francis as she sped down the path through the cobbles and was relieved to see him halt on the green to wait for her.
    “We were just on our way in to find you, my love,” he said and turned to his companion. “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Francis Fanshawe. This is the Reverend Mr. Kinnerton, who has only just taken up his living at the vicarage.”
    As Ottilia held out her hand, she took stock of the young man. She liked what she saw. He was personable, without being handsome, but the clarity of his blue gaze sat well with her.
    “My dear sir, I am enchanted. I have heard how you aided the young creature who has been so unfortunate as to incur the enmity of the village.”
    The severity of Mr. Kinnerton’s expression disappeared,and Ottilia was treated to an appraising look. Her hand was taken in a firm clasp, warm to the touch.
    “I thank you, but anyone would have done the same.”
    “You are too modest, sir. I have already heard of several persons who, by all accounts, would indeed have done otherwise.”
    A frown appeared. “You are very well informed, ma’am.”
    Ottilia laughed. “I have been in conversation with Miss Beeleigh and Mrs. Radlett, whom I believe you have not yet met.”
    A gleam appeared in his eye. “Ah. Yes, I was warned—er—advised as to the identities of the gentry hereabouts.”
    “But not about Mrs. Dale, I take it?”
    The gleam vanished, and a faint look of steel entered those intense eyes. “Astute of you, Lady Francis.”
    “My wife is renowned for her keen mind, sir.” Ottilia could not help but feel a flush of pleasure at the bristle in her husband’s voice. “Witherley may yet have cause to be grateful for her presence.”
    Now the vicar looked merely puzzled. His glance went from Francis to Ottilia and back again. A faint ripple of irritation crossed his face.
    “Would you care to explain your meaning, my lord?”
    “By all means,” said Francis, with a promptness that caused Ottilia to set a warning hand upon his arm. He glanced at her, but the steel in his voice did not abate. “I don’t know if you are familiar with the scandal that overtook my family last year?”
    The vicar shook his head. “I was in no condition to take in very much at that time.”
    Ottilia saw Francis relax and threw him a questioning glance. He caught it and gestured towards the parson.
    “Mr. Kinnerton had the misfortune to be ill for some little time. Briefly then, sir, an intimate relation was murdered. It is entirely due to my wife’s tireless investigationsand her ingenious mind that the perpetrator was discovered. She saved my family’s reputation and our sanity.”
    The vicar looked thunderstruck, as well he might. Ottilia thought it well to lessen the impact.
    “My husband exaggerates,” she said cheerfully. “If I have a knack, it is in noticing what others might not. And those persons nearly concerned in events are apt to be a trifle blinded, do you not think?”
    All at once the Reverend Kinnerton smiled and his whole countenance underwent a change. “It appears we are fortunate in your misfortune. Would it be selfish of me to hope that your carriage is not mended too quickly? Any aid you can offer in diverting suspicion from Mrs. Dale will be only too