Chapter Text
At The Funeral
The funeral service was finished, the dearly departed laid in the little village churchyard and covered with earth, and everything was going according to plan, her nephew's plan at least, and he drew a deep breath, turned and walked - slowly, deliberately, being oh so careful not to look eager or nervous or guilty - back towards the road back to the village.
No one suspected, no one would suspect that his aunt had not died, peacefully and naturally, of simple old age. No one would care enough; after all, apart from her little circle of gossipy old biddies, all of whom were still there in their best black and whispering amongst themselves at the gravesite, no one even liked Mrs Price-Ridley. They were probably relieved to be free of her sanctimonious mind, grasping, domineering manner and vicious tongue.
Even if the old biddies weren't - even if they wanted to imagine scandal and sin everywhere as she did, even if they did get a thrill imagining all sorts of foul play - what could three or four elderly women in tiny, unimportant St Mary Mead do about it? Nothing.
All he now had to do was wait, and be patient... and so he walked on, dreaming of his aunt's wealth that would come to him as next of kin and what he would do with it.
And not noticing the thoughtful, clever, and very very damning blue eyes watching him all the while.
the end