Ward barely had the time to take in the scene before Giles returned. Before him, the baker's death throes were still visible on his pale face. Ward felt a knot in his chest at the sight, panic only building when he realised that Nell was nowhere to be found. Had she been killed too? Or worse, taken but whoever– or whatever– had killed her father? Dumbstruck with fear, the Father looked into the young lord's face and for the first time in his career, found himself at a loss for words.
His worries were shortlived, as Nell's voice emerged from behind. "Thank the Lord," he heard himself say. He stood on the doorstep of the bakery, slightly hidden behind Giles' large frame as the two youngsters reunited– a ceremony Ward did not want to intrude on. In the distance he could see the constable approaching, alongside the undertaker. Ward was, perhaps not surprisingly, known to them both– and recognised the distinctive step of the constable as he approached.
"You are of course welcome to the church, miss," Ward said, in return to the young lord's suggestion. He noted Nell's quiet demeanour, but decided against suspicion at this point. He was not one to dictate how women ought to grieve, even though her reactions were far different from what he was used to. "It is important, now, to be in the company of friends," he said, glancing at Giles.
Ward doubted that Nell was listening at this point. She seemed entirely distracted, but before he could open his mouth the constable was finally at the scene.
"Ah, Father Carwen, I see you are here already." He turned to see the undertaker looking at him.
Ward nodded in greeting to the man. "Awful tragedy," he said. "Hopefully our constable will be able to shed some light on the matter before the storm overcomes us."
He turned to Giles. "Take Nell ahead to the church, if you will. I wish to say some prayers for her father's soul before I join you."