“Hush, my dear. You are human, that is all, and you never should have been left in Mrs. Younge’s care. That woman fooled me, and to my regret, you paid the price for my mistake.”
“I knew better than to agree to an elopement. But Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham made the plan sound so romantic. I did not want to disappoint them.”
“They are both despicable. In any case, I have no doubt you will make a fine match one day, but I hope that will not happen for many years. It will be a difficult day for me when you leave.”
Her head lifted from my shoulder. “But…I must have made you ashamed. Are you not eager to be rid of me?”
“No! How could you think that? You are the most important person in my life.”
My sister snuffled. “I am sorry for causing you so much trouble.”
“You have no need to apologise.” With a final pat on her back, I released her.
“I suppose Mrs. Younge fooled us both.”
“Yes, she did. Wickham, too, deceived me many times before I broke ties with him. He would apologise and tell me he had changed, and I wanted to believe him. He is a gifted liar. I understand why you accepted his words as truth.”
“You need not be concerned about Mrs. Annesley. She is the opposite of Mrs. Younge in every way.”
“That is what I hoped she would be.” I settled back in my seat. “Next month, I shall stay in Wiltshire at the estate of my friend Mr. Patrick Hayward.” My sister had met Hayward enough times in the past to have grown comfortable in his company. “I met his wife, Mrs. Hayward, in town last year, and she is quite amiable. And they have a daughter who is now three years old. Would you like to go?”
A knot arose between her brows. “But…I do not know Mrs. Hayward. And if I went, I should be expected to spend most of my time with her.”
“I am certain you will like her, and Mrs. Annesley would come as well.”
Her nose crinkled. “How long will you stay?”
“My plans are not yet set. Perhaps six weeks.”
“I should rather not face any new acquaintances just yet. As it is, I am still growing accustomed to Mrs. Annesley.”
My jaw tightened as I resisted the impulse to frown. Should I try harder to convince her? The concept of leaving her alone, even with a companion, rankled me. Yet, what if I cajoled her to go and caused her to be anxious and unhappy? “A shorter stay may suit you better. You and Mrs. Annesley could join me there later in the month.”
“Perhaps.” Georgiana rubbed the crook of her neck. “I shall give the idea thought.”
“Very well.” Her tense demeanour did not bode well for her agreement, but I should abide by her wishes.
Wednesday, 4 September
Darcy House
Darcy
To my surprise, Mr. Notley called again this afternoon. Despite his having suggested he might return, I had no notion of what help I could provide him. I poured brandy for myself and the investigator, and we settled in a pair of chairs by the fireplace.
He drummed a pencil upon his thigh. “Since we last spoke, I have determined that ‘Mr. King’ is an alias, and I have attempted to discover the man’s true identity.”
“How do you know Mr. King is not his real name?”
“We could not find any lodgings for Mr. King in town, and we made inquiries in Norwich to find his estate to no avail. I expect his true home is elsewhere.” Mr. Notley leafed to a page in his notebook. “Mrs. Cooper’s servants have described him as a man of average looks, a medium build, and a pleasant smile. He is in his fifth or sixth decade, has a cleft in his chin, and wears a white wig.”
“I see. Have you any clues that might lead you to the man?”
“Yes, and that brings me to why I am here today. The victim’s butler recounted an incident he found to be peculiar. Mr. King removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor outside Mr. King’s notice. The butler retrieved it and glanced at the writing—a purchase receipt from a cobbler in Salisbury. He offered the receipt to Mr. King, who snatched it back as though retrieving an item of high value.”
Mr. Notley raised the brandy to his lips for a small sip. “When I questioned Mrs. Cooper’s coachmen, one of them recalled that Mr. King’s driver had grumbled of his distaste for London and his desire to return to Wiltshire.”
I brushed my knuckles over my mouth. “Do you suppose the man calling himself Mr. King might reside near Salisbury?”
