After Nancy left them, her father gazed at Anne, compassion and understanding in his kind eyes. “Your motherwould not have minded you and Nancy becoming friends, you know. She always wanted her family to be happy—and for her daughters to be loved and to find their place and purpose in the world.”
Anne took a deep breath ... and released a long exhale. Then slowly nodding, she said, “Thank you, Papa. I believe I have.”
A week later, when Anne arrived at the rectory, her sister embraced her warmly. She had not been so affectionate with Anne in what seemed like years.
“I am so glad you are safe!” Fanny exclaimed. “What an ordeal you’ve been through.”
Her father had brought Anne to her sister’s but couldn’t stay long, as he needed to tend to an ailing patient. After greeting Fanny and carrying in Anne’s baggage, he took his leave.
“Now, come and have some refreshment,” Fanny invited. “You must be thirsty after your journey.”
“I’m fine,” Anne replied. “Have you put me in the same room as last time? I will carry up my things and then—”
“Later. Come in and sit. I ordered tea when I saw the gig coming up the lane. We shan’t be disturbed in here. This sitting room is for my specific use.”
“Thank you. Tea sounds lovely.”
The two sisters sat in armchairs facing one another over a low tea table.
Anne asked, “And where is Mr. Norton?”
“Meeting with one of his flock in the Parish Room.” Fanny pointed to a closed door across the hall. It was a small study where a clergyman could meet with parishioners in private, without disturbing his wife.
Fanny added, “He spends a fair bit of time in his role of spiritual counselor. He is most dedicated.”
It might have been the first complimentary thing she’d heard her sister say about her husband since their wedding trip.
Gaze distant and thoughtful, Fanny went on, “He really is a good, honest, caring man. I am sorry I did not appreciate it earlier. He is quite devoted to me and faithful, something I did not fully value before. But I plan to make it up to him.”
The maid came in with a tea tray and set it before them.
“Thank you, Betsy.”
When the girl had gone and the tea had been poured, Fanny said, “I can hardly believe Mr. Dalby is dead.”
“I know.”
“After everything you wrote, everything you revealed about him, his true nature, his greed and lies ... is it wicked to say that I’m ... not glad of course, but not sorry he’s gone?”
“No, it’s perfectly understandable.”
“Tell me everything. About Lady Celia. About this Dr. Marsland and being locked in a prison cell at gunpoint. Sounds horrid!”
“It was ... mostly.” Anne’s mind filled with other, far less horrid images, of wrapping Ernest Finch’s injured head with his cravat and later bathing and bandaging his brow. Of him trying to jump in front of her to protect her. Of him taking her hand in gratitude after she’d bandaged his head wound. Of him embracing her under a yew tree in the churchyard...
“What do you mean,mostly?” Fanny asked.
Anne looked up to find her sister watching her closely, clearly intrigued.
“Well, it could have been worse. And we survived to tell the tale.”
“We?”
“Oh. I believe I wrote about Miss Fitzjohn coming to our rescue. I was locked in the cell with a second physician. A younger man, relatively new to Painswick and working with Dr. Marsland. An Ernest Finch.”
Fanny tilted her head, her expression all too knowing. “And you like this man.”
“I ... confess I do. At first I was mistrustful of him. Later I came to admire him.”
