She grinned back. “I suppose you are right. Perhaps a book of travels would be a safer choice. Like this one—History of a Six Weeks’ Tour through a Part ofFrance,Switzerland,Germany,and Holland.”
“That does sound alittlemore interesting, I grant you.”
Not seeing Miss Brezill about, Anne rang the little bell on the counter. While she waited, she asked him, “And what have you come for?”
“Oh, em, I was just looking.”
Miss Brezill stepped out of the back room, retrieved the book Anne had chosen, filled out a receipt, and wrapped the volume in brown paper.
Looking up, she said, “Ah, Dr. Finch. The book you wanted came in,The History of the Fairchild Family;or,The Child’s Manual.”
“Oh. Excellent. Thank you.”
He did not meet Anne’s wide-eyed gaze.
Parcels in hand, the two left the library together. Anne wanted to ask about the child’s manual—and the child—even as she feared the answer.
She bit back the question, and he remained silent as well.
At the corner, he paused. “Well. This is where we part ways. Good day, Miss Loveday.”
“Good-bye.” As Anne walked away, suspicion nipped at her. How many secrets was this man hiding?
When she reached the gravel drive, she remembered Mr. Dalby handing him something the previous day and Dr. Finch throwing it into the bushes. Curious, she walked along the churchyard wall, peering beneath the border of bushes as she went. There on the ground, a glimmer of bottle green. She bent and gingerly picked up the glass. It was a small bottle of “waters” from a spa town. A souvenir. The vessel was cracked and empty but she could still read the embossed lettering:Cheltenham Natural Mineral Water.
Who mentionedthat place recently?Anne asked herself. In reply, Mr. Dalby’s voice—talking to Rosa—echoed in her mind,“I have not laid eyes on you in ... what,ayear? Cheltenham,I believe?”
How curious. Why would he give such a memento to Dr. Finch?
The next Sunday morning, Anne took Louie for an early morning walk, then returned to the house. When she entered Lady Celia’s room, the woman was not in her bed. Instead, Anne found her in the adjoining dressing room, seated at the dressing table while Rosa brushed out her silvery hair. Rosa was already fully dressed, and her hair neatly arranged, and it was not yet eight o’clock.
“It’s good to see you up and about, Lady Celia.”
“I am feeling somewhat better, I own. The remedies you’ve concocted seem to be helping.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Anne looked at Rosa and said, “If you want to attend church today, I can stay back this time.”
“No need, Miss Anne, but thank you.”
“You may both go,” Lady Celia said. “No need to sit vigil as though I’m dead. I have a few letters to write, and Louie shall keep me company.”
“It’s all right, Lady Celia,” Rosa airily replied. “I had not planned nor wished to go. I will do some reading here, on my own.”
“Humph. Suit yourself.”
Anne helped Rosa settle the woman back onto her bed, covered her with a knitted lap blanket, and brought over the writing box she’d requested. In addition to its slanted writing surface, the portable mahogany desk held an inkpot, sealing wax, penknife, and quills.
Then Anne followed the lady’s maid into the adjoining dressing room.
In a lower voice, she asked, “Do you really not wish to go, or are you only being polite?”
“I am not being polite. I have not attended church in months.”
Surprise flared. “But you ... used to?”
“Oh yes, I used to attend quite regularly.”
“Did something happen?”
