“The very same.”
Amelia smoothed her fingers over the cool sheets of parchment. “I shall take great care of this. Thank you for your kindness.”
“No need.” She angled her head. “No, wait a minute. There is, perhaps, a tangible way in which you could show your gratitude.”
Oh dear. She should have known. Though she frequently tried to deny it, no one gave anything away without cost, just as her father had taught. And so she’d experienced in her travels. Why had she expected Mary to be different? “What is it you think I can do for you?”
“Not you, per se.” Mystery twinkled in her eyes. “Allow me to hire your boy. I am on my own until Mr. Shelley returns, and there are certain errands to run and things about the house to do that I have not been able to attend. I have not been feeling well, you see—hence my early morning turn about the garden. Fresh air is so healing, is it not?”
Amelia studied the woman’s face. A shade on the pale side, a bit drawn, but all in all, nothing else about her appeared sickly. “I am sorry to hear of your illness. Should you have need of a surgeon, I highly recommend Mr. Lambert.”
“Thank you. I shall keep that in mind, but I don’t think what I suffer requires medical intervention. Nine months or so ought to do very nicely.”
Amelia blinked. Mary was with child? Should she offer congratulations or condolences, being the woman was admittedly on her own and not yet married? She held Mary’s earnest stare, forbidding her gaze from slipping to the woman’s middle. “Well then, I look forward to meeting your new little one someday.”
“Yes, hopefully. Though one is never guaranteed any number of days or…” A faraway look glazed her eyes, and her shoulders sagged. No, her whole body did. As if a hole had suddenly been carved into her chest and her heart removed, leaving nothing but a shell, a frame so fragile, it might give way at any moment.
Alarmed, Amelia stepped toe-to-toe with what remained of the wall, ready to leap through the gap should the small woman swoon. “Mary? Are you all right?”
“What?” Her gaze snapped back to Amelia. “Oh. Pardon. Yes, I am fine. Well then, about your boy. May I hire him off you?”
The question did nothing to ease her worry for her new friend. Clearly the woman was confused. “We employ no boy,” Amelia explained gently. “Balfour House is minimally staffed at the moment.”
“Really? Then I beg your pardon. I had no idea he was your son.”
Hah! A spinster such as she? Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I have no child.”
Small creases lined Mary’s brow. “So, just to be clear, there is no flaxen-haired boy, say five or six years old, of yea height”—she lifted her hand to hip level—“all arms and legs, who lives in your home?”
“No, there is not.”
“How curious, for I often see him coming and going.”
Mary’s eyes shone blue. Clear. No hint of jesting or humour. Were hallucinations part of early pregnancy? Perhaps Mr. Lambert ought to examine the young lady.
Amelia smiled to put her at ease. “Probably just a neighbourhood lad, roaming about like a stray cat. In fact, when I first arrived, I discovered his ball behind the trellis over there.” She lifted her free hand and indicated the overgrown clematis.
Mary’s gaze drifted to the corner of the yard. “Yes, of course. My mistake. Think nothing of it, then.”
Her explanation was wholly sufficient. It was an easy enough error to overlook. Even so, Amelia turned away as the full weight of the woman’s words pressed in on her. Normally she wouldn’t give such a blunder another thought.
Were it not for the toy soldier she’d foundinsidethe house.
Colin stared out his bedchamber window, watching his sister kneel on the lawn. A touching sight, the way the first rays of sunshine blessed her bowed head. She took infinite care in setting the little box gently on the ground. But even so, the short hairs at the nape of his neck prickled to attention. So did the hairs on his arm. Was he the watcher?
Or was he the watched?
He spun, fully expecting to see a servant at the door. Or at the very least, perhaps a mouse observing him from the safety of a hole in the baseboards. His gaze drifted from one wall to another, floor to ceiling, until he was satisfied there was no other life-form in the room.
He turned back to the window, but the unease remained. Some might say the room was haunted, and in truth he’d heard a servant girl whispering as much to Mrs. Kirwin. But he knew better. The only spectre that troubled Balfour House was himself.
Outside, Amelia lifted the lid, and he pressed his face to the glass, heart suddenly beating fast. Something was wrong. Why did the bird not immediately soar free? Rise to the heavens and never look back? Lord knows he would…but would he really? Even when Peckwood did eventually perform his miracle, after a lifetime of living shut away, would he have the fortitude it took to walk freely amongst mankind?
Then the sparrow flew, wings stretched, catching the wind, passing near the window as it circled about, and a sob burned in Colin’s throat. If a bird once broken could fly, he ought to be able to do so as well. Yet who knew if the upcoming surgery would work? Or if he’d even survive it? Broken or not, he ought to be man enough to fly free like that bird right now!
He wheeled about and grabbed his hooded cloak off a hook near the door. The day was young enough that few souls would be roaming about. He’d return before his treatment, and no one would be the wiser.
“You’re up early. Be ye going somewhere, Master Colin?”
