Eva studied the wood at the indicated spot. Glossy wax reflected her face. “I don’t see any damage there.”
“I was merely pointing out a fact, Miss Inman.”
“Of course.” She forced a smile. “However, I assure you this desk is in impeccable condition, for it has had nothing but the utmost care. My mother was particular about such things.”
“Mmm.” She eyed Eva with all the admiration she might give a crust of dried manure on her shoe. “I must say it is rather callous of you to part with a sentimental heirloom that is part of your family legacy.”
Her stomach tightened. The woman could have no idea how much selling this desk wrenched her heart. She pressed her features into a benevolent smile. “This beloved piece of furniture is dear to me, which is why I feel your home is the perfect sanctuary for it. I know you will shower nothing but tender affection upon such a valuable keepsake.”
Mrs. Muggins pressed her hands to her belly as if digesting a compliment was a distress. Probably was. Not many in Royston favored her with so much as a good-day, so sour was the elderly woman. Eva wouldn’t have willingly singled her out if the widow didn’t possess such a sizeable bank account.
Without further ado, Mrs. Muggins went back to examining every nook and cranny of the desk.
Eva retreated several steps. She’d rather be spending her time helping those in need with the Royston Relief Society than hawking a family treasure to a tight-knuckled purse clutcher, but there was no time for that interest anymore. If she didn’t start setting away money for that tax bill now, she’d never have enough to pay it.
Another ten minutes ticked by. At this rate, her sister would be tromping in here with her book, which could cause Mrs. Muggins to flee. The woman barely had patience for adults, let alone for a precocious twelve-year-old. Surely there had to be some tactic she could use to force the widow’s hand.... “Now that I dwell on the matter,” she drawled at length, “I suppose Mrs. Grandbloom’s sitting room would make as fine a haven for this desk as your front room.”
“Mrs. Grandbloom! Tsk. That will never do.” Mrs. Muggins wagged a gnarly finger in the air. “The woman has cats. Cats!”
It was more of a hiss than an accusation.
Perfect. Clearly the idea ruffled the woman. “True, but she also has a husband who dotes on her, and she has admired this piece before.”
“Humph. The woman is spoiled, if you ask me.”
“And yet she might offer more than what I’m asking.” Eva paused to let that sink in. “Yes, now that I think on it, I could get more money if I—”
“Nonsense! Have your man deliver the desk to my home tomorrow, and I shall send the payment with him.”
“I don’t know.” She ran a finger along the front length of the desktop. “Mrs. Grandbloom might pay quite handsomely and—”
“I’ll add on a gratuity for prompt service. Good day, Miss Inman.” Mrs. Muggins whirled so fast, the feather atop her hat flapped in protest.
“Good day, Mrs. Muggins,” Eva called to the woman’s retreating skirt. Once the rustling fabric was fully out of sight and sound, she collapsed onto the sofa, an inordinately large grin stretching her jaw. The battle had been fierce, but what a victory!
Not two breaths later, Sinclair’s boots clunked into the room.
“Sorry to bother you, miss, but I think you’re going to want to see this.” He held out something small and grey. A stone?
She crossed the room and retrieved the thing from him, surprised that it was nothing of the sort. Oh, the metal ring was as dirty as a stone picked from the soil, but as she licked her finger and rubbed at the piece with the pad of her thumb, the filth gave way, revealing a tarnished silver band with an engraving of a fish on the front. She glanced up at the steward. “Where did you get this?”
“From Tom. He’s been finding all sorts of scraps while plowingthat plot o’ land. This one, though”—he pointed at the ring—“could be of value.”
“Perhaps that land isn’t cursed after all, eh?” She smirked.
Dixon sailed in then. Though lacking in stature, the white-haired housekeeper was an unsinkable frigate, going about her duties as if the Inman household were fully staffed instead of having only a maid and a cook to manage. “Reverend Blackwood is here to see you, miss.”
Just when things were starting to look up with the sale of the desk and a potentially valuable relic in her hand, the dour clergyman had to call. She stifled a sigh. “Very good. Show him in.”
Sinclair clapped on his hat with a dip to his head. “I’ll leave you to your company, miss.”
“Thank you, Sinclair. Oh, and would you see that my mother’s desk is delivered to Mrs. Muggins’s home tomorrow? Ten o’clock sharp, for she has all the patience of a gnat.”
“You’re being generous, miss.” He chuckled. “But, yes, I’ll see it’s done.”
Eva absently rubbed the ring as the steward exited. She’d never been completely comfortable in the rector’s presence even before her father’s deathbed warning. There had been a few Sundays when she’d considered attending a different church, but it seemed wrong to break with generations of Inman family tradition all for the sake of a severe clergyman. Besides, it wasn’t as if he singled her out with his cold ways. Mr. Blackwood was terse with everyone and had been ever since she could remember.
He stalked into the room on silent steps, dressed head to toe in grey, which added to the impression that he’d recently crawled from one of the graves in the churchyard. The only colourful thing about the man was the intense blue of his eyes—and that was no improvement. His gaze cleaved one’s spirit from the bone.
