“Come in, Carver.” Despite the throb in his ankle, Henry lowered his foot to the floor and straightened his spine. Appearing weak in front of the staff was an inexcusable blunder.
The groundskeeper entered, still garbed in his mud-splattered coat and a soiled kerchief around his neck. He brought with him the musty scent of damp dirt, a leftover hint of gunpowder, and a folded strip of linen, damp from dew and darkened by the grimeof his hands. “I decided to take one more turn about the property and found this.”
Henry stood, keeping his weight on his unscathed foot. Carefully, he unfolded the material. A single pearl earbob rested against the cloth. He passed it on to Charity. “Does this look familiar?”
She gasped. “I’ve been missing this for days. Why, I thought I’d lost it for good.”
Cold unease settled like fog in his lungs as he faced Carver. “Where did you find it?”
“Near the hedgerow where I suggested we put out a mantrap.”
Henry bristled. “You know my thoughts on such a vulgar contraption.”
Carver held up his hand. “I do, sir. I merely mention it because of the location. I swear it wasn’t there when I first searched the area. It’s almost as if someone deliberately placed it in that spot so I’d find it on a second look, toying with me—toying with us.”
Wrapping her fingers into a fist around the little bundle, Charity shook the earbob in the air. “Why play such wicked tricks? Why try to scare me away?”
Henry stifled a growl, as disturbed as his sister. “Whoever we are dealing with is closer than we thought … close enough to enter your bedroom and pilfer a piece of your jewelry.”
Lifting his hat brim, Carver swiped his brow and then reset the old felt cap. “Someone on staff, sir?”
Henry hesitated, the implication stabbing as sharply as the pain in his ankle. Most had been with the family for decades, making them more than mere employees. It was no small thing, after all, to send their butler to Brighton to winter by the sea in effort to ease his rheumatism. Mrs. Biggs, the cook, had nursed him through childhood fevers with her bone broths. Jack, the stable hand, had taught him to ride. Even Woodley, the footman and newest member of the staff, never murmuredagainst his unending duties—or so he was told. Mrs. Hamby, the housekeeper, would never allow such an impropriety under her expert eye.
He searched the groundskeeper’s eyes for any sign of doubt. “I have already questioned the staff extensively about the recent unwelcome notes to my sister and the anonymous flowers that have been sent with such threatening prose. All claim innocence, and I am inclined to believe them. The servants of Bedford Manor are fiercely loyal.”
Carver nodded, though the lines on his brow remained troubled. “Aye, sir. Loyal they are, as far as I know.”
“Then who is it that torments me like this?” Charity cried.
Henry removed the earbob from his sister’s hand and eyed it with thoughts aswirl. The sound of distant thunder rumbled outside the manor. A storm was coming. He rolled the pearl between his fingers.
Then again, it appeared the storm was already here.
He turned away, closing his eyes. He wouldnotcall his father back from Italy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t seek higher help.
Oh, God.He pressed his thumb into the pearl.If You are near, speak. If You are willing, guide. And if You are merciful—send help. I shall take it however You choose to send it.
Chapter 4
It had been an odd experience the first time Juliet stepped foot in Craft’s Milled Goods. She’d never had need to run household errands before. That’s what servants did—and the way she used to disregard such service shamed her now as she waited for Mrs. Craft to package a pound of flour. The nutty scent of freshly ground grain was oddly satisfying, as was the anticipation of the bread it would make. A simple pleasure, one she’d taken for granted in the past. My, how the mere passing of a twelvemonth had transformed her in ways she never could have imagined. Though she resented the upheaval her father had caused in her life, she was grateful for the newfound humility and appreciation for hard work she had once overlooked.
But oh, how she wished those changes could have been wrought in a less painful fashion.
She pressed her fingers to her rumbling belly, glad for the grind of the large millstone out back masking the ghastly noise. That single grouse yesterday had been tasty, but she’d given the bulk of the small bird to Aunt Margaret. Today they would have bread to go along with the thin broth she’d made from the bones. Tomorrow and the next day, she would stretch that loaf and soup as far as humanly possible.
But then what?
Mrs. Craft set a small cotton sack on the flour-dusted counter. Her dark little eyes were like two currants pushed into a circle of dough. “That will be a penny, Miss Finch.”
Stars above! So much? Juliet set her basket on the counter then tugged open the drawstrings of her reticule. She poked about with one finger, jingling the last three coins to her name. Two farthings and a ha’penny. Just enough to make the purchase, yet it would leave her with nothing.
She cinched the pouch tight then pulled out an amber bottle from her basket. “I’d not part with this lightly, but perhaps you might take this by way of payment—with a bit more flour added in to make it a fair trade.”
She pushed the bottle across the counter and pulled the bag of flour towards her.
Mrs. Craft shoved the bottle back. “Mr. Scather says his new stock of laudanum is more effective than yarrow for lady problems, so I am giving that a try. Just bought a bottle yesterday.” She held out her palm. “So, that will be one penny, if you please.”
Drat that Mr. Scather! Was he to steal every last one of her aunt’s customers? Irritation burned in her throat, making it hard to force a pleasant smile. “I understand the new apothecary may seem to bring innovative ideas and novel cures, but my aunt’s remedies are tried and true, the recipes handed down through the generations. Have you not been satisfied?”
