She stepped into line. Alexandra moved up behind her—and then froze at the sight of the woman walking toward them along the street. Small and wasted looking despite her straight back and elevated chin, her graying hair stuffed under a black widow’s cap, she looked neither right nor left, but continued unerringly toward the bakery as though she knew Alexandra was standing there.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, blanching, and grabbed Rose again.
“What—”
“Shh.” Alexandra pulled her surprised charge backward, around the corner and into an alleyway. When they were well out of sight she stopped, putting her hand to her chest and trying to catch her breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Rose asked, her expression concerned.
Alexandra glanced back the way they had come. She’d best salvage what propriety she could. “I’m sorry, Rose,” she said in a low voice. “That was inexcusably rude of me.”
“Don’t mind that. Are you all right?”
Slowly her breathing began to return to normal, though she’d probably be jumpy for the next week. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…well…you see, I saw my former employer a moment ago. It…rather surprised me.”
The girl’s blue eyes grew round. “You mean Lady Welkins?”
She nodded. So even her pupil had heard the rumors. “I just didn’t know she was in London. I should have realized.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.” Alexandra squared her shoulders. “I’ll be leaving soon, anyway. I will simply stay out of her way as much as my duties allow.”
“Well, I certainly won’t make you talk to her,” Rose said indignantly.
Alexandra smiled. “Thank you, Rose.”
Fiona sipped her tea and half listened to the chatter around her. Mrs. Fox was lamenting the gout that kept her husband housebound all day, but didn’t prevent him from venturing out to his clubs at night. Lady Howard had heard that Charlotte Tanner hadn’t left her debut Season in London early because she was ill, but because she was with child—by a gentleman unknown. And right on schedule, Lady Vixen Fontaine had broken another poor boy’s heart.
It was all very interesting, but it wasn’t what she was waiting for. The butler opened the door to Lady Halverston’s drawing room yet again, and Fiona looked up as she had every time someone had joined their tea over the past hour. This time she didn’t recognize the woman being ushered into the room, and she straightened, setting aside her cup.
“Ah, Margaret,” Lady Halverston said, rising to clasp the woman’s hands. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
“Thank you, Lady Halverston. I was pleased to receive your invitation.”
“Nonsense. We’re happy to have you here.” Lady Halverston urged her farther into the room. “My dears, please welcome Lady Welkins.”
Fiona rose before anyone else could. “Oh, Lady Welkins, you have my deepest, deepest sympathies.”
“Margaret, Mrs. Delacroix,” Lady Halverston provided, and with a slight nod at Fiona, returned to her seat.
“You must call me Fiona, please. I already feel we have so much in common, and I couldn’t wait to meet you. Do sit with me, won’t you, my lady?”
“Thank you, Fiona.” The thin woman, her dark hair turning to silver beneath her black widow’s cap, sat on the couch and accepted a cup of tea from a waiting footman.
“I have only just put off my mourning cap myself,” Fiona said. “My dear Oscar simply dropped dead one afternoon, leaving my poor daughter and myself all alone in the world.”
“My husband was cruelly taken from me,” the other woman responded, sipping her tea.
“My goodness.”
Lady Welkins nodded. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumors, but I firmly believe him to have been murdered.”
Fiona put a hand to her bosom. “Oh, it can’t be so!”
The other woman nodded. “By my own trusted companion, though I could never prove it, of course. Otherwise I would have seen her in prison, where she belongs.”
The meeting was going to be even more productive than Fiona had expected. “You poor dear. It happened right in your own household, then?”
