“Then what was she doing in Romsey? It’s entirely in the wrong direction for London.”
Georgy remained unconvinced, arguing hotly against any possibility of Marjorie turning up on her doorstep. After a light repast, of which Apple was only able to swallow a mouthful or two, Georgy went off for her nap, recommending her guest to delve intoHumphrey Clinker— a volume of which Apple knew she would have thoroughly disapproved did she know its contents — as an antidote to anxiety. Instead, Apple paced the parlour floor, the book lying unopened on a chair.
As the day wore on, doubt crept in and her anxiety began to subside. Had it been Marjorie? She’d had time only for a brief peek. Had she been mistaken? She must suppose there were other women in possession of a purple pelisse and a large brown hat. Though to be sure Marjorie had been wearing the self-same outfit when Apple sneaked out of their coach. Suppose it was Marjorie, where then was Walter? Or Mr Cumberledge, come to that? Both had been with her. Would they have come on together, having discovered no trace of her in Alton? Or had they returned home, leaving Mr Cumberledge in charge at the shop?
She’d not before considered the matter, beyond supposing they would scour the town before coming after her. Even then, she’d thought they must make for London rather than trying to locate her on the road. Only they had no notion where she meant to go. Had Marjorie not guessed her destination? Had she noticed her correspondence with Mr Vergette? The seal of his letter had not been broken admittedly, but Apple would not put it past Marjorie to read the letter after it was opened, could she but find it in the secret cache in her chamber.
A horrible fear clutched in her chest. Had Marjorie ransacked her room? Had the precious box Papa gave her been found? Walter and Marjorie would know everything Papa had known about the trust if that were so. They would realise it had no bearing on the takings of the winery. In which case, they would be even more determined upon her marriage to Mr Cumberledge, for he’d become master of whatever inheritance was to come her way.
This reflection served to increase her agitation, and she could not help wishing Alex had not left her here while he went to see Mr Vergette. She’d battled with him over being high-handed, but in his absence, it came home to her how safe she’d felt with Alex at her back.
When Georgy entered the parlour, refreshed and ready for her dinner, Apple did her best to appear calm. She was hungry enough by this time to make a reasonable meal, but if she’d been asked, she could not have said what she ate, and she could not help starting at every untoward sound until Georgy became exasperated.
“Stop it, Apple! You will have me on the fidgets too, if you don’t take care. Then Reddy will scold and send me to bed and make me drink warm milk or a horrid tisane.”
This made Apple laugh despite her fears. “She won’t send you to bed, don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t a child.”
“She thinks I am. She cossets me as if I were two, not twenty. And I hate warm milk!”
Apple was conscious of a twinge of envy. No one had ever cosseted her, or not that she could remember. Perhaps her mother had done, but she had not the benefit of knowing about it. Papa had been good to her, but he was never a demonstrative parent and he’d left it to the maids to supply her needs. After that, there had been only Mrs Hatherley and Marjorie, neither of whom had shown the least disposition to treat her with the sort of smothering care that Georgy’s old nurse displayed. What was more, it was plain Captain Edginton was an indulgent husband who was inordinately fond of his wife. Georgy didn’t know how lucky she was.
A wave of ancient loneliness almost overcame Apple, and she was hard put to it to keep her countenance. She’d ever been resilient and resourceful, but the deep-seated feeling of isolation that had plagued her from her earliest years could never be wholly shaken off.
Fortunately, she was not called upon to contribute very much to the conversation, and Georgy’s prattle served to lull her unease. It was not long after the tea tray had been brought in that Mrs Reddicliffe appeared to drag Georgy off to bed.
“And you ought not to be drinking tea, Lady Georgiana, for it’s no good for the infant. I’ll fetch you up a glass of warm milk directly, once I have you nicely tucked in.”
Georgy submitted, but threw a comical grimace over her shoulder at Apple as she left the parlour, which made her laugh out the moment the door was closed. She was not long behind, preferring bed to intrusive thoughts of pursuit and capture while she was deprived of Alex’s protection. In the event, the day’s anxiety had taken its toll and she slept the night through, waking refreshed and much inclined to think she’d been indulging fears as foolish as Georgy had thought them.
Apple continued in this better frame of mind until the middle of the afternoon, when the sound of a carriage and horses sent her flying to the parlour window.
“Oh, I do hope it is your brother returned from London!”
But one look at the ancient coach rumbling slowly down the drive and her heart leapt into her throat. “Oh, dear lord, it is them! Georgy, it’s my cousins!”
She turned briefly to where her hostess was lounging on the chaise longue, with her feet up. Georgy sat up in a bang.
“You don’t mean it! How do you know?”
“It’s their coach. I could not mistake. What in the world shall I do? Where can I hide?”
Distracted, Apple continued watching as the lumbering vehicle slowed down on its approach to the entrance of the house, her heart thumping in her chest.
“Come away from the window, Apple!”
Georgy was up, moving across the room. She pulled Apple back and took her place, peering down. “They are stopping. Yes, the groom is jumping down. He has let down the steps. Oh, gracious! There is a female getting out.”
“Marjorie! Quick, Georgy, what shall we do? If she finds me, all will be lost!”
“I have it!” Coming away from the window, Georgy dashed to a panel in the back wall. “This will serve excellently.” She pressed the panel and it slid open like a door, revealing an aperture. “See, it is the servant entrance. You hardly notice it when it’s closed.”
Apple had not noticed it at all. She went to the concealed door and looked through to where Georgy was standing in a narrow hallway. “Where does it lead?”
“To the back stairs and then down to the scullery. You can escape and hide in the kitchen.”
Apple followed her into the passage, squeezing past Georgy and running to the end. Another door revealed a short landing leading down a dark and narrow stairway. Satisfied, Apple closed the door and returned to Georgy.
The peal of the doorbell sounded from the hall downstairs. The flurry of Apple’s pulse increased. “Could I be seen if I stood behind this door?”
