When Dunsmuir and Friend exchanged uneasy looks, the widow sighed.
“Idealism is well and good in the clubs, gentlemen, but when it comes to the real world, one must be prepared to make compromises. Being logical—being right—is no guarantee of winning, and Ryerson knows this. He will not debate Manderly on the issues. Instead, he will employ his favorite tactic of flinging dirt at his opponent until something sticks. And something will, eventually. It matters naught if most of what he says is utter rubbish: he knows how to smear opponents with aspersions and lies. If he gets a whiff of scandal, he will fan it until it rivals the worst miasma the Thames has ever produced. Mark my words, he is behind the downfall of Gosford and countless others as well. Which is why I want you, all of you”—while she addressed the room, her gaze lingered on Evie and James—“to be prepared.”
What if Ryerson knows what I’ve done? It would give him the power to destroy James’s ambitions…and his honor and reputation. How could I have exposed James to such danger?
You’re a blight, a curse. The past escaped its cage, slithering through her head. You’re nothing but a burden. Worthless, worthless, worthless.
Fear burst inside Evie like a dandelion. The fluff clung to her throat, choking her. She couldn’t speak…could barely breathe.
“We shall be prepared.”
James’s conviction and the way he circled an arm around her waist, as if they were a united front, heightened her anxious misery.
“I have dealt with bullies and cheats, and I am not afraid of the likes of Ryerson,” he said firmly. “In the end, truth and integrity will prevail. They always do.”
Chapter Seventeen
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, my lady,” Loretta Pickleworth said warmly.
“The pleasure is mine, ma’am.”
Evie spoke shyly, even though the good lady’s beaming welcome felt like sunshine on this dreary day. Morgana Vernon’s visit yesterday had tied her up in knots. Like a coward, she’d avoided her husband, afraid she might reveal too much. At the same time, a wild part of her wanted to shake the tree of her past and let every rotten fruit tumble down at once.
Would James stand by her, then? When he’d spoken of other chances, he had been referring to conceiving another child together…not forgiving her for a heinous crime. Would he defend her if he knew her secret? If her scandalous past brought his dreams crashing down? She didn’t know what he would do, but of one thing she was certain: if she lost James, there was someone waiting to take her place. Her petty thoughts made her feel even worse, and she’d fled to Chuddums in search of distraction.
“I wanted to thank you again for the herbs. They worked like magic,” Evie said sincerely. “For me and my husband.”
“Ah, yes. I heard his lordship came down with a touch of the ague. But I don’t have to inquire after his health, do I, since he and his brothers were down at the Briarbush. By all reports, he appeared hale and hearty whilst enjoying a pint at Pie and Fool night.” Seeing the widening of Evie’s eyes, Loretta laughed. “That’s village life for you, dove. News travels faster than a locomotive.”
Evie managed a smile. “I imagine Manderly is a topic of conversation these days.”
“Oh, everyone is on pins and needles to see him speak. A lot has happened here in Chuddums, but we’ve never hosted a hustings. Puts the village on the map, doesn’t it, and good for business too. In fact, I’ve been preparing my special jam to sell during the event. Visitors might like to take home a souvenir, don’t you think? A taste of Chuddums.”
“I think that ought to go on the label,” Evie said with a smile.
“Well, then, it just might. Now, will you join me for a dish of tea? I’ll ask Mr. Pickleworth to mind the shop while we have ourselves a chat.”
Without waiting for Evie’s reply, Loretta hollered the request to her spouse, who hollered back in the affirmative.
“That’s settled then.” Loretta beamed. “Off we go.”
Evie found herself back in the cozy courtyard shed, taking tea with her friend. She sampled fresh, fluffy bread slathered in ruby-red jam.
“Your rhubarb jam is delectable,” she said. “The perfect balance of sweet and tart.”
“That it is.” Loretta smiled as she stirred her tea. “I come from a family of fruit farmers, you see, and that recipe was handed down from my great-great-grandmama. They say her jam was even more delicious, but I had to substitute rhubarb for the ingredient she used, which is no longer available.”
“What was the original ingredient?”
“Cherries.” A dreamy look softened Loretta’s comfortably worn features. “My family had orchards of the plumpest, sweetest cherries, a variety not found anywhere else. In fact, back in the day, the village was so famous for its cherries that it was dubbed ‘Chudleigh Blossoms.’ Visitors came from near and far to see the trees in bloom and to sample delicacies made with the fruit.”
“If the cherries were so popular, why did your family stop growing them?”
“It wasn’t by choice, my lady. The trees stopped producing fruit, you see. Year by year, despite my family’s best efforts, the crop dwindled, and not only theirs. All the local cherry farmers in the area were affected until, finally, there was no harvest left.”
Intrigued, Evie leaned forward. “Was there a blight? Some sort of infestation?”
“That is the mystery of it,” Loretta said somberly. “To this day, no one knows what caused the cherries to fade. The trees had no visible signs of damage or disease, appearing healthy while producing no fruit. Indeed, my brother still maintains a few trees on his property, in hopes that he may one day coax a crop from them.”
