“No.” When the word emerged as a hoarse whisper, Evie said it again. “No. You’re both mistaken. Harkness has taken care of me my entire life. She would never?—”
“I know it is hard to contemplate the possibility, but you must,” Mama insisted.
Evie’s head whirled. “Inquiring about train schedules is not an indication of guilt. Harkness might just want a holiday?—”
“There is more.” Xenia’s brown eyes shimmered with empathy. “I am sorry, Evie, but after what Mama discovered, I…I searched Harkness’s chamber.”
“While I distracted Harkness,” Gigi added. “We had to do it, Evie, for your safety.”
Evie said faintly, “Did you find something?”
“Fifty gold sovereigns,” Xenia blurted. “And a pair of lady’s gloves from Perry & Morris.”
“Those are coincidences. They mean nothing.” The knots in Evie’s chest made it hard to breathe. “Harkness has always practiced economy. She has scrimped and saved since I was a girl. With the wages James provides, it’s perfectly possible that she saved?—”
“You gave the blackmailer a hundred sovereigns.” James’s jaw was granite-hard, his gaze full of steel. “Now Harkness has half that amount in her possession…which could be her share if she is working with a partner. And don’t forget Harkness knows Merrow. They worked together for years.”
“She would never hurt me,” Evie said desperately. “You know what she has done for me.”
“I know she resents me,” James countered. “She has never hidden her animosity. It is not much of a leap to suppose that she might act upon it. Perhaps blackmailing you is a way of gaining revenge on me for taking you away.”
“She would never do such a thing.” Evie was appalled. “As for the money, that must be her own savings. And countless people own gloves made by Perry & Morris?—”
“Harkness has large hands for a woman,” Mama said. “Xenia took one of her gloves, and now that you have returned, we may compare it with the blackmailer’s.”
“You are wrong, all of you.” Evie shot to her feet, her voice shaking. “Harkness would never betray me. For years, she was the only family I had?—”
Suddenly, she was weeping. An instant later, James was holding her.
“There now.” His voice gentled. “It is true that we don’t know for certain if Harkness is involved. However, we cannot ignore the evidence.”
“Sh-she stood by me.”
Evie drew back, her chest twisting when she saw his stark expression.
“When I was alone in the world, Harkness was my only friend. I cannot lose her.”
“If she is innocent, then you will not lose her,” he said. “Yet we must take precautions.”
“What sort of precautions?”
Mama spoke up. “You cannot confide in her any longer. About anything.”
“If Harkness were conspiring with Merrow or whoever the blackmailer is,” Evie said miserably, “wouldn’t she have told him about our plan? He would know that I shared my secret with you and that we are setting a trap to capture him. Wouldn’t he have exposed my secret by now?”
“Perhaps she hasn’t had the opportunity to share the information,” Gigi suggested. “Or perhaps he has a contingency plan of some sort. From a practical viewpoint, exposing you doesn’t do him any good: better to wait and see if he can gain leverage in another way.”
“If the blackmailer does not make contact this week,” James said grimly, “that would support the theory that Harkness tipped him off.”
“In any case,” Mama said, “you must play along, Evie. Act as if you suspect nothing. When Harkness asks about London, you will say that your lecture was a success, but you learned nothing about the blackmailer.”
“In other words, I must keep secrets again.” With palpitating anguish, Evie said, “I must lie to my oldest friend…who may have betrayed me.”
Evie spent the next few days accompanying James to various events. From charity functions to hospital visits, she played the role of loving wife and helpmeet as best she could. While her support of her husband was genuine, the fact that she might have compromised his future by trusting the wrong person—the person who’d been her confidante, whom she thought of as kin—weighed as heavily as the diamond necklace she flaunted to lure the blackmailer.
One bright spot was her visit with Loretta Pickleworth’s brother, Ned Lydell. At James’s insistence, she took a pair of footmen for protection since he was detained at a meeting. Their presence seemed superfluous on such a beautiful spring day. The sky hung like a bright blue banner, while the fields of wheat and barley formed a patchwork of silky greens. Mr. Lydell proved a gregarious host, giving her a tour of the farm that had been in the family for generations. When they came to the cherry orchard, which consisted of a few rows of straggly trees, his broad face turned mournful.
“Used to be the pride of the farm and the county, the orchard was,” he said. “My grandpapa—the last to taste the cherries—said they were unique and unlike any other. Sweeter and tarter, with a finish that reminded him of flowers. He said it had to do with the clime and the shelter of the valley. The trees had white blossoms that gave off such a strong fragrance at night that you could smell them from the farmhouse. Grandpapa used to joke that at peak season, our farm smelled like a broth—er, a house of ill repute. No offense, my lady.”
