Or rather, after today.
The plan was actually quite simple. I was to approach him in the village, thank him for all he helped us with, and secure his pity if nothing else. If he still refused to introduce me to Lord Trowbridge, then I would tell him what he wanted to know—leaving out any specific details of Papa’s situation, of course.
I stood with Clara and Miss Bentford on the road before the fishing side of town. Unfortunately our cousin hadn’t allowed us a clean escape that morning, but Clara and I had agreed to keep her in the dark about our efforts to find Mr. Wortham. As part of our plan, Clara was to distract Miss Bentford while I engaged the fisherman in conversation. I scanned the coast for any sign of Mr. Wortham, but couldn’t see him. Surely he had a home. Hecouldn’t live continuously out of doors. But the thought of him sitting in a chair by a warm fire just did not seem fitting at all.
After walking the streets for several minutes, I pretended to examine a parasol in a window, wandering away from Miss Bentford and Clara for long enough to slip inside the shop. There was just one woman behind the counter inside, sorting through a box of ribbon spools.
She glanced up at my entrance, taking in my appearance with a startled look. She must not have received many elegant ladies. “Good day, ma’am,” she said.
“Good day.” I slipped some coins into my palm from inside my cloak. I could spare a few pence for valuable information. I approached the ribbon display, snatching a spool of the first blue one I saw. The shopkeeper would be much more willing to provide me with information if I made a purchase.
“One yard of this, please.” I slid the ribbon across the counter with a sugary smile. “You must be quite familiar with this town. Would you be able to direct me to Mr. James Wortham’s residence? I mistook his directions.”
I blinked innocently as the woman’s shears snipped through the blue ribbon. Her eyes met mine. “Up Market Street,” she pointed toward the window, “head north and take yer first right, he’s the second house ye see.” She gave me one last look of appraisal before taking my coins and handing over the ribbon in a bag.
“Thank you.” With my purchase in hand, and the directions in the back of my mind, I made my way outside to find Clara. She was still beside Miss Bentford, who wore a look of concern. I hesitated, hiding behind a display of seashell jewelry. Perhaps it would be best to find Mr. Wortham’s house alone while Miss Bentford was still unaware of my whereabouts. Visiting a man of his station for a matter of business couldn’t be consideredwildlyimproper. What did I have to lose? No one in this town knew me—not yet. Not that anyone lived within the bounds of propriety here anyway.
Before I could change my mind, I tightened my shawl around me, lowered my bonnet to hide my face, and sped up the road toward Mr. Wortham’s house. I recalled the directions the woman had given me and headed north, then turned right. His was the second house.
I stopped in front of it and pulled my shawl even tighter. A rough stone pathway was flanked by hedges, struggling to keep their color. The two peaks of the roof met in the middle in a straight line, with red tile slats between. The entire facade was mottled grey, like charcoal streaked on wood. It matched the sky. I squinted up at the stiff, intimidating cottage and found that it suited its inhabitant quite nicely.
Gathering my fortitude, I picked up my steps and took myself to the porch. Without hesitation, I rapped my knuckles against the door. I waited, but heard nothing inside. The house wasn’t large. Surely he had heard me. I raised my fist to knock again when the door was pulled open so abruptly I felt my heart skip. I quickly lowered my fist but not before it went unnoticed.
Mr. Wortham stood there, brows lifted. He glanced behind me as if expecting to find my companions. His surprise deepened. “Miss Lyons.”
“Mr. Wortham.” I held myself with perfect posture despite the rain that trickled down on me. I didn’t know if I was more surprised by his appearance or that he had addressed me properly. He was dressed…well. He wore a waistcoat, clean breeches, and a cravat—loosely tied, but cleaned and starched. The waistcoat was pale green, embossed with silver strands.
“What brings you here on this fine morning?” he asked in an amused voice.
My eyes flickered to the book he held in his hand. “You—you can…read?” My voice was raspy with shock, lacking the smoothtone I usually employed around gentlemen. But Mr. Wortham wasn’t a gentleman. He was a dirty, uneducated scoundrel. Yes. That was it.
“No. I merely use this book as a coaster for my jug of brandy.”
I remained silent.
There was a sardonic smile on Mr. Wortham’s lips that told me he had been jesting. “Of course I can read. I’ve been reading since I was a child.” He looked down at me with a stern brow, as if expecting me to challenge him.
“But you are a fisherman—er—tradesman, costermonger…” My words trailed off. What was his profession exactly? I remembered the shilling he had offered that poor man on the street. No fisherman would sacrifice that much of their wage so freely. And his speech. It was rough to the untrained ear, but significantly more refined than that of the other men I’d observed in town.
I was distracted by my thoughts—I didn’t notice Mr. Wortham lean his head closer. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about me.”
I studied his face for one second longer and tucked my questions away to analyze later. I realized with embarrassment that I hadn’t told him why I was here. I hurried the words from my mouth, annoyed with myself for allowing this man to dishevel me.
“I have come to thank you for the assistance you have given my sister and me. It is much appreciated.” I swallowed my pride. “And now, I would venture once again to ask if you would be willing to share the information we so desperately need regarding suitable employment.” I tried one more time at a coy smile and glanced up at him as my lashes fluttered downward.
He held the door open wider and ushered me inside, hardly glancing at me as he did. “I’ll dismiss that obvious flirting as a desperate attempt to avoid your end of the bargain.”
I fought back a frustrated scowl. “I am not avoiding anything.”
“You are avoiding telling me why you and your companions are here in Craster.”
I released a huffed breath. “Why do you wish to know so badly?”
He was silent for several seconds, holding my gaze with a suspicious look until he finally took a step back. “Come in. We will discuss the matter inside before you catch a cold.”
I hesitated on the doorstep. I had never ventured into a man’s house alone before, and both my manners and good sense fought against the idea. I spotted a woman who looked like a housekeeper standing nearby, as well as a footman. My surprise returned. Did Mr. Wortham have a staff too? It seemed impossible.
The servants did make me feel more comfortable, so I stepped into the entryway and followed Mr. Wortham to a room that looked like a small library. My nose was greeted with the smell of paper and wood polish. Shelves bordered the room, stacked full and orderly with books. There was a desk to one side near a low-burning fireplace. I sat on one side of the table and Mr. Wortham took his place across from me.
