The older girl gravely took the coins and her sister’s hand. “Yes, Mama.”
“And what do we do?”
“Count the change twice!” the girls chorused.
“That’s my little nightmares. Now go.” Mrs. Crewe watched them hurry down the stairs and into the street before turning to rake Maddie with a glance that seemed to take in every wrinkle and flyaway strand of hair. Her own thick hair was pulled back as though letting even one strand escape would mean the whole world would unravel at the seams. Her hand tightened on the handle of her cane, the knuckles white. “Thank you for your generosity in opening your home to us. I hope we shall not be trespassing too long upon your kindness.”
Her stepmother’s reputation was at least a little justified: Lydia Crewe could make even gratitude sound like a judgment. Maddie smiled without baring her teeth. “You’re very welcome, ma’am.”
The second Mrs. Crewe regarded her stepdaughter narrowly. She was shorter than Maddie by a good six inches, but the keenness of her gaze made it easy to forget that fact. She looked like a person who went about constantly sizing up the world, as if weighing it for purchase. “There is something you aren’t telling me,” she said suspiciously.
“There are many things I’m not telling you, ma’am,” Maddie retorted.
Mrs. Crewe’s lips twitched briefly before she pressed her lips together in reproof. “I’d say you’re as shifty as your father—but from what he says, I suspect you’re a good deal cleverer. I’d like to trust that means you won’t get caught. But I am not, in my soul, the trusting sort.” Her voice was sharp and icy as the northern wind outside. “I intend to watch you, my girl. I’ve had my household uprooted by dishonest behavior: it shan’t happen again, if I can prevent it.”
“Then let’s find ways of helping you be independent, ma’am,” Maddie said. “So the only honesty you have to worry about is your own.”
A very startling dimple flashed in Mrs. Crewe’s cheek. “Smart,” she said. Maddie wasn’t sure if it was a reprimand or a compliment.
They went down to the kitchen to introduce Cat, then retreated to the front room, where John and Emma were already at work: Emma piecing together a gentleman’s embroidered waistcoat, and John adorning satin slippers with tiny silver beads. “I understand you’re a lace maker, Mrs. Crewe,” John said. “I can refer you to a good workshop, if you like.”
“That’s kind of you,” Mrs. Crewe replied. She lowered herself to a seat on the stool and settled her cane within reach. “As soon as I am drawing a wage, I hope you’ll let me contribute something to the running of the household.”
John and Emma glanced at one another. “We thank you, of course,” John said, “but wouldn’t you rather save those wages for a place of your own?”
“I hope you’re not suggesting this house is not a safe place for me or my daughters?”
Neither John nor Emma nor Maddie had an easy answer to that. They cast anxious glances around in the silence.
Mrs. Crewe’s lips thinned again and she narrowed her eyes at Maddie. “Let me be blunt: your father often said you kept the worst sort of company—that you had loose morals and depraved habits—that the loss of your mother had warped you in some way and sent you down a ruinous path of debauchery and rebellion. And then I learn that you have a room to lend me only because three of you are sharing a room—and I see with my own eyes that room has only a single bed in it.”
John’s shoulders were stone-still; Emma’s eyes were on her work, but not her attention; she gave a sharp gasp when she jabbed herself with her needle.
Mrs. Crewe waved a hand at them and pinned Maddie with her gaze. “Is this one of the things you weren’t telling me?”
“One of them,” Maddie said frankly.
Mrs. Crewe’s mouth tightened. “I’m sure I don’t judge.”
John bristled and Maddie snorted audibly.
Mrs. Crewe sighed. She turned to Emma, one corner of her stern mouth tilting upward. “Let me speak more plainly still. I am sorry to have worried you, and I thank you and Mrs. Grey for your kindness,” she said. “This world holds many virtues—but no virtue is higher than love. However it may differ from convention.”
Emma beamed with relief, the expression making her painfully beautiful.
John let out a long breath.
Mrs. Crewe quirked an eyebrow at her stepdaughter. “That’s one secret out, anyway. Care to confess any others while I’m here?”
“Not just at the moment,” Maddie said, leaning one shoulder against the wall.
“Then I might as well unpack.” Mrs. Crewe levered herself up and nodded to the room. Her cane struck the stairs one by one like the solemn, sinister beat of an executioner’s drum.
“Maddie!” Emma hissed. “You’re not going to tell her about the swindle.”
“Of course not,” Maddie replied. “What good would it do? Hopefully we’ll be done with the whole thing before she has time to notice what we’re up to.”
John said, “The lacemaking will be picking up speed in a month or so.” It always did in spring, when those who could afford lace wanted more of it to flaunt as the weather warmed.
