A quiet knock on her door made her start. She stared at it, and all the anticipation she had known with Gareth poured out of the past. She must upbraid him, of course, for breaking his promise. She must send him away. Yet her heart urged that door to open, and for him to stride over and pull her into his arms and obliterate her arguments and good intentions with a kiss.
The door did open an inch. Then another, until it was ajar. She gripped the book so hard it hurt her hand.
A head poked in and looked around. “Eva?”
Her heart sank. Not Gareth. Rebecca had come.
Rebecca saw her sitting in the chair and came in. “I almost got lost, but remembered the way after all. I wanted to see you alone, without Sarah about.”
Eva patted the bed beside her chair. Rebecca sat, and pushed her long hair back over her shoulders. She wore a nightdress but no robe or wrap. She appeared lithe and innocent.
“I hope you are not going to complain about Mr. Mansfield, Rebecca. Sarah insists she did not arrange for him to be in London at the same time as us.”
Rebecca cocked her head. Her brow puckered. “I never thought Sarah had arranged it, or that he came to London following me. To do that would mean he was at least somewhat romantic, and I do not think he has a romantic ounce in him.”
Eva almost defended Mr. Mansfield, but let it be. It astonished her that Rebecca really thought the afternoon a total coincidence. Her sister could be very stupid for someone with such a smart brain.
“What do you have there?” Eva asked. Rebecca had carried in a little pouch much like the one hanging from a nail at home, under the floorboard.
Rebecca opened the pouch and poured out a pile of shillings. “There are sixty. He owes you more. Mr. Stevenson, that is. I visited his shop the day before we left, and your paintingswere not there. He said some were sold, but the others were in patrons’ homes, being considered for purchase. I think he lied, and that he hoped giving me this for you would allow him to wait a long time before giving you the rest.”
Eva reached over and stacked the coins. “Did you tell Sarah about the paintings?”
Rebecca shook her head. “We were visiting a shop on that street, and I said I needed some air. I took the opportunity to run into Mr. Stevenson’s.”
“To whom did he sell the ones he admits were sold?” Three, if he intended to pay her the same as before. She had brought him nine.
“They were taken by that picture seller from London. That is why I think Mr. Stevenson lied. He said that man would take all you could make. Mr. Stevenson must have written him at once to say he had more available.”
They admired the shillings. Eva felt almost rich.
“Such good fortune, Rebecca.”
“It is a pity it cannot continue. Perhaps you should tell Mr. Fitzallen that you borrowed those pictures and copied them. You are friends now, and he might not mind too much and permit you to borrow more.”
“I did not borrow them. That requires the owner’s permission. I stole them. That I returned them halves the sin, perhaps, but it was still theft. And do I confess to the chairs too? That was outright theft, for all the excuses I found to call it something else.”
“You should probably leave out the chairs.”
“It is all of one sum, with respect to my character. If I say I took some pictures, why should he believe I returned all of them when so much else disappeared from that house? I could not blame him for wondering. A person who helps herself to thatwhich is not hers, even temporarily, cannot be trusted not to forget to return what she takes.”
Rebecca poked at the shillings. “I suppose if we are frugal, what you have now will last many months. Eventually it will all be spent, however. Then what?”
Eva hoped that by then Rebecca would have married well and have a husband’s support. Presumably that husband would not allow his wife’s sister to live in poverty, although Eva did not relish the idea of becoming the dependent sister. Nor did she intend to, since Mr. Stevenson had now found her a way to support herself so well.
“You are not to worry. I may have found an alternative,” she said. “Miss Neville has said I can copy some of their paintings. Several look quite good. I think Mr. Stevenson’s London buyer would like them.”
Rebecca’s expression cleared. “That is wonderful. I am so glad that you are becoming the sisters’ friend too. I knew you would like them once you knew them better.” She stood and went to the door. “I am going to spy into every picture shop we pass while we are here. I think Mr. Stevenson is getting much more than he pretends for those paintings. You would, too, if you could offer them to that man directly.”
Eva guessed she would as well, which was why Mr. Stevenson would never allow her to know that picture seller’s name. As for Rebecca finding him during their visit—London was very big, with many streets and lanes and many picture sellers. They would probably return to Langdon’s End as ignorant of that buyer’s name as when they left.
***
Gareth took his guests to the British Museum the next day. The excursion proved both educational and tiring for all.Only Rebecca remained enthralled to the end, and he suspected she would have petitioned to remain longer if Sarah had not complained about her sore feet.
Eva gave most of her attention to the art, especially the Greek marbles. Sarah joked none too subtly about howveryeducational those nude male sculpted figures must be for innocents like her cousins. Eva smiled serenely at being the source of Sarah’s amusement, and studied the reliefs and statues all the closer, only once sliding Gareth a glance that communicated their private reason for finding Sarah’s innuendos very funny.
The butler eased Gareth aside as soon as he and his guests returned to the house.
