Mr Business Case shook his head. ‘You have been evicted.’
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. ‘There must be some mistake, sir. I am quite able to pay.’
He ruffled some more papers. ‘Anna Fontaine? Ah, yes. The Bishop of Exeter has declared you a menace to the parish of St Andrew.’ He glared at her. ‘The issue is moral turpitude.’
She gasped. ‘That is impossible!’
‘Hardly. Most of Plymouth heard yesterday’s sermon. Are you aware that this house, and many others, are the property of the Exeter diocese?’ He held out a paper with wax seals. ‘This eviction has been signed by Edward Maddy, curate of St Andrew’s, and counter-signed by Vicar Montague.’
‘I will find another house,’ Anna declared.
‘Unlikely. Word has got out about you. I work for Darius Bledsoe, who controls the rental properties in Plymouth and Devonport for the diocese.’ He pulled out a gold timepiece, glaring at it as though it was as much a disappointment as she was. ‘You have six hours to vacate the premises. If you persist in staying here, you and your possessions will be thrown onto the street and the constable summoned. I will see myself out.’
The front door closed with a distinct click. She stared at Mrs Moore, whose face probably reflected the pallor of her own.
‘That beastly man,’ she said finally. ‘This is monstrous.’
The roaring in her ears subsided enough to hear her housekeeper’s gusty sigh. ‘I would like to twist the head right off that warty little scoundrel!’
Anna sat in silence, imagining such a sight. She wanted to laugh, because Mrs Moore looked as if she could do just that—wipe off her hands, stamp on the curate’s corpse and kick it aside.
‘I believe you could, Mrs Moore,’ she said. ‘I would pay good money to see it, but that will never do.’ She did laugh then. ‘What would the neighbours say?’
‘Do you think that wretched nuisance was teased by fellow classmates as a child? They probably turned his smallclothes inside out and made him wear them over his trousers.’
‘I wouldn’t doubt it for a minute. He probably tattled on them, too.’ She laughed again, hoping it wouldn’t turn into hysterics. It didn’t.
In a minute, Anna heard the early-morning sounds of the fishmonger, who called, ‘Oysters! Oysters! They’re fresh as a sailor back from sea!’ as she made her usual rounds. Life was going on as normal. She had money in hand and more available.
Still…she knew she bore a heavy burden, thanks to a desperate man. She possessed no more power than any woman, which equated to none.
‘Mrs Moore, we have a challenge ahead.’
‘Would you say so?’ Mrs. Moore grinned. ‘Six hours isn’t much time. Do you have a plan?’
‘I will. Give me a moment. Allan and Pru will rise soon and want breakfast. Let me think.’
When the door closed, she told herself,I can do this; I gave him my word. She put her hands over her eyes for one blessed moment.
She spent little time blaming herself. The ladies in Covent Street had seemed welcoming, until an innocent hug had unleashed a storm of censure she could never have anticipated.
‘Think,’ she demanded. ‘You have six hours. Have you a friend anywhere? You only need one. You’ve had your fill of Plymouth.’
Fill… Fillion.I wonder, she thought, then,I barely know her. Anna ordered herself to stop dismissing an idea, any idea. She made herself remember their brief conversation.
I am always here if you need me.
If you need me.
‘I need you now, Mrs Fillion. I know it’s a common thing that polite people say, but I pray that you meant it.’
There was one way to find out. Her promise to Captain Beattie gave her the strength to get her cloak and bonnet, thenfind Mrs Moore in the kitchen, staring with vacant eyes at a pot of oats.
‘I have an idea,’ Anna said. ‘I’ll return soon. After the children have breakfast, get those empty boxes in the cellar and pack the essentials.’
‘Where are you going, love?’ Mrs Moore asked, panic written all over the face of someone usually in charge.
‘I’m going to the Drake.’
