Page 36 of A Ghost of a Chance

“Henry. He left during their ball, and Osanne went looking for him. She never returned.” Mrs. Grainger shook her head. “Mr. and Mrs. Jewell were devastated. They never recovered. The next spring, Mrs. Jewell tore out every single daffodil. They moved away a few days later and let out the house. I never heard from them again.” She frowned. “I thought we were friends but she never wrote to me.”

Mrs. Brown leaned forward. “That must have been difficult for you. Perhaps she withdrew from everyone due to her grief.”

Had Rafe withdrawn due to grief? His wanderings had been the perfect excuse. Perhaps his desire to visit all his fellow comrades came from a less noble desire than he had first supposed.

Mr. Brown asked, “Did they ever find Henry?”

Mrs. Grainger blinked. “Who?”

“Henry, the Jewells’ son who slipped away the night Osanne disappeared?”

Mrs. Grainger frowned and blinked. “Henry. Henry?” Confused, she fluttered her hands and muttered. Then she reared back and rolled her eyes wildly. “Who are you people? Nellie! Nellie, come quickly! There are strangers in my house!”

The girl came running. “All is well, madam; they’re your friends—the vicar and—”

“They’ve come to rob me! Get out!” Mrs. Grainger shrieked, waving her arms.

The girl gave them an apologetic look as she poured dark liquid out of a bottle into a glass and brought it to Mrs. Grainger’s quivering lips. Laudanum, most likely.

Rafe and his friends hastily bid farewell. Outside in the blinding sunlight, they let out audible breaths.

Rafe said the first thing that came to his mind. “That girl is clearly underpaid and overworked.”

The vicar nodded soberly. “I wish I could do more for her.”

His wife explained, “That girl is her great-granddaughter, Fanny. Mrs. Grainger’s granddaughter ran off in her youth and married an impoverished fisherman. They sent Fanny here so Mrs. Grainger could train her to serve as a maid.” Her mouth twisted slightly. “That is, when she remembers Fanny is her kin and not a girl-of-all-work whose name changes.”

Rafe frowned. A pity he couldn’t help that poor girl.

They turned their steps back to the vicarage. Along the way, Rafe stopped as he caught sight of someone slumped next to a tree several paces from the lane.

“What is it?” Mr. Brown followed Rafe’s line of sight. “Oh, dear. It seems Jake Wilson has overindulged again. Poor soul. I can’t seem to help him find peace.”

“Let’s get him home,” Rafe suggested.

Mr. Brown nodded. “He lives nearby.”

Rafe and Mr. Brown picked up the drooling, snoring Jake Wilson and got him to his small, ramshackle cottage. As they lowered him into his bed, Jake mumbled something about war, Spanish women, and earrings.

Cold pinpricks raced down Rafe’s spine. He took an unconscious step backward. Apparently, Jake Wilson had been with that group of soldiers who turned into hellhounds and sacked the town of Badajoz, Spain. “So sorry,” Jake whimpered. “No forgiveness....”

Rafe took another step backward as if the other man’s crimes might somehow rub off on him. Though Rafe had been hundreds of miles from the scene of the bloodiest battle of the war, he had heard about the horrific violence battle-enraged British soldiers had rained down on the innocent civilians of that town.

Mr. Brown patted Jake’s shoulder. “Rest now, Mr. Wilson.”

Gently, Mrs. Brown put a blanket over the man’s sleeping form before they left him to sleep off his drunkenness.

The sight of such a kind and pure people touching such a depraved scoundrel set Rafe’s teeth on edge.

Back outside, Mrs. Brown smiled up at Rafe. “Won’t you please join us for dinner, Mr. Beauchamp?”

Taken aback, he held out his hands. “I wouldn’t wish to impose.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Brown said. “We’d love to share our table with you. And perhaps we can convince you to give up your wanderings and settle down here in Madding Hollow.”

If only he could. Until he had done all he could for all of his men, he would never be free to settle anywhere.

Chapter Ten