Page 10

Chapter Four

Cressida's plans had progressed no further when they were abruptly ruined the next morning.

In the middle of her chores, a knock sounded at the front door. Pausing only to pull off her apron—Granny would scold her fiercely for opening the door in her apron, even if everyone knew the Turners had no more servants and must do the cleaning themselves—she opened the door and inhaled sharply. Standing on the front step was the man who had been in the stable the previous day, the dead man who was not dead.

“Good morning.” He doffed his hat with a courteous bow to reveal close-cropped dark hair.

Cressida could only stare at him in mute horror.

“Is there someone—? Oh!” Callie came up behind her. Cressida couldn’t seem to look away from the visitor, even as she felt her sister’s gaze on her. He looked different in the sunlight: taller, cleaner, more commanding. Richer, too. Unbidden, the fear that he had come for money owed him clutched at her. They had no money to pay anyone. And he was still looking directly at her with searing blue eyes that seemed to have frozen her mind and tongue.

“Good day, sir,” Callie said after an awkward pause. She poked Cressida in the back as she bobbed a brief curtsey. “May we help you?”

He finally turned that gaze on Callie. “Forgive me for calling unannounced. Alexander Hayes, at your service. I’ve come on a somewhat delicate matter, involving Sergeant George Turner. This is his home, is it not?”

Cressida’s knees locked. Oh dear God. A delicate matter. He had come about money. She gripped the dust cloth in her hand until her fingers shook.

“Of course,” Callie said hesitantly. “Please come in. I am Mrs. Phillips, and this is my sister, Miss Turner. Sergeant Turner is our father.”

Major Hayes bowed again without looking in Cressida’s direction. Her face feeling like wood, she followed Callie’s example and bobbed a curtsey. A fine sort of gentleman he turned out to be. Vulture, she thought wildly, even though she knew it was unjust. If the Hayes family had lent Papa money, they deserved to be repaid. She just didn’t know how she would do it.

She followed Callie and Major Hayes into the parlor, which thankfully she had already dusted. In fact, the dust cloth was still in her hand, and she hastily dropped it on her chair and sat on it, trying to calm her thundering pulse. Perhaps she should have told him to just take the horses the other day. . .

“I’ve come at the request of Colonel Lord Pickering,” said the major when he had taken a seat. “I believe you wrote to him inquiring after your father.” Callie shot a worried look at Cressida, but slowly nodded. Major Hayes smiled a little, a kind, reassuring smile. Not at all like a vulture. “He asked me to look into your father’s disappearance, and to see if I might be of assistance to your family.”

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Cressida asked before she could stop herself. He’d come to help them, not to beggar them—oh, if only she had known that yesterday! She had pointed the pistol at him before he could explain anything, it was true, but if he’d mentioned his connection to Pickering, she certainly wouldn’t have kept pointing it at him.

He turned those deep blue eyes on her, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. “I was somewhat discomposed when we met before, Miss Turner. Forgive me.”

“Of course,” she muttered. If he had been discomposed, what would describe her feeling now? Regret, that she had almost shot a man who came in response to her letter? She could hardly apologize for that now, with Callie glancing curiously between the two of them. Cressida dug her fingernails into her palms. No, it wasn’t regret; more like red-faced, mortal embarrassment. Had she really called him a vulture, even if only in her mind? She resolved to let Callie, the more temperate sister, speak from now on.

“That is very good of you, sir,” her sister said when Cressida sat in resolute silence. “Colonel Pickering sent us only a brief note that he knew nothing of what my father might have done after their meeting, and that he would make inquiries.”

Major Hayes nodded. “I was asked to make those inquiries. I know only the bare facts, though, and anything you can tell me would be a great help.”

Callie cleared her throat and looked down. “Yes. Thank you. I— We— That is, my father left almost four months ago. He went to see Colonel Pickering in London, and we expected him to return within a fortnight.”

“Did he send any word after his meeting with Colonel Pickering that he would be delayed or planned to stay longer?”

“No.”

The major’s piercing gaze flashed toward Cressida for just a second. “You did not write to Lord Pickering until recently.”

This time Callie turned toward Cressida, silently appealing for help. She wet her lips and reminded herself to be calm and polite. “Our father isn’t in the habit of telling us his every plan. We did expect him home sooner, but it wouldn’t be unusual for him to do. . . other things.”

“Might those other things delay him three months?”

“Yes,” she said. It didn’t reflect very well on Papa, and she hated telling this stranger that he regularly took off on unexplained larks, but there was no point in hiding it, and she was running out of patience with her father anyway. “Sometimes.”

“Ah.” He was still looking at her. “Do you usually worry?”

Cressida felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Did they often write to senior military officers and ask for help finding him, was what the major meant. “Not normally, no.”

“If I may be so bold, what has alarmed you this time?”

He knew, she thought in despair; he knew it was because they were out of money.

“He’s never been gone this long,” said Callie, diplomatically stepping into the breach. “We’ve had no word at all from him, and he did say he would return soon. We wrote to Colonel Pickering in the hope Papa might have mentioned something to him.”