Page 19

Montpelier Row

Blackheath, England

3 May 1819—Around half past ten in the morning

What was the worst that could happen?

Mrs. Beale would say no.

Roxina rapped Mrs. Beale’s brass knocker—a cat’s face, of course. The door flew open at once, as if the elderly woman had been watching out her front window.

Given Mrs. Beale’s propensity to snoop—ah, sleuth—she probably had.

“Would you like to accompany me to St. Alfege Church this morning?” Roxina asked without preamble. She had little time to spare after oversleeping and baking this morning, but as she passed Mrs. Beale’s gate, the impulse to invite her to church seized Roxina.

“You are very kind to think of me, my dear, but my gout no longer allows long treks.” Expression slightly unsure, Mrs. Beale offered a tentative smile. “Would you care to join me for supper this evening? I make a fine chicken pasty, if I don’t say so myself.”

“That would be delightful.” Roxina swept her lips upward into an answering smile. “I made a rhubarb crumble this morning. I shall bring it.”

Noticing the panting dog at her side, Mrs. Beale raised her eyebrows. “Taken in that scruffy creature, have you?”

“Yes, I felt sorry for him.” Roxina dropped Dash an affectionate glance. “Dash is a gentle soul, and I like the company.”

“You have a tender heart, Miss Danforth.” The elderly woman gave a knowing nod, her chins folding in on themselves like a well-stacked pile of crumpets. “I suspected that the first time I saw you.”

Roxina very much doubted that but said nothing. Mrs. Beale’s opinion of her had not always been favorable. But then, neither had hers been of Mrs. Beale.

“You wouldn’t have extended such kindness to an old woman if you did not.” Holding one of her tabbies with her gnarled hands, Mrs. Beale ran her arthritic fingers over the green-eyed cat’s soft fur.

“I rescued my four darlings as well. Someone dumped them at Blackheath Common five years ago. I heard their pitiful cries when I walked by.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “I could still walk quite well back then.”

“I’m sure,” Roxina murmured politely.

She really must be on her way. She hated being one of the last to arrive and chance interrupting the service.

“Can you imagine what sort of dastardly person would do such a horrid thing to an innocent animal?” Features hardening, Mrs. Beale pursed her lips in disapproval. “There is a special place in hell for such wretches.”

Roxina gave a brief nod, the gentle breeze ruffling her bonnet’s ribbons. “Unfortunately, the world is full of scoundrels and scapegraces.”

Her brother and Shelby instantly came to mind, though she no longer believed Shelby to be a scallywag.

Would she ever see either again?

Did they ever think of her?

She doubted it.

That truth didn’t wound her as much as it once would have done.

Perhaps she had learned to forgive, or at the very least, move on.

Mrs. Beale’s spoiled pet regarded Dash warily, the disdain in its bottle-green eyes making it abundantly clear that if it could speak, it would voice a strongly worded complaint about the intrusion of canines into its domain.

Sitting on his haunches, his tongue lolling as he panted, Dash thumped his tail with the contentment of a dog who had known want.

“I know what it is like to be alone, Miss Danforth.” Mrs. Beale peered at her, sincerity and earnestness creasing her plump features. “If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. We women must stick together.”

At her kindness, a sudden rush of emotions formed a lump in Roxina’s throat.