Page 28

“Mrs. Beale, it’s Roxina.” Her voice, though barely above a whisper, carried the urgency thrumming through her. “I need your help. Please.”

A front curtain fluttered for the merest instant, but several excruciating seconds stretched on before the distinct scrape of a key turning in a lock sounded.

At last, the door cracked open a couple of inches, revealing Mrs. Beale, her nightcap askew, clearly having already prepared for bed. She peered out, eyes narrowed, one hand clutching a brass candlestick as if prepared to use it as a weapon.

“It is you.” She peered up and down the lane. “Well, let’s get you inside before someone sees you lurking about and I have to answer awkward questions in the morn.”

Releasing a grateful sigh, Roxina darted into the house, her heart still hammering.

Mrs. Beale promptly closed the door and locked it with a decisive snap.

“This had better not bring trouble to my doorstep, girl,” she muttered, though the sharpness in her eyes eased as she studied Roxina.

Before Roxina could even turn down the collar of Shelby’s coat, a sudden blur of fur launched itself at her from the kitchen.

“Dash!” A startled laugh bubbled forth as she dropped to her knees, throwing her arms around the scruffy dog. Wagging his tail furiously, he whined and licked her cheek. His entire body quivered with joy. “Oh—I was so afraid for you.”

Tears blurred her eyes. Her voice hitched as she buried her face in his warm fur, the tension of the past hours unraveling the merest bit because he was safe and unharmed.

“That beast of yours has done nothing but pace and grumble since he arrived.” Mrs. Beale sniffed, sounding suspiciously near tears. “Took him in because I’m softhearted and know how much he means to you, but I draw the line at sharing my bed with a flea-ridden mongrel.”

At that moment, a furious yowl split the air.

Roxina turned just in time to see a plump orange tabby perched on the edge of the rocking chair, its back arched, fur bristling in swirling patterns. Its round belly wobbled slightly with the motion, but its amber eyes blazed with outrage.

From beneath the table, a sleek silver cat slinked out, its narrow body draped in inky-black stripes. Its white-tipped tail flicked once, and its green eyes—sharp and gleaming—narrowed into glowing slits as it studied the scene, tense and watchful.

“And my cats are none too pleased about his presence, either.” Mrs. Beale sighed, planting her hands on her wide hips. “Just look at them, will you? Acting like I’ve invited the devil himself in for tea and crumpets.”

Dash, entirely unfazed, wagged his tail and let out a friendly woof.

The orange tabby responded with a hiss, then bolted for the nearest chair, sending a sewing basket tumbling in its wake. Bobbins rolled across the floor. A tangle of embroidery floss spilled out like unraveled secrets trailing in the cat’s frantic path.

“Oh, heavens, I—I’m so sorry,” Roxina gasped. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a bobbin, her heart still racing. “Dash didn’t mean to⁠—”

She swallowed hard and looked up, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Beale huffed, bending with great effort to retrieve a thimble that had rolled near her slippered foot.

“Thank you for not turning me away, Mrs. Beale.” Roxina summoned a wobbly smile. “Truly, I don’t know what I would have done if you had. I am quite desperate.”

Roxina exhaled shakily, twisting a piece of petal pink embroidery floss between her fingers.

“I expect this visit of yours comes with a great deal more trouble than a bit of spilled thread,” Mrs. Beale said.

“It does,” Roxina admitted, her voice weighted with emotion. “More than I can bear alone.” She dared to meet the older woman’s gaze. “And I swear, I wouldn’t have come if I had any other choice.”

Mrs. Beale sighed, shaking her head as she stooped to gather the rest of the sewing supplies.

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re here,” she muttered gruffly, though softness tempered her tone. She set the basket back in place and smoothed a loose thread between her fingers.

“Well, don’t just kneel there. Up with you.” She waved a gnarled hand. “Let’s put the kettle on. Tea may not solve every trouble, but it warms the soul and steels the spirit.”

Roxina pushed to her feet, taking in the cottage’s cozy interior.

The small sitting room exuded warmth, its well-worn furnishings lovingly kept and neatly arranged. The scent of lemon and beeswax polish lingered in the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of baked bread and chicken pasties. A rocking chair sat near the hearth, where embers glowed faintly in the iron grate.

Roxina exhaled, tension unraveling from her chest.