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“You once told me you liked a bit of mystery and intrigue.” Roxina leaned forward. “Could you cause a commotion—something that would draw people out of their cottages, just for a few minutes? Just enough time for Mr. Tellinger and me to slip in and out of my cottage unnoticed?”

A delighted gleam entered Mrs. Beale’s faded blue eyes. A sparkle that suggested she had been waiting for just such an opportunity to cause mischief her whole life. She stared into the kitchen for a moment, as if rifling through an invisible cabinet of schemes, then returned her gaze to Roxina and formed a slow, rather devious smile.

“I have just the thing.” She placed both palms on the table and pushed to her feet, joints cracking in protest. “I shall run from my garden into the street toward the center of town, screaming, ‘Help, help! Thieves! Robbers!’”

Roxina’s mouth sagged. “That’s… rather dramatic.”

“Precisely the point,” Mrs. Beale replied with a pleased nod. “If you’re going to cause a ruckus, best do it properly.”

“It’s brilliant,” Shelby assured her. “Just the thing.”

With little moonlight, no one could see which direction the imaginary thieves had run. Regardless, hesitation gripped Roxina.

Could they truly pull this caper off?

Should they be caught…

No. Stop.

She could not allow the thought to form fully.

“Yes… that very well might work.” She gave a tentative nod. “But what happens when it is discovered there are no thieves?”

“You leave that to me.” Mrs. Beale chuckled, her shoulders shaking with mirth. She threw a hand across her ample bosom.

“Why, I might have woken from a dream and thought I saw a shadow in the kitchen.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m a widow, and at my age, people expect a touch of confusion. I might as well use it to my advantage.”

Shelby chuckled. “Very clever.”

She eyed him before veering her gaze to Roxina. “Wait here. I have a few things to help disguise you.”

After Mrs. Beale lumbered from the room, Roxina attempted a brave smile. “She’s quite a sweet lady.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Beale reappeared, her arms laden.

She plopped the pile onto the table and then began sorting through the garments. She pulled out a man’s black single-breasted greatcoat and a broad-brimmed beaver hat and thrust them at Shelby. “These were my late husband’s.”

“Just the thing.” Shelby’s eyes lit with surprise and gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

She raised a rather hideous black poke bonnet from the table for Roxina’s inspection. “I wore this for my husband’s funeral. It will completely hide your face.”

Without hesitation, Roxina removed her bonnet and donned Mrs. Beale's. She also removed Shelby’s jacket as Mrs. Beale handed her a long black cloak. “Your gown is a dead giveaway, Miss Danforth. This will hide it well.”

Tears stung Roxina’s eyes.

Not so long ago, she believed Mrs. Beale to be a mean-spirited gossip.

How wrong she had been.

Not just about her, but about Shelby.

However, Roxina had no time to dwell on that unexpected and soul-shaking revelation.

To her surprise, the elderly woman suddenly embraced her. “Be safe, my dear. And if you have the chance, please write to me. Let me know you are well.”

A lump formed in Roxina’s throat.

A request from a lonely old woman to correspond with her, wrapped in genuine concern.