Page 57 of Affair

“If this is an attempt to obtain money from me—”

“No, no, it is not.” Sobbing, Juliana rushed toward the door.

“Miss Post, wait, I have some questions to ask you.”

“I cannot bear to talk about it.” Juliana paused in the doorway and looked back at Charlotte with bitter eyes. “I came here today because I felt it was my duty to warn you that St. Ives is a bastard not only by birth, but by temperament. I am lost, Miss Arkendale. But it is not too late to save yourself. Take care or you will meet the same bad end.”

Nine

Charlotte heard the front door slam shut behind Juliana Post. She hurried out into the hall and peered through the window. She was in time to watch Juliana climb into a hackney carriage with an agility that was amazing in a woman who was so far advanced in her pregnancy.

Charlotte whirled around and seized a deep-brimmed straw bonnet from a wall hook. She grabbed the serviceable woolen coat that hung beside it.

Mrs. Witty emerged from the kitchens. She dried her hands on the neat white apron that covered her new bombazine gown and frowned at Charlotte. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I’m going to follow that woman who just left.” Charlotte yanked open the front door and started down the steps. “I want to see where she goes.”

“This is madness,” Mrs. Witty called from the doorway. “She left in a carriage. You cannot hope to keep up with her on foot.”

“The traffic is so slow in this part of town that I should be able to keep the carriage in sight if I hurry.” Charlotte jammed her bonnet down onto her head and started to run.

“But you may have to follow her for a great distance,” Mrs. Witty yelled.

Charlotte paid no attention. Several heads turned to watch as she flew along the walkway. She ignored the assortment of amused expressions and disapproving looks. She was well aware that those who knew her already thought her rather odd. Strangers would only shrug at the sight of a woman rushing through the throng of delivery carts and farmers’ wagons that crowded the streets at this hour of the day.

The lumbering hackney turned the corner at the far end of the street. Charlotte realized that if she cut through the park, she would be able to shorten the distance that separated her from the vehicle.

She turned and dashed through the iron gates that marked the entrance to the small green square. Clutching her bonnet, she emerged, breathless, at the opposite gate.

Mrs. Witty had been right. She could not go on much farther at this pace. Juliana’s carriage was gaining ground.

She scanned the street with a sense of growing desperation. A flower cart driven by a youth of about fifteen stood midway down the block. She raced toward it, waving to get the boy’s attention.

He glanced at her with a curious expression as she reached the cart. “Did ye want to buy some flowers, ma’am?”

“No, but I will pay you well if you will take me up and follow that hackney.”

The boy frowned. “Don’t know if me pa would want me doin’ that, ma’am.”

“I will make it worth your while.” Charlotte hiked up her skirts and started to climb aboard. “I will purchase every flower on your cart if you will help me.”

“Well …”

“Just think, you will be free for the rest of the day and when you return home this afternoon, your pa will be happy enough when he sees you’ve sold every bloom.”

The boy still looked dubious. “You’ll be wantin’ every single flower?”

“Yes, indeed.” Charlotte sat down and gave the young man an encouraging smile. “I love flowers.”

The boy hesitated only a second longer. Then he shrugged. “Me pa always did say the fancy was peculiar.”

He flapped the reins vigorously. Startled, the plump pony broke into a brisk trot. Charlotte strove to catch her breath as the cart jolted forward in pursuit of the hackney.

Fifteen minutes later the flower cart rounded another corner in a modest neighborhood. Charlotte watched Juliana’s carriage come to a halt in front of a small house.

“This is far enough,” Charlotte said. “You need not wait for me. I shall find my own way home.”

“’Ere, now, what about me flowers?”

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