Page 58 of A Secret Correspondence
Samuel chuckled. “I shall tell her you did it.”
“Me?” Oliver tucked his chin in surprise.
“Accidentally. It was dark, and…”
“Oh, Sam,” Ruth said, laughing. “Just tell her you weren’t watching where you were walking and ran into something.”
He considered it. “That could work.”
“You were dreaming of Miss Farrow,” Oliver added helpfully.
“Indeed.” He looked to the window, thinking of the course of the evening’s events, and realized how very little he had thought of Miss Farrow. In fact, she hadn’t crossed his mind until he realized he would need to explain his sudden bruising.
A slight frown settled on his mouth.
“Do not berate yourself over this,” Oliver said softly. “You were ambushed.”
“I am not worried any longer.” Samuel glanced at his cousin. He would not explain that he hadn’t been thinking about his failure. He drew in a breath and blinked, his bruised eye throbbing painfully. “Once we do find him, I will simply return the favor.”
Chapter Twenty
Marguerite moved the candlesticks further down the counter so she could search through the wreckage, but still she found no note. She huffed out a breath and rose from the floor, bringing an armful of ribbons and gloves with her. It would be far easier to put the store back to rights with the morning light, but she had to be certain they had not missed anything. It would seem they hadn’t. Samuel had interrupted the person in the middle of their threat, and they had left.
She would never know if that had always been the intent or not. Bending to pick up more gloves, fans, and shawls, Marguerite scowled. What purpose had this served? Had they meant to disturb her peace? Frighten her into recognizing they were increasing their actions each time they came into her home?
She swallowed. Itwasfrightening. Whoever this person was, it felt as though they had designed an elaborate parlor game with her life. What would be next? When would it come? Who or what would be damaged?
Her eyes sought the parlor door as she chewed her lip.Perhaps if she…but no. She had no mode of communication, no way to accept the trade this person had proposed.
Furthermore, she did not have the diamonds they were after.
Marguerite picked up her candlestick and walked through her shop, making certain each window and door was secured tightly. She had taken to wedging a chair beneath the door handle at night, for it was the only way she could fall asleep.
That, and keeping a gun beside her pillow.
“Claude,” she called, making her way toward the parlor. The cat was lounging in her favorite place on the sofa. A candle still burned on the table, and Marguerite left it. She checked the window, found it locked, and reinforced it with a wooden dowel Jacob had provided for her.
With a hesitant glance over her shoulder, Marguerite crossed the room and set her candlestick on the floor. She knelt before the worn, aged trunk and lifted the lid, the smell assaulting her at once and making her think of the family she had lost. Sorrow touched her heart like an old acquaintance, but the feeling was familiar, weakened with age.
Lifting a boy’s shirt aside, she pulled one of her aunt’s gowns from the trunk and brought it to her nose. Amidst the dust and age, she inhaled the familiar scent that brought her family close to mind. When she had gifted Jacob with a sleep shirt for his young apprentice well over a year ago, she had told him it had belonged to a nephew of hers, for fear that the truth would reveal how very long she had been separated from her family. Now, she wondered why she had lied so many times to so many good people.
What had she accomplished by putting them at a distance? No one in Harewood truly knew her. She had not allowed them to. While she had made friends, she still could not pass the barrier into closeness because of the walls she had erected.
Marguerite gently replaced the gown and lifted the stack of clothing, moving it aside until she found the small, gildedjewelry box at the bottom. It contained clippings of her cousin Claude’s hair and a necklace of stones he and Marguerite had made when they were small and did not understand the cruelties of the world.
She removed the necklace and replaced the jewelry box, putting everything back where it was. To have her mother’s trunk returned would have been a joy beyond measure. The clothing, the memories, the scents…Marguerite would give much for those things.
But she could not allow this madman to win. Could she?
Blowing out a huff of air, she closed the lid and rose. “Come, Claude. It is time to sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
Marguerite had been wrong.In the light of the fresh morning sun, the shop looked significantly worse. Claude followed her and jumped onto the counter, walking along the piles she had placed there last night. She first walked to the front door and removed the chair from where it had been wedged, then set about tidying the disarray.
It took far longer than she had anticipated, but by the time she received her first visitor of the day, order had been restored. Claude chose the moment the door opened to slip outside and disappear, but Marguerite did not blame her. She would have liked to breathe the fresh air as well.
The morning passed with a slow stream of visitors with varying needs. Two fittings for stays, one new design for a day dress, and a woman in need of a long-sleeved pelisse who could not make up her mind on a fabric.
By the time the noon hour came and went, Marguerite was more than willing to place a sign on her door, lock it, and walk across the street toward the inn to visit with the cook.
