Page 69 of A Secret Correspondence
She chose to sort her ribbons, pulling them from the long dowels and arranging them by color better. All the whites and creams were stacked on the counter when the bell rang out and she looked over her shoulder to see Paul enter the shop.
Marguerite dropped a spool of pale yellow ribbon. “Paul.”
“Good day,ma chére,” he said kindly, his eyes sparkling with affection. His familiar French accent was an immediate comfort, like sitting before a warm fire with a fresh cup of tea.
Her chest warmed at the refreshing sight of the small piece of home. Marguerite immediately crossed the shop with her arms outstretched. “The same to you. This is a pleasant surprise.”
Paul took her hands, squeezing softly before releasing them. He smiled, his side whiskers shifting with the motion. “It has been an age since I have come to visit you here, and I have not been able to stop thinking about you since you came by the house. You worried me, child.”
She shook her head softly, anxious to put his fears to rest. “Would you like some tea?”
“I shouldn’t like to take you from your customers.”
“It is no matter. I can put a sign in the window that I am closed, and we can share a pot in the parlor. I may even have ginger biscuits on hand.”
“Very well. You need not ask me twice.” His eyes twinkled as he led the way toward the parlor.
Marguerite put her sign in the window and locked her door. She picked up the yellow spool of ribbon and replaced it on the counter before following Paul. “Have you come alone?”
“Yes.” He ran his hand over his wiry side whiskers. “I hired a coach for the journey. It’s waiting at the inn.”
“Mrs. Leeks and her boys will take good care of it.”
“I am happy to hear that.”
She slipped into the kitchen to start a pot of tea to boil. Marguerite was not used to entertaining, so it took her a moment to prepare her tray. She breathed in the familiarity of old friends, the ease at which one could converse with those who had known one for the entirety of one’s life. She arranged her few remaining ginger biscuits on a plate and contemplated how much to tell him of the additional notes. It would not begood to worry Paul, and with Oliver’s plan, they would have things well in hand by that evening. Yet he had traveled all this way because he needed to know how she fared. Perhaps his insight and wisdom would be valuable.
Marguerite carried the tea service into the parlor and set it on the small table. She poured each cup, handing one to Paul. “How was your journey?”
“Blessedly uneventful. I did not relish such a long ride, but it passed quickly and without incident. I stopped to visit one of the lads I used to tutor, and it was nice to see him as well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She sat back, sipping her hot tea. Paul had immediately put off his cassock when he reached England and taken a position tutoring boys. They paid better and supported him well, giving him a place to land. “Was it one I might know?”
“Frederick Peele.”
The name sounded familiar. She must have heard him speak of the man before—perhaps years ago when the man was a boy.
Paul took a sip, then set the cup down. “Now put this old man’s fears to rest. Has the scoundrel been dealt with?”
“I’m afraid not.” She took another sip, her gaze on the cup. “He has been relentless in his belief that I have these diamonds, and I have no way to contact the person and inform him he is mistaken.”
“You are aware the person is a man?”
“No. That is merely an assumption.” She took another sip. “What I know is that I do not have what they seek, and I do not know how to convey that.”
“Surely you can explain where to find them so the person leaves you alone.”
“How? I was eight when we fled, Paul. How am I to know where my mother hid her jewels? I would have assumed they would be in the trunk as well, but it appears the person has the trunk.”
“Indeed,” he said, tilting his head to the side in agreement, his brows furrowed.
“What do you recall of the shipping company that Maman hired to convey our trunks to England?” she asked.
He screwed up his face in thought. “Next to nothing. It was not a company, but a privately owned fishing boat off the coast of Cornwall. The man had family in France and would dock to visit them occasionally. Your mother had heard of the family, for I believe they did much work in helping people flee France.”
Her hopes rose. “Do you recall the captain’s name?”
Paul shook his head. “No. I could have it written down at home. I will look and write to you if I find it.”
