“Not at home, madam,” Betty cut in. “That is who I went to look for, but Miss here said he was out. Miss Walsh was shocked to learn that you were the wife of Silverton. She insisted on coming back with me to aid you.”
With a guilty flush, Maeve eased back and looked back at her sister. There was far too much to say that she had avoided drafting or explaining to Grace, and this dreadful night was hardly the time.
“Fischer has gone already,” Maeve said as she looked at Betty. “Up to Silver Hall. And we need to go next.”
“Hadn’t we better wait?” Betty asked. Her voice sounded a little squeaky with fear.
Leaning forward, Maeve squeezed the girl’s hand. “You’re probably right, and one of us should stay here and explain the dead doctor. But Silverton—my lord, he needs to know about Sprot and the dowager’s involvement. And that Charles is close by.”
“Right,” Grace said, “this is what we’re going to do.”
Twenty minutes later, the Walsh sisters were marching towards Silver Hall, united in purpose if not quite in spirit. Maeve was all too aware of the disappointed confusion she had made manifest in her younger sister by not confiding in her.
Grace had ordered Betty to wait behind at the inn to explain as much as she could to the owner, and once that was done, to find and explain everything to Mr. Walsh. With a fierce nod, Betty had agreed.
“No time to waste, but likely as not, all is as right as rain,” Grace said, her pace quick as they hurried along the muddy path. “I’d wager we find his lordship having his breakfast without a care in the world. He will invite us to sit down and enjoy some good coffee.”
“You seem remarkably certain,” Maeve trailed in her sister’s wake. She had insisted on taking the poker with her and was using it primarily to help her walk. The pain from yesterday had morphed into something new and now resembled a fierce nauseousness that trembled at the back of her throat. Maeve turned green with an effort to keep the bile down. But Grace was keeping a quick pace, cutting her way through Staplehurst Village with such alacrity that Maeve felt sure she was almost dawdling behind. Pausing to look up from a stye, Maeve realised she was being watched with narrowed eyes, the sort of judgemental clarity only a sibling had.
“When were you going to tell me?” Grace asked.
“Silverton promised me to secrecy on the wedding. We thought—that is, we—”
“I meant about the baby you are carrying?”
Unable to keep walking or face the look on her sister’s face, Maeve turned to the side and, doing what she had wanted to do for the last twenty minutes, promptly threw up.
Silence reigned aside from the noise of Maeve wiping her mouth.
“It was a guess on my part. But I suppose that confirms that.”
“I—” Maeve used her poker walking stick to right herself. The early spring morning still seemed to be sliding to one side at a strange unnatural angle, but at least the unsettled rushing in her ears had stopped, as well as the wave of guilt she had felt in keeping such a secret from her sister. “I wanted to write to you every day.”
“Hmm. I wish you had.” Grace pushed off and walked closer to Maeve. “I know what Papa has been doing for years. Helping his lordship with these sorts of things, and I knew about father’s debts too. I had a plan.” Letting out a sigh, Grace lifted Maeve’s arm over her own shoulder. “You didn’t have to throw yourself into this marriage. I had a plan for helping Father.”
“Enough of a plan to clear a thousand pounds?”
At least Grace looked uncomfortable at this reveal of how far their father had gotten himself into debt. “I will admit I did not realise he was in quite so deep. With so little chance of—” She looked down at Maeve’s stomach. “I suppose you are quite sure of it?”
“Yes, I am. It is done now.”
The tightness in Maeve’s chest increased, and when she looked into Grace’s dear face, Maeve realised why she had not written to her. It had nothing to do with Silverton. She knew informing Grace of her marriage would terrify her little sister. Ever since their mother had died in labour, Grace had been determined to be a spinster. Her sister’s fear was so overwhelming that Maeve realised she had never fully vocalised her own desire for a child.
But Maeve was happy to be pregnant, despite the recent sickness, and she wanted Grace to be happy for her too. “I don’t have the same fear as you. Mama’s labour.” She paused; it was a deep pain that none of the Walsh family liked to talk of, but it still lingered between them all. “The doctor took too long to reach her. That was that why she died. I am not scared for myself.”
“But it happens all the time. To so many women.”
“I will be careful,” Maeve said. She kept her voice gentle, and a flush crept up Grace’s neck. “I am not afraid. I am happy about the child.”
“You would be happy, always finding the silver lining,” Grace muttered mutinously.
“Mine is of a different kind of worry,” Maeve said as she stepped away from Grace and looked across the springtime fields. “If we don’t warn Silverton of the danger, I fear what his brother will do.”
“Well, I’m here now. And once the viscount is done meeting me, he may fear me more than his own brother,” Grace grumbled as they set off towards the estate.
“There’s no need for that,” Maeve said. Being close to her sister again was a balm, the gap of eight years one she barely noticed given how close she felt to Grace. The absence had been painful, and there was solace in finding her close once more. Now, she guessed, she would need to confess as much as she could in the short distance. Unable to keep it in any longer, Maeve reddened and said quickly, “I for one am glad I went to Silver Hall.”
“Because of the baby?” Grace sounded dubious. “You were never one for titles or finery, so it can’t be that.”
