“What?” Miss Devonshire’s voice rose a few notches higher. “But the French imports are the only reasonanybodycomes to the shop. If you stop providing them, Harriet and I will be destitute in a matter of weeks!”
“I hardly care,” the magistrate replied coldly, “about you or Miss Grey. I expect you to pay your debts by midnight tomorrow.”
“That would take every penny we own! Most of which we’ve been saving for months, and some of which wasn’t even earned on silks.” She sagged against the wall of the shed, then gazed up at him with desperate eyes. “I could return the fabric....”
“I don’t wantfabric,” Mr. Forrester spat, “or pathetic excuses. I want money.”
“But—”
“Midnight, Miss Devonshire. And not a moment later.”
Head spinning, Susan tightened her grip around the tree she used as cover. She’d suspected the magistrate’s French silk mystery was a sham, but she’d never have guessed he acted as intermediary between the pirates and the purchasers. What a perfect scheme the lot had devised! She touched the crucifix hanging from her throat and swore Mr. Forrester’s little blonde ringlets would be the first to flutter in the wind.
Miss Devonshire’s porcelain face looked ready to crack. “Where will—”
“Don’t worry about me.” His malicious smile didn’t mask the underlying threat. “No matter where you are, I’ll find you.”
He turned and cut around the shed toward a (blessedly) different path leading God-knew-where. At least he wasn’t returning to Moonseed Manor tonight.
“Wait,” Miss Devonshire called out.
Mr. Forrester glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in cold condescension.
She swallowed visibly. “W-what are your plans for Miss Stanton?”
“Why, Miss Devonshire. You know my plans. I’m taking her to the assembly.” He widened his eyes in a parody of his hapless-magistrate act. “Assuming she survives the long journey, that is. Country roads can be so treacherous. Especially with these cliffs. If one doesn’t have the door latched just so, it would be easy to tumble right out of the carriage and fall to one’s death on the rocks below. I shudder to think how I would ever get over such a loss.” His cherubic smile returned, be-dimpled and perfidious.
Susan’s stomach dropped. There went the last of her hopes for escape.
Chapter 44
“What the deuce do you think you’re doing?”
Susan jerked upright as the masculine voice invaded her restless dreams. She squinted in confusion as light streamed through the face of her visitor. She shook the bits of dried leaves and tree bark from her hair and fumbled for her spectacles.
Dead Mr. Bothwick hovered between her sleep-creased face and the morning sun. He made a poor parasol, but was overall a welcome sight.
“I fell asleep.”
He stared at her dubiously. “Against a tree?”
“So it would seem.” She pulled herself to her feet and wondered if it were safe to step outside the path.
“I’ve been looking for you all night. You took the strongbox, I assume. Did you hide it already? Why didn’t you come back?”
She shook her head. No box. And she didn’t want to admit that in her attempt to find her way back to Moonseed Manor, she’d somehow ended up outside the still-living Mr. Bothwick’s stables completely by accident. Mr. Bothwick’s extremely busy, bustling, overcrowded stables. There had been no chance of approaching unnoticed. She’d stayed hidden in the surrounding woods and sat with her back to a tree to wait.
She might’ve overdone the waiting.
“Your brother has the jewelry box,” she explained. She shook out her skirts, averting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Dead Mr. Bothwick’s reaction to that bit of news. “I tried to detain him, but he had a pistol.”
“My brother pointed a weapon at a woman?” the ghost asked doubtfully.
“To be fair,” she admitted, “I threatened him with a knife.”
She’d even been prepared to use it. Until he’d flashed a pistol. That’s when she’d realized some things could hurt worse than bullets. Like discovering the man she loved would rather end her life than help her to fix it. Susan forced the memory to the back of her mind.
When she lifted her head, Dead Mr. Bothwick was staring at her as if she’d grown an extra eye.
