Now, itwaspossible that the coin was merely a collector’s item and didn’t mean much of anything other than Mr. Bothwick’s brother being a bit of a pig, who ought to have invested a little money in a proper display case for his collection. And perhaps a housekeeper. Who was to say? She wasn’t one to leap to conclusions.
But she’d bet her month’s allowance (assuming it came—Janey had shaken her headnothat morning before Susan could even ask) that the slovenly fool had gotten himself killed by the simple virtue of being at home when seafaring footpads came to ransack his house. They’d probably robbed him blind and then killed him. Or possibly the other way around. Or perhaps it had been simultaneous, and he’d perished in the mêlée. She’d tried to speculate but, as before, Mr. Bothwick had been maddeningly unwilling to participate.
But she knew who might.
She reached the foot of the path and cut across the sand and dirt toward the dress shop. Had she not hotheadedly alienated Miss Devonshire and Miss Grey yesterday afternoon, they might have become friends—or, at least, co-conspirators who could help her rescue her cousin. Shehadto find a way to make up. Decision made, she pushed open the door and stepped inside enemy territory.
They were not alone.
Mr. Forrester, the local magistrate, rested a well-tailored elbow (he couldn’t bethatpoor) against a ream of crimson silk.
Excellent. She needed his help.Emelineneeded his help. Ollie Hamilton was Susan’s current guardian and Emeline’s legal husband, but there had to besomethingsomeone could do.
His golden head was bent alongside Miss Devonshire’s in a cozy tête-à-tête. When they both glanced over upon hearing the hinges creak open, the magistrate’s eyes crinkled into a welcoming smile. Miss Devonshire’s, however, sparked with murderous rage.
Susan decided it would be best to just go ahead and give them a minute to finish their conversation. She turned her gaze toward the ginger-haired witch stitching a hem in the dim candlelight. When Miss Grey looked up from her handiwork, her eyes were not filled with hate, but with an intense, watchful craftiness. Susan had been told on many occasions that she wore that look quite often herself.
“Miss Grey,” she murmured, treating her to a curtsy by way of apology.
“Miss Peeks-Through-Windows,” Miss Grey returned, without bothering to set down her needle.
Susan’s eyes widened painfully as she jerked her gaze toward the magistrate. His head remained next to Miss Devonshire’s, their eyes only for each other.
“Don’t worry,” drawled Miss Grey not bothering to hide the bitter sarcasm in her tone. “When Dinah captivates a man, he wouldn’t notice the room catching fire.”
Susan couldn’t help but cast an involuntary glance at the charred rafters, still spicing the dank air with remembered smoke from long-ago flames. Was that what had happened here? She glanced at the couple again.
“I—” she began, then stopped, unusually tongue-tied. “That is to say, you—”
The needle stabbed through the cloth without pause. “We haven’t mentioned your peculiar... proclivity... to anyone just yet, if that’s what you’re asking. Dinah says you’ve realized your mistake and won’t compound it by making another one.”
Susan took a fortifying breath. “And you?”
Miss Grey’s smile was slow and unforgiving. “I say, who cares?”
Well. So that’s how it was. Susan swallowed. At least she knew where she stood.
“I must say,” Miss Grey continued, “you’re the last one I expected to cross that threshold. What demon drove you to put your face back in our line of sight?”
“I...” The response died on Susan’s lips. Her earlier hope now seemed far too silly to voice aloud. Her muscles itched to spring for the door.
Miss Grey’s skinny red brows rose to mock her. “You didn’t think we’d make up and befriends,did you?”
Her cackle was loud enough to earn an annoyed glance from the couple in the corner.
“Of course not,” Susan denied, her voice empty. Even her limbs felt hollow. These women would never believe her, much less help her. “How foolish that would be.”
“Indeed,” agreed Miss Grey, stabbing her needle through the folded cloth again. “Not that it would’ve mattered anyway.” She cast a disgusted glance at the quietly conversing twosome before turning her shrewd gaze back to Susan. “I’m leaving. Forever.”
Susan raised her brows at the giggling porcelain doll entrancing the handsome magistrate.
“Miss Devonshire doesn’t know...?”
“Oh, she knows,” Miss Grey gave a derogatory chuckle. “You think I’d tellyousomething I hadn’t told my best friend?” The needle resumed its attacks on the fabric. “She just doesn’t believe me, that’s all.”
Miss Grey. Leaving. Forever. Hope blossomed in Susan’s thumping chest. The Stantons’ London connections were far better resources than a mere country magistrate. She could escapeandrescue her cousin Emeline. Perhaps today!
“So...” she began carefully, trying to mask her eagerness. “You have a horse? A carriage?”
