“Moonseed Manor has proven to be an unacceptable choice for accommodation.”
Not that I expect you care.
“While I have not spoken with Father’s cousin—”
—because she’s most likely DEAD—
“—I did meet the master of the house—”
—who could snap my neck as easily as a bird’s—
“—and will inform him of my intent to return to London.”
Unless I can manage to escape without him noticing.
“I have decided to leave at my earliest convenience, which happens to be within the hour. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if I arrive on the heels of this very letter. In order to depart as expeditiously as possible, I shall abandon my luggage and hire the first available—”
Bloody hell.
Susan stared at the ink drying before her. Mother hadn’t exactly packed a purse full of money for her daughter’s one-way trip to the edge of the world.
To be honest, the need for physical coin hadn’t occurred to Susan either (not that she’d been given a voice in the let’s-disown-our-daughter planning process), if only because credit was a given in London. Everyone knew her face and the Stanton name. If she wished for, say, an emerald necklace, she walked out of a store with an emerald necklace. Father would settle the accounts later. Well, he would’ve before the Incident that had gotten her locked in her bedchamber. Now what she needed was to marry a titled aristocrat with deep pockets and a generous soul. Not an easy feat, but at leastpossible.In London. Where her name meant something.
In Bournemouth, however...
Here, she had no limitless credit. Here she had nothing. She could ask her parents for money, of course. But if they were aware she planned to use their funds in order to defy their wishes by returning home, the likelihood was high that no money would be forthcoming.
Bloody, bloody hell.
She would have to avoid all mention of just how disagreeable she found her exile. Best to act as normal as possible. She crumpled up her missive and began a new one.
“Dear Mother. Please send money. Yours, etc. Susan.”
There. Her monthly allowance should arrive within the week. Assuming she chanced to survive that long in haunted Moonseed Manor.
The sound of the heavy door scratching across the hardwood floor sent gooseflesh rippling up Susan’s arms. The figure that scampered inside made her gasp in horror. Was it terrible of her tohopethis unfortunate creature wasn’t among the living?
The—maid?—stood less than four feet tall. Her body was nothing more than a jumble of elbows and legs poking out from a shapeless brown sack of a dress. Her face (and neck and shoulders and chest) hid beneath a gravity-defying mass of tea-colored frizz. A cockeyed bonnet perched atop the whole.
How the tiny servant could locate the guest quarters with her face buried behind a waterfall of thick hair was beyond Susan’s comprehension.
“Janey, mum.” As if jerked by marionette strings, the entire collection of wild hair and bony limbs collapsed in an awkward curtsy. “At yer service.”
Susan removed her spectacles, cleaned the lenses slowly and carefully in the folds of her skirt, then replaced her spectacles on her nose.
Janey was still there.
“Er, delightful,” Susan said at last. Was this what became of those who stayed too long within these walls? No wonder Lady Beaune could no longer venture out-of-doors. “I was hoping you could post this letter and help me lace up my gown.”
One of Janey’s bony hands shot out and snatched the folded parchment from the escritoire. The missive immediately disappeared into an unseen pocket.
“Quick as ye please, mum, and none the wiser.”
What the dickens was that supposed to mean? Susan prepared to rise to her feet, but on second thought, remained seated. Although she wasn’t much taller than the average Town deb, she towered over the spider-limbed lady’s maid. Instead, she leaned forward in her chair to allow better access to the laces.
Despite being possessed of bones so thin they looked ready to snap at the slightest pressure, Janey’s fingers made quick work of Susan’s vestments. In fact, Susan could scarce breathe, so inhumanly tight were her stays. Mother would be beside herself to see her daughter exhibiting correct posture for once.
Thank God she wasn’t here. Susan hated pleasing her mother.
