“Oh!” she exclaimed, clapping gloveless hands together. The scraps of silk must be lying soiled and forgotten at the bottom of his boat. “I’ve solved your mystery.”
Forrester’s expression went from smug to uneasy as his gaze snapped between her and Evan.
“Have you now,” was all he said, despite the edge to his voice. “Already?”
She nudged up her spectacles and nodded. “Miss Devonshire’s French aunt sends her the silk. All the way from Burgundy. I imagine it’s still wrong, but... well, it’s family.”
“Is that so?” the magistrate drawled, eyebrows raised. He seemed to be on the verge of disagreeing with the ridiculousness of a French aunt, but in a blink appeared to have changed his mind. “Well, mystery solved, then, I suppose. Good work, Miss Stanton.” He gave a little bow. “I do thank you very much for your kind help.”
What?!Evan stared at the little toad in disbelief. That was it?Oh, sure, that explains everything. Guess I’ll be on my way?Now heknewthe request had been nothing more than a ploy to have ready-made conversation handy for Forrester’s next encounter with Miss Stanton.
Whose current expression was likewise lined with incredulity.
“You’re welcome, then, I suppose,” she said with a too-bright smile. Ha! Evan doubted the magistrate’s pea brain recognized that Miss Stanton was actually mocking him. “Delighted to be of assistance.”
The ensuing silence stretched out awkwardly.
“Well, good day to you, Miss Stanton.” Forrester tipped his beaver, which, in Evan’s opinion, was a bit anticlimactic after having just bowed. “It’s always a pleasure to see your beautiful smile.”
“Thank you, Mr. Forrester.” Miss Stanton did not curtsy. “You’re most kind.”
Another long, pregnant pause. Then:
“Good day, Bothwick.” Accompanied by an ingratiating smile.
“Good-bye,Forrester.” Accompanied by a flash of bared teeth.
At long last, the magistrate turned and headed down the beach. Thank God.
“What a strange man,” Miss Stanton muttered.
“Strange?” Evan shook his head. He turned to go rescue his abandoned rowboat. “Forrester’s a natural-born idiot.”
She snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Evan paused, glanced back at her. “The half of what?”
“He wanted me to investigate the dress shop... by followingyou.” She shook her head and laughed. “Have you ever heard of anything so absurd?”
No, no, he hadn’t. Even from a simpleton like Forrester. Which meant something else was afoot. Something like: The magistrate finally suspected smuggling taking place in his territory and possibly had other,trainedindividuals keeping an eye on Evan.
As the penalty for treason was death, perhaps tomorrow’s trip was a suicide mission in more ways than one.
Chapter 28
All evening long, Susan thought about her cousin’s current situation, and what—if anything—she could do to improve it.
Mr. Forrester was a pathetic, nonsensical ninnyhammer, but he was magistrate, and more important,still here, which meant she might have an opportunity to rescue Lady Emeline.
Well, provided the giant didn’t catch her disobeying his orders to stay away from the cellar. And provided the scarecrow didn’t catch her red-handed, in the act of spiriting away his helpless charge. And provided shecouldextricate Lady Emeline from her prison.
Susan snuck from her bedchamber and made her way through Moonseed Manor to the stairs that went down. She flattened her back against the corner where bone-white corridor met cold grey stone. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She just listened.
Nothing. No giant, no scarecrow, no maids bustling hither and yon. Thank God. Susan had never been so thrilled to be without servants. Being without keys to the manacle, however, was not such a happy circumstance. But Susan was not without hope. Nor without resources of her own.
After all, she now knew where Dead Mr. Bothwick kept his shovels.
There was no going back now, no explaining how she got “lost” in the cellar again whilst happening to carry about a knife and a shovel. (The ivory-handled knife had just been lying there next to the shovels, right out in the open. Well, “next” meaning inside the house tucked under a mattress, but it wasn’t as if the razor-sharp blade was of much use to Dead Mr. Bothwick in his current form.) For this to work, Susan needed all the protection she could muster.
