Her mother sniffed. “That’s as may be.”
“Mrs. Ryland has invited you to take tea at the grand house. You’ll see then how respectable they are. They’ve a house on the river—”
Augusta eyed her daughter. “I think not.”
Audrey knew it was useless to argue with her mother. She seemed to become more and more argumentative, and they would only make each other cross if this continued. “Very well. We’ll leave it.”
Augusta returned to rocking in her chair. “I saw that figure again, Audrey. Outside. I’m sure it’s a man,” she said suddenly.
Audrey turned her eyes to her mother. “What figure, Mother? What man?”
Augusta looked up. “The figure I told you of before. He was walking late at night. With my milk? Remember? I was getting milk. And then I saw him.”
Her mother’s jumbled words and phrases caused her head to ache. “Yes. I recall.”
“Well, I saw him again.”
Audrey frowned. “How do you know it’s the same man?”
Augusta looked at her daughter as if she were an idiot. “He appeared of the same height on both nights. Do you think there are just so many men wandering the grounds at night that I can’t keep track of them?”
“I merely meant perhaps it might have been different men doing different errands in the night. I once saw someone walking late at night. It’s possible.”
“It’s possible. Anything is possible,” Augusta said.
“I’m going to head to bed. Good night, Mother. We can talk tomorrow.”
As Audrey climbed the stairs, she hoped her mother would forget about the phantom figure. Her mother was alone too much and was brooding. It was not healthy, and she must find a way to get her to interact more with the outside world.
She checked in briefly on Francie and saw she was fast asleep. She undressed quickly, and when she had turned out the lamp, she went to the window. She could see the orchards in the low moonlight and the buildings far across. She saw no one about. It was so quiet in the back of the workhouse grounds here, and she was happy to be able to provide a home for her sister and mother.
Francie was already settling in. She had picked up her studies, and Audrey oversaw her work as her father had once done for her. She slipped into bed and sighed. She would have to continue to be patient with her mother. She was having a hard time adjusting to their new life, and Audrey must give her room. She would not argue or cause problems.
The next evening, after she had taken Frances back to her room, she stopped by to see Marguerite. She knocked softly on her door, and her friend looked up at her entrance with sad eyes. She had been crying.
Audrey went to her. “Marguerite! Are you all right?” She knelt down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” Marguerite shook her head but said nothing. “What has happened? Are you ill?”
Marguerite sniffed. “No. It’s my gentleman caller. My friend Alistair Hillby. You met him. Remember?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“He’s dead,” she told her.
Shock ran through Audrey. “Dead? I just saw him. What did he die of?”
Marguerite shook her head and looked behind Audrey. “I’m not entirely sure,” she said oddly.
Audrey frowned. “Not entirely sure?”
“He told me his coughing hadn’t improved.” Marguerite wiped at her tears. “I gave him some syrup, but it didn’t seem to help.”
“Perhaps his cough was a symptom of what killed him. Consumption. My father died of it as well,” Audrey said sadly.
“He told me several times that his coughing wasn’t getting better. He was concerned that someone was trying to kill him,” she whispered.
“Kill him?” Audrey shook her head. “Who would want to kill that sweet old man?”
“Who indeed? I’ve been wondering that same thing.”