Mandy

“You have no idea, no idea at all, Mr. Rawlings. Such an ordeal. To lose my precious stepdaughter, my only child, for you must know I have no others. And…my word, in such a horrific manner. And then both my dear brother’s children—oh ‘tis more than I can bear.”

She then allowed him to see that she just might succumb to a fit of the vapors, which enlisted his immediate attention. He hastily took her arm and led her to the sofa with a great show of concern. “This is all so dreadful…simply dreadful.” He shook his bald oddly shaped head in accord with his statement. He hesitated and said, “The matter which brings me to Sherborne is…under these circumstances…a delicate one and very difficult to broach.”

“But,” said Agatha. “We must not dwell on my tragedy.” She cast a languid glance his way, indicating that he should draw up a chair beside her. As he complied, she said, “You came here I believe, to discuss a business matter.”

Gratefully he acknowledged this with a series of unfinished sentences as he reached for his briefcase within arms’ length. He set this on his knees and brought forth a package of ivory-colored papers, speaking quickly and obviously hoping to get this settled before she changed her mind.

“Dear Mrs. Brinley, so good, so understanding. If you will but put your signature here…” he indicated with his quill, “and here…I shall not need to trouble you further.”

“Indeed? But what am I signing?” the lady asked sharply, her grief set aside.

Mr. Rawlings lowered his voice, “As you know, my dear lady, your account with Barings was somewhat overdrawn and although you sold out your funds, they were not quite enough to cover your overdraft.” He shook his head, “Oh my, this is difficult indeed and especially considering how much I hold you in esteem.” He sighed again, “But, if you will but sign these, it will enable us to transfer your deceased stepdaughter’s account into your own. Your solicitor assured us that you were fully aware…”

“Oh, of course I am,” Agatha snapped impatiently, glaring at the young serving girl who had entered the room to set down a tray laden with refreshments. She had stood beside the sideboard, waiting to serve and Agatha had not at first noticed her and worried about how much she had heard. “Go on, you silly child, I can pour the tea…go on.”

“Yes, mum,” the maid said nervously, dropped a curtsy and hurried out of the room.

Mrs. Brinley turned a fluttery smile upon Mr. Rawlings. “Of course, dear sir. Where did you say I should sign?”

* * *

Mandy felt wicked.

She had agreed to meet Sir Owen at this prescribed time and place before she left him the other day, but nothing about it felt right.

The duke had already taken his leave of them and she hadn’t a chance to tell him of the proposed meeting. He would not have liked it. She was already beginning to know just how he would react in any given situation. The notion made her smile.

She should have at least mentioned it to Chauncey and Ned. Again, she didn’t because they would not have liked it either.

She didn’t really have a choice. There was a chance, a good chance that Sir Owen might be able to help them find Elly Bonner.

Yet, now as she hurried toward their prearranged meeting spot, it felt wrong. In fact, she felt oddly sick inside about it. She should have confided in Brock…she should have…because her meeting with Sir Owen could be misconstrued.

She must confess to them as soon as she returned.

She reached the meeting spot against the double boulder near the rivulet and found Sir Owen had not yet arrived. She began to pace. He was late and if he didn’t arrive shortly, she would just leave.

That was what she would do.

Waiting increased her chances of being caught or seen. Every nerve ending of her being told her she should not have come. She was just about to stomp off as fast as she could when the crackle of branches underfoot made her spin around and say with relief, “Sir Owen, thank goodness.”

He smiled in response and reached to take both her hands in a warm clasp before putting them to his lips for a very pronounced and ardent kiss.

Her brows rose and she snatched her hands away, as she shot him a look of total disapproval.

He laughed and said, “Such a little prude, Amanda my dear, but that is just as it should be. I want a wife who is…”

Cutting him off, she reprimanded, “You are talking nonsense—and it is not that which we should be discussing.”

“No, of course, you are quite right. There will be time enough for that once I have cleared Ned.”

“Have you learned something?” she asked ignoring this.

“No, but I have reason to believe she may be situated near York. I mean to travel there tomorrow and discover what I can.”

“Tomorrow? Why not today? We do not have any time to waste,” Mandy said agitatedly.

“I have reason to believe that she has been frequenting a certain shop in York and is expected to be there tomorrow to refurbish her supplies.”