Blackmoore(59)

“Mary! What were you doing, falling down like that?” The older sister marched back to her side, but at my glance she fell back a pace. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said, dropping a clumsy little curtsy. “I hope my sister didn’t bother you.”

“No. Not a bit,” I said, smiling to reassure her before turning back to little Mary. “Now, let’s see if you’ve hurt yourself, shall we?”

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n She nodded, then held still as I ran my hand over her head, pausing when I felt the bump on the back.

“Oh, yes. That’s a bump. But no blood. I think you will be just fine.”

Tears still brimmed in her eyes, and her lower lip quivered in a most pathetically charming way. “Please, miss, can I have a sweet?”

“Mary!” The older girl tugged hard on Mary’s hair.

Mary cried out again.

“Oh, no, don’t do that,” I said, smoothing Mary’s hair. “She did nothing wrong, I promise. I don’t have any sweets with me right now, but I shall buy some and bring them to you. How does that sound?”

Mary hiccupped a sob. “Y-yes, please.”

I smiled at the older girl. “And what is your name?”

“Katherine, miss.”

My smile grew. “The same as my name. Well, Katherine, you are be-ing a dutiful little girl, I can see, trying to get your sister where your mother wants you to go. So I shall bring you some sweets as well.”

She smiled, and she had the same gap-toothed smile Oliver sported.

I suddenly missed him fiercely. I had to stop myself from pulling these two little girls into my arms and hugging them. Instead I stood and said, “How will I find you to give you the sweets?”

Katherine turned and pointed behind us. “That’s our house—the blue one.”

I told them I would return shortly, and as I turned to join Sylvia and Miss St. Claire in the bakery, I saw more than one of the villagers watch-ing me walk away.

“Where did you go?” Sylvia asked when I found her inside the bakery.

Miss St. Claire was daintily devouring a hot cross bun.

“Oh, I was just outside.” I pulled my reticule from my pocket and paid for four penny buns, two meat pies, two scones, and a handful of barley candy.

Sylvia looked at my purchase with wide eyes. “Did you not eat breakfast?”

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“No, not much.”

I took my purchases, looked once more at Miss St. Claire’s nibbling, and said, “I have an errand to run. I’ll meet you at Blackmoore later.”

“What? By yourself? You cannot—”

I turned back and looked at Sylvia, who had been my best friend but was not anymore. I wondered how long and wide this gap between us would stretch. And I felt sad that we had drifted this far apart.

“Are you worried for my safety or my reputation?” I asked.

She drew closer and whispered with narrowed eyes, “Your reputation, of course.”

I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Sylvia. I’m leaving soon for India, anyway.

A walk home by myself will not make one bit of difference.”

L

It was easy to find the blue house. But once I knocked on the door, I wondered what I would say if the girls were not home. A young man opened the door and stared at me.

“Good day. Are Mary and Katherine home?”

He nodded, looking nervous. “What have they done?”

“Oh, nothing! I have . . . brought them something.”

The girls came running, expectant smiles lighting up their faces. I handed them the bundle from the bakery. “Be sure to share with your other siblings.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, miss!” Katherine tried to drop another curtsy as she hugged the bundle to her chest.

Mary turned her brown eyes on me, her face wiped clean of tears.

“Yes, thank you very much.”

I turned away and wondered for a moment if it really was a good idea for me to walk back to Blackmoore alone. But just then I heard a familiar voice call out, “Miss Worthington! What do you do here?”

I smiled at the sight of Mrs. Pettigrew, my traveling companion. “I 179



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n was just looking for someone to walk back to Blackmoore with. You are not heading that way, are you, Mrs. Pettigrew?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” She trudged up the hill next to me, and I wondered if I had made the right choice, leaving Sylvia like that. I wondered how much of our separation was due to my choices two years ago.

And as I climbed the hill and crossed the moors to the house on the cliff, I thought of that day two years ago—the day Mr. Delafield died—and the choice I had made. I wondered if everything happening now could be traced back to that moment and that choice.

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Chapter 26


two years BeFore


I ran through the woods that separated our houses. Rain fell on my shoulders in fat drops. I had forgotten my bonnet and my cloak. Leaves covered the ground, a wet and thick blanket of fallen dead things, muffling the sound of my running feet. The sky was dark, the leaves were shades of brown, and there was a large, ancient maple tree ahead. It was halfway between my house and Sylvia’s. Its lowest branches started above my head, and it was so tall and substantial, its branches so wide, that it created a canopy—a shelter from the rain. Standing against the trunk was Henry.