After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(32)

Camilla inched a doily to the side and set her spoon down.

Her head was spinning, and not just from a superabundance of doilies. Poor dear? She felt her ears heating with embarrassment at the moniker. It was bad enough that she had to accept this kind of charity; having pity thrown atop it was too much. She didn’t know how she’d ever repay the kindness.

But she was too hungry to object to bread and stew being offered to her, especially when it smelled the way it did. This stew, unlike last night’s soup, was actually good—thick and warming with real chunks of beef.

“My husband is out at the pub,” Mrs. Beasley said as she settled near Camilla in a rocking chair. “And the children are grown, so it leaves me with little to do of an evening but knit and plot the demise of my neighbors.”

Mr. Hunter, sitting on the other side of the table, looked up at that in something like consternation.

“A little joke!” She laughed. “I don’t knit! Obviously, I crochet. Also, I don’t wish to destroy all my neighbors. Only Ruford Shamwell and his uncontainable goats.”

“Of course,” Mr. Hunter said. “I see.”

“Hm.” Mrs. Beasley rocked in her chair. “Now that I’m making a list, I must add Bertrand Gapwood. He keeps throwing his chamber pot in the alley. I tell him over and over, no, we mustn’t do that, haven’t you read the newspaper, that’s how we all get cholera and die. But he never listens.”

“Two neighbors seems quite reasonable,” Camilla said around a spoonful of beef.

“Mm. Then there’s Stephen Wade. He yells at his wife. I’ve told him a thousand times that if they can’t get along, he should go spend his evenings in the pub like my Bobby, but he never listens. And he always yells about the same things. I enjoy hearing a bit of good gossip, but for heaven’s sake, have some imagination. Variety is the spice of life.” The woman frowned. “Well, that’s it—that’s all my neighbors, and they’re all on the list.”

Camilla took another bite of stew.

“Yes,” Mrs. Beasley said, in response to a twitch of an eyebrow from Mr. Hunter. “I must admit I’m a terrible intermeddler. But I’m not a gossip—at least, I only accept gossip. I don’t give it out. So don’t mind me. I’m sure the two of you have much to talk about, so go ahead, go ahead. Mr. Hunter won’t be staying here past eight, so you mustn’t waste any time. Pay me no mind.”

Mr. Hunter took a bite of his own stew and glanced over at Mrs. Beasley. She was, in fact, crocheting. She concentrated on her yarn with an intensity that fooled neither of them.

“Do you need anything?” Mr. Hunter finally asked Camilla in a low voice. “I’ve had occasion to carry your valise twice now, and while it’s very heavy, it doesn’t feel like a lot to contain all your worldly possessions.”

Camilla shrugged. “I’m used to moving about. I don’t even bother acquiring things any longer. It’s much more convenient to not have to move them.” She let out a little laugh, because it felt like the thing one ought to do at a time like this.

If she laughed, maybe he would be fooled into not feeling sorry for her.

Mrs. Beasley, across the room, poked herself with her crochet hook and made a muffled sound.

“About…that thing we talked about earlier.” Camilla dropped her voice. “I have an excellent memory, and if I were to guess, I would say that we should visit Mrs. Martin over in Highham. She’s angry at the rector about something involving money and a charitable donation. It would be a good place to start, don’t you think?”

“Better than anything I could guess at.” He spoke even lower than her. “And we can converse further on the way there and back. Away from prying eyes.”

“It’s my ears you should worry about,” Mrs. Beasley said, as if she were a part of the conversation. “Not my eyes. But never you mind, I’m just here crocheting. Paying no mind to anything you say.”

“Highham is eleven miles away.” Camilla thought of her shoe-leather, already painfully thin, and the mud, and her stockings, and then put those thoughts away as pointless and smiled instead. “That’ll be a nice walk, don’t you think? Especially since I won’t be carrying a valise for it.”

He looked at her. “I can well afford to rent a carriage from someone.”

She did not know what to say to that. Instead, she just licked her lips.

“I know you’re only believing me out of necessity,” he said. “I know my story sounds ridiculous, and I can’t blame you for having doubts. But it really is true. I won’t even blink at the cost.”

She took another sip of her tea. “Of course I believe you. If you say it’s so, it must be true.”

He sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”





Chapter Ten





“Follow my lead,” Mr. Hunter said in the carriage on the way over. “Just go along with what I say, and it will all work out.”

Camilla considered—for a moment—not saying anything. Then she remembered that this was her life, too. She sighed. “Mr. Hunter, you said that when we were going to the inn. You told everyone I was a governess who had become lost, and then everyone discovered it was a lie. I was humiliated.”