Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(75)

Angelika was agog. “You’ve left your lovely cottage to live . . . here?”

Percy sneezed.

“Hello, Angelika, Will,” Clara said, turning around with great reluctance. “How do you do?”

“Surely I misunderstand?” Angelika prompted from her seat in the saddle. “You are visiting an acquaintance?”

“We have lived here almost a week,” Clara said, hoisting Edwin, who twinkled up at Angelika. “I am well aware that it is below your standards”—here she paused as a second bucket was emptied out—“but it will do for now.”

“You cannot find anything more suitable?” Angelika held down her crop for Edwin to grasp and they played a gentle tug-of-war. “This place looks horrible.”

“Better than the street.” She cowered as a scowling woman poked her head out of yet another window. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Winchester. We won’t linger.”

“No visitors.” Mrs. Winchester had a face like a smacked behind, and she narrowed her eyes at Edwin. “No crying, neither. Did I just hear you say my fine establishment looks horrible, missy?”

“I haven’t set foot inside, but I wouldn’t board my pigs here, you rude old wench,” Angelika told her with ringing honesty, and the window was slammed. Will scratched his jaw to hide his grin.

“Thanks ever so,” Clara exclaimed. “She already hates us. Last night Edwin wouldn’t settle, and she took the doorknob off my room. I had to beg to be let out this morning.”

Angelika’s indignation was rising. “Does Christopher know that you live here?”

Clara’s reply was carefully worded. “He knows that I have vacated.”

Will looked at Angelika. She nodded and said, “Come and stay with us until you work out your next move. We will not leave you here.”

Pride had rendered Clara speechless, and colored her red to the roots of her hair. Then, the audible argument in the boardinghouse reached a pinnacle. There was a sickening slap, the woman began crying, and Edwin clutched Clara’s dress, his chubby face twisted in distress.

Will assured Clara, “The whitewash in the cottage beside mine was dry when I checked it this morning. You will have your own privacy.” He dismounted and tied Solomon. Gently, he put a hand on Clara’s shoulder, bringing her back to the moment, and hung her groceries on the railing. “There is room for you.”

Faintly, Clara replied, “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Give Edwin to Angelika for a moment.”

Angelika dismounted and bounced the smelly boy on her hip, singing him a song: “Disgusting place—not fit for pigs—is it, my darling Win-Win?”

It did not take long to pack Clara’s belongings. She reappeared with a bulging carpetbag and Edwin’s basket, and Will held a crate. His knuckles were bleeding. He had apparently found time to rescue the woman in distress, and she fled at speed with her hand to her cheek, mouthing a thank-you.

Angelika clicked her fingers, and a driver halted his cart. It was drawn by a one-eyed mule and was full of dirty vegetables, but beggars could not be choosers. “I’m hiring you for a private trip to my manor. I’ll take a pumpkin, too.” The driver nodded, and she put a coin in his palm.

“Angelika,” Clara began, but found no more words.

“It’s my pleasure. Will shall escort you home.” She handed Edwin to his mother. “I’m going to the church, and then I’ll ride home. Leg me up, please.”

Will did so but was clearly torn by the decision he had to make as he loaded Clara’s luggage and groceries. “I am not meant to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself in the village. I’ve done so all my life. And they cannot.” Poor Clara looked wretched, hugging her son tight. “Ask Sarah to fill a bath for them.”

Will nodded. “Come straight home, my love.”

“Of course.” She waited until they were on their way. As she turned her own horse toward the church, the window opened once more. It was Mrs. Winchester, spying on Clara’s departure.

Angelika flipped her a penny. “Invest in a new attitude.” Percy lifted his tail and deposited a steaming heap.

Without Will by her side, she did feel vulnerable as she continued riding. Word had spread that the lady on the shiny horse dropped coins, and children trailed her like bees. Men leaned on doorframes to watch her pass. Percy was fretting for Solomon and wouldn’t stop neighing.

It was the first time in her life she’d sighed with relief to be riding up to a church. She tied Percy to a wrought-iron railing near the rectory and loosened his girth-strap. “You’re a foolish nag,” she scolded him, and he began stripping leaves off an untidy hedge. She found herself unable to leave him and sought the attention of a sweaty young man sweeping the path in religious garb.

“I will pay you a shilling to watch my horse for a short while. The villagers look like they’d steal the shoes clean off his feet.”

The disciple snorted a laugh, then looked skyward to mentally apologize. “If you donate it to the collection plate, consider it done.”

“You need a groundskeeper here,” Angelika remarked as she took off her gloves. “I know from experience that if you let ivy creep an inch, it will smother everything.”

“Our work is never done,” agreed the young man. “We almost did engage a groundskeeper, but we have had to make sacrifices. Father Porter is inside, if that’s who you are here for.”