was not there. Growing frantic, she searched the scullery and the yard outside the scullery door, in case it had been thrown away.
It was nowhere to be found.
Amy took a deep, steadying breath. Could she hope that he'd burnt it?
Why would he do that?
She checked the cold ashes in the grate but they could tell her nothing. She hunted through the room again, hopelessly but driven.
What if he'd taken it?
What could he do with it?
She'd heard tales of young rascals laying bets on a lady's dishonor and producing an intimate garment as proof. Despite the warm sunshine, she shivered and hugged herself. Surely Harry Crisp wouldn't do such a thing.
From their first meeting, she would never have thought so, but now... she'd hurt and offended him. She shuddered when she remembered the way he'd said, "You bitch." How those warm brown eyes had turned hard and cold. She'd never imagined a man saying such a terrible thing to her, but he was right. She was the lowest of the low, a fortune hunter.
She looked at the plain, bare table and saw an oily stain where the automaton had stood.
Lady Jane was gone, of course. Amy remembered his long, sensitive fingers trying to mend the doll. Remembered the way he had made her feel as he ran his hands up the doll's fragile leg. How he had made her feel when he had touched her skin.
That man would never unjustly ruin a lady any more than he would smash that delicate toy. But the man she had made with her cruel words might.
With a last, sad look around at the dismal remnants of the magical afternoon, Amy left Coppice Farm.
It was Pretty who dug up the information which enabled Amy to make her next foray after Staverley.
He came sidling up one day as Amy was scrubbing the family wash in the huge tub. "Don't do that, don't," he said. "Ruin your hands, that will."
"Volunteering?" asked Amy wearily. Her patience with everyone was wearing thin.
"Rheumatics," he said by the way of excuse. "Got some news of that Staverley gent."
Amy looked up and brushed her hair back from her brow with a wet hand. At this moment, she felt too weary to become excited about her prey but she said, "What?"
"Grounds of Prior's Grange have some sort of old stone building. Everyone thought it was a croft or such like. Yon Mr. Staverley's taken it into his head it's part of the old monastery. He's setting to have it cleaned up so as to have his own real Gothic ruin. Very excited about it, he be. Probably like to share his interest."
Amy looked at the old man thoughtfully, then nodded. She left the clothes to soak and went in search of Beryl.
"We have developed a passionate interest in the Gothic," Amy told her.
"We have?" Beryl was engaged in making new slippers for Jassy.
"Yes, and you are going to write to Mr. Owen Staverley and ask his permission to visit the ruin on his estate and sketch it. We still have some sketching pads, do we not?"
"Yes, but..."
"And I will come with you."
Beryl put aside her work. "I don't know, Amy..."
"Come on, Beryl. You used to love sketching romantic ruins!"
Beryl smiled. "Well actually, I would like to see it, and before Mr. Staverley 'improves' it. He'll probably put a tower on it, or the like."
"Doubtless. It's as well you do have a genuine interest in such things. You'll have to prime me with clever questions and be prepared to interrupt if I run out of things to say. But after all," she said grimly, "I will only have to smile and look beautiful, won't I?"
She returned to the washing. Beryl considered her thoughtfully, slippers forgotten in her hands.
Thus it was that one morning in May, Amy and Beryl drove past Coppice Farm on their way to the Grange. Amy was intensely grateful that Beryl didn't realize the significance of the place.
Beryl had written a note and Mr. Staverley had responded quite warmly, encouraging them to visit and promising to show them the building himself. Amy wished she felt more uplifted now the moment was at hand, but at least she would be grateful to have it all done with.
Beryl was dressed in a very pleasing cream muslin, which looked as fine as could be because it was far too impractical to have been worn for housework. Amy had insisted on wearing the refurbished blue. If any mischance occurred, she didn't want to ruin another