broke the red wafer seal. It was filled with the expected greetings and words of love, news of the twins and Nathaniel, even the cat, making Rachel’s chest ache from nostalgia. She could hear her mother’s voice reciting everyone’s antics, her words light and happy. Did Sarah and Ruth not notice that their older sister was gone? Was Nathaniel so occupied with being the eldest child of the household that he didn’t miss Rachel? Or was Mother masking the reality to keep Rachel from fretting?
Rachel rotated the note to follow the twists and turns of Mother’s message, her cramped handwriting making the most of the single sheet of paper to economize. She nearly skimmed right over the most critical lines, the reality that couldn’t be masked:
I don’t wish to distress you, but Mr. Ferguson is still angry. He is claiming to all who’ll listen—which is a greater number than ought be—that the trial was a sham and justice wasn’t served. Do not worry for us. We can weather it. Thankfully, by the time you receive this letter you should be safe and settled in London.
My deepest love,
Mother
Heart in her throat, Rachel pressed the note to her face, fancying it carried the soft scents of home—bundled herbs, stew in the pot, heather. All she loved and missed was in jeopardy, placed there by a vengeful man. She had to get her family away from Carlow immediately, before Mr. Ferguson destroyed what was left of the Dunnes’ reputation.
Or did worse.
The Harwoods’ London home stood in a part of town that spoke of gentility in hushed and ancient tones, echoing disdain for the new neighborhoods with their boring symmetry and stubby fresh-planted trees, disdain that Rachel could hear among the tall maples crowding the square and the decorous clip-clop of horses’ hooves on cobblestones. Even the street sellers’ banter was subdued, as if afraid to disturb the perfect order.
Rachel hurried down the pavement, her rough twill skirts slapping against her half boots, drawing the condemning glare of a neighbor descending from her carriage. How could Claire tolerate the constant scrutiny? Claire, however, would pass inspection, Rachel reminded herself.
A pert maid in a crisp black uniform answered Rachel’s knock, reluctantly taking Rachel’s message before leaving her to idle outside on the steps.
At last, Claire arrived at the door, shutting it behind her. Hastily, she brushed a kiss across Rachel’s cheek. “Rachel, how unexpected.”
“I would not have disturbed you, except I have received a letter from home that has me very worried.”
“I see.” Claire guided Rachel down to the pavement. “I would invite you in, but . . .” Her cousin glanced up at a first-floor window. “It’s easier for us to talk out here.”
Claire led her across the street to the gated park filling the neighborhood square. The trees and clipped hedges would shield them from the view of whoever it was Claire seemed so anxious to evade back at the house. Probably Aunt Harriet. She disliked Dunnes as much as Uncle Anthony had.
Releasing the park’s gate, Claire ushered Rachel inside. She looked about her, as if the park might be concealing spies. A nursemaid wheeling her charge past did not even look their way.
Satisfied they would not be overheard, Claire reached for Rachel’s hand and dragged her down onto a bench. “Tell me what has happened.”
“A relative of the person I was accused of harming is still very angry. He is claiming that I should not have been let free. Mother did not say what he has done beyond complain to everyone he can think of, but I am afraid he might harm them. He drinks heavily, at times, and . . .” So clearly, Rachel could remember how Mr. Ferguson had looked at her trial, his eyes rheumy and vacant. An irresponsible and vindictive drunk.
“I must get my family away from Carlow sooner than I had planned, Claire, but for that I need money. At least four pounds for passage.”
Claire frowned. “I don’t have that amount. A few shillings are all I’m ever allowed. My brother pays all my expenses. If I go to a shop, he receives the bill and attends to it. I only ever have enough just to pay for an ice or some flowers or to offer coins to a beggar.”
“I cannot ask Dr. Edmunds for the money” An employer never lent money to his staff. “Perhaps you could ask your brother. I would pay him back, with interest.”
“Ask Gregory?” Claire scoffed. “He would never agree.”
“Then I must