Kiss in the Mist by Elizabeth Brady (2)

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“Why, pray tell, is there a body in the library?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

“Who knows about this?”

“Just me, miss. And you, now, obviously.”

“You found him?”

“Not ten minutes ago.”

“How did he get here?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

“Who is he? Do you recognize him?”

“Not at all, miss.”

“What happened?”

“Likely hit his head, miss. There’s a nasty bruise.”

“What do we do with him?”

To that, Shelby remained unhelpfully silent.

Amanda wasn’t certain what exactly one did do with a dead body which popped into existence on one’s library floor like a crocus in Spring. She swallowed, unable to remove her gaze from the limp form lying across the hearthrug. Her head pounded. If he were a relative, it would be her responsibility to prepare him for a proper burial.

But this man was a stranger. Who was he? Heavens, was this the man who’d carried her home? The thought saddened her terribly.

Ghosts, resurrectionists, tombstones, bodies!

What next?

Oh, brave Amanda, to tempt Fate thus.

“Is he really dead, miss?” Shelby asked, fearfully.

They both stared at him. Yes, he was dead. There was no rise and fall to his chest. Not a single muscle twitched. A living being could not possibly be comfortable in that position with his neck bent just so… He looked dead. And slightly blue. But the only way to tell was to actually touch him.

“Oh, badgers and blast,” Amanda muttered under her breath, gathering her skirts with one hand as she crouched closer. She was not about to touch his flesh. She daintily—in as much as one can daintily—took her forefinger and thumb to pinch the least muddy patch of the man’s trouser cuff and tentatively lift it off the ground. She managed an inch before she dropped the (literally) dead weight and hoisted herself back to a standing position.

“Stiff as a board. Most assuredly dead.” She struggled to sound calm and controlled. “Well, we’ll have to fetch… fetch the beadle or the watchman, I suppose…”

“Amanda?” Geoffrey’s voice.

From the hallway.

Amanda whirled towards the French doors, thankful to see them still fastened. Shelby clasped her hands to her chest.

“Amanda, I’ve got your medicine bottle. Are you in there?” The doorknob rattled.

The women’s eyes met, both round and wide and panicked.

Hide him! Amanda mouthed.

Hide him?! Shelby looked around the threadbare room, Where?

Amanda shook her head and took a long, steadying breath. The maid was quite right. There was nowhere to hide a body. The only piece of furniture in the room was the metamorphic chair stowed in the corner which took up very little space and, while it did unfold into a set of stairs, they could hardly use it to shove the man upon the top shelf next to the atlas. It would be quite disrespectful and wrong (not to mention difficult). But Amanda loathed the image seeing a dead body in the library would imprint upon her brother’s impressionable mind.

“Yes, Geoffrey, I am here.” She hit palm to her forehead, thinking frantically. (It did nothing to ease her headache.)

“The bottle was not in your embroidery bag, Amanda, it was in your yellow reticule! You never use your yellow reticule. It took me an age to find… what are you doing in there?”

“Oh, yes, the yellow reticule,” she ignored his question. “How could I have forgotten? Well, would you place the tisane in the drawing room—the stuff has such a horrible taste, go ask Cook for some tea? Perhaps she’ll also put some of those delightful cinnamon biscuits on the tray as well. Wait for me there, I’ll be along shortly.”

Amanda offered a silent prayer that her brother took the bait. Cook’s biscuits were mouthwatering.

“Very well.” She heard the resigned annoyance in his voice.

On tiptoes, she made her way to the door and pressed ear to wood to be certain he actually complied. She could hear Geoffrey’s footsteps fade around the hallway corner.

“Hurry, hurry!” she whispered to Shelby as soon as the last footfall sounded. The maid rushed across the room, holding out the key to her.

“Oh, what shall we do, miss?” she asked in a whisper just as furtive.

“I don’t know.” What could they do? Amanda’s heart raced. “Much as I’m opposed to it, we cannot leave him here. Geoffrey is too keen, now. He’ll be determined to discover what’s been hiding in this room and I will not have him stumbling upon the man’s body as you had to do. Searching for ghosts is one thing, but finding a corpse is quite another.”

Shelby nodded. “It was most unpleasant, miss.” Then her eyes lit with the first spark of hope Amanda had seen this morning. “The small closet under the stairs? If we both work at it, I believe we could manage to move him, miss.”

“Not dignified, but at least it will do until the watchman arrives.”

She took an assessing glance at the body, averting her gaze from the man’s face. Poor soul. An irreverent task, but the two of them could probably move him. A bright beam of morning sunlight drew her focus to where it adorned man’s muddy boot.

“By Heavens!” she gasped. “The curtains!”

“Oh, lud, miss! I don’t even remember drawing them this morning before I saw…” The girl scurried across the room to draw the drapes closed.

“See if you can roll him further onto the rug while I open the closet. Then, we’ll see if we can drag him…”

Amanda was breathless as she spoke. She and Shelby whipped about the room like bees in a hive. Shelby engulfed them in darkness when she snuffed closed the curtains, then rushed to the man’s side to secure him on the rug. Amanda unlocked the French doors, dipped her head into the hall to ensure her brother wasn’t lurking, then threw open the little door under the stairway.

Amanda had just bent down to help tug on a corner of the carpet when:

Clink.

Shatter!

Thud.

“Amanda?!” Geoffrey’s voice.

From the open doorway.

Both women instantly scrambled to screen the body from his view.

They were too late. From his expression of dawning horror and his saucer-wide eyes, it was clear he had seen. Why couldn’t he have waited for her like an obedient child?

“Amanda!” With a shaky hand, he pointed.

Shelby gasped. “Lord, help us!”

Amanda felt a shiver of pure terror creep along her spine. Slowly, like the tentative movement when a limb is needle-tingling-numb, she peeked over her shoulder. Then she spun, arms flared, using her quivering body as a futile shield.

“His spirit!”

Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death…

How?! It wasn’t possible…

Ghosts did not exist!

Yet as tangible as the soft wool of her brother’s jacket brushing her fingertips, a pale-green hue wafted from the man’s body.

It hovered iridescent in the dim shadows of the room. Luminous, ethereal cloud.

They stood in an eerie silence, watching the essence float into shimmering haze. Could there be anything as unearthly? As haunting? In the muted dusk of the room, the spirit shone clearly, holding them in thrall.

And then a bright flash of fire erupted, directly beneath where the man’s heart had beat in life, suddenly flaring hot and white and just as quickly burning low. A billowing mass of smoke filled the air along with that strange, unearthly radiance!

“Out,” Amanda whispered. Her eyes locked onto the smoky air, she ushered her brother out the door. “Out, out!”

Shelby fled with them into the hallway, slamming the doors closed. Key still dangling from the lock, Amanda snapped it sealed then thrust the metal into her detachable pocket. Her lungs burned, her eyes stung. She turned to her brother and clutched him to her chest.

All she could seem to do was stroke her brother’s soft hair.

It was an indeterminate age before Shelby’s voice broke the silence. “I’ll go fetch the tea to the drawing room, miss.”

Amanda released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Such a simple, normal suggestion was the most amazing comfort! Tea. Yes.

“With an extra cup and some brandy, please Shelby. And not a word to Cook or the staff, if you will.”

“Oh, no, miss.” Shelby shook her head. “Cook would not like to hear about a dead body. Too many accusations already…” she muttered.

Accusations?! But the girl was already halfway down the hall, leaving her alone with her brother.

Oh, Geoffrey! Amanda pulled him closer into her hug and kissed the top of his head. Spectating that mystical departure had been far worse than anything Amanda could have envisioned…

What must he be thinking?

She, herself was numb.

She peeled herself away to look at his face, dumbfounded to find his eyes dry, his cheeks unblotched, and his breathing calm. Much more so than the shudders which wracked her own shoulders.

“Geoffrey, are you alright?”

“Amanda, that was astonishing! The man’s spirit drifting away! Not at all what I’d imagined.” His brow furrowed. “Now I see it would be quite an impossible thing to capture or converse with a spirit. But what has happened? Why is there a dead man in the library?”

His sanguine acceptance of the situation brought a startled laugh to her throat.

“This is not a laughing matter!” he chided.

“No, not at all. But we should discuss this in the drawing room.”

With tea. And brandy.

Amanda’s legs shook and wobbled as they walked down the hall. She let Geoffrey lead. As soon as they stepped into the drawing room, Amanda released her brother from her clutches and flopped upon the purloined leather sofa, exhaustion winning over propriety. (The tufted Chesterfield had once adorned the library—and, if it still had been present, their mysterious and unfortunate friend might not have been discovered until at least luncheon.) Though it lacked the same plump cushions as her own couch had had, the simple act of lying prone offered a degree of solace. (As well as an appropriately dramatic flair for the occasion.)

She was tired to the bone.

No, deeper. She felt drained to her very marrow.

All she wanted to do was lie there.

And stare at the ceiling.

Which sported a rather pretty plaster molding. An unexpected embellishment for the otherwise plain room.

The drawing room was one of the only complete rooms in all three floors of the residence. As a ready-furnished house, Number Sixteen was not quite as prepared as “ready” implied; the owners had graciously (however mistaken) left some room for their tenants’ personal possessions. Her mother’s evaluation was a bit more realistic—that the house was left sparse likely to avoid damage done by the tenants. Precious little remained in the way of delicate ornamentation; one or two paintings, nothing luxuriously expensive, and the barest sticks of decoration.

Though the Pruetts weren’t in the position to be ostentatious, such a lack would never do. So, they’d done what they’d begun to do best: they economized. They’d closed most of the house to prying eyes and borrowed furniture and frill from every available corner of the place to make a few almost complete rooms.

And, to its credit, the drawing room held the only couch.

Lying on the not-quite-familiar cushions, Amanda tried to ignore the throbbing in her head which had somehow dwindled to a nearly imperceptible thud in all the excitement and now thumped at the base of her skull. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she might be able to imagine the pounding as the clock on the mantle of her old sitting room.

Tic toc…

Tic… toc…

No.

Sigh. The pounding was not a clock. It was very real pain, like the very dead body in the library and the very unusual problems that presented. Try as she might, she could not simply imagine time to unwind itself, the body to disappear, or her old couch returned. She must deal with the situation at hand.

Shelby arrived with tea and, heavens bless her, a plate heaping with Cook’s warm biscuits. The maid carefully set down the tray alongside a full decanter of spirits. She turned to leave, but Amanda stopped her.

“Do sit down, Shelby, and take some fortification. I believe you need it more than I,” Amanda said, rubbing her temples. “This has been a trying morning.” Body heavy and sluggish, she heaved herself up to serve the tea, adding a healthy dose of brandy to two of the cups, relieved that they rattled only slightly in their saucers as she delivered them.

“Thank you, miss.”

Shelby sat perched on the edge of a high-backed chair looking rather uncomfortable. (Though she took the spiked tea without resistance.) Well, Amanda supposed one could hardly appear carefree after discovering a dead body with a glowing, visible spirit departing its earthly canister. But now the poor girl also had to deal with being asked to sit for refreshments with her employer. Under similar circumstances, Amanda would likely look uneasy, too.

The first sip of her laced tea was fortifying. The second brought warmth back into her bones. By the third, the day looked a bit more optimistic.

“Who was that man?” Geoffrey broke the uncomfortable silence.

“You did not recognize him?”

Geoffrey shook his head. A small relief filled her. It was not the man who’d carried her home, then. Mister-Sir-Lord A yet lived. Amanda glanced at Shelby, unwilling to reveal her late-night adventure. It was best to let the servants think Geoffrey carried her home. “Neither did we. He’s a stranger to us.”

Geoffrey frowned. “Then what happens now?”

“Well,” she said, awash with optimism-inspired confidence, “after finishing our tea, we will call the watch. Someone has likely reported him missing. With any luck, the watch will already know his identity, or else they’ll be able to make inquiries and find his family.”

Yes. That seemed reasonable, logical, and sound.

Geoffrey set down his cup and saucer with a clatter. “Don’t be ridiculous. We cannot do that.”

“Whyever not?” Should she be affronted? Yes. She had just come up with a fine course of action.

Her brother did not agree. “If we call the watch, they will send men to remove the body!”

“Yes, of course, Geoffrey!” Wasn’t that the point? Amanda glanced at the maid, happy to see that she wasn’t alone in her confusion.

They had a body in the library which did not belong to them—they would call the watch, the watch would call the beadle, the beadle would call the apothecary and, jointly, they would remove said body and return it to its concerned parties (whoever they were). There would have to be a coroner’s inquest, of course, and Amanda would relay her facts, but beyond that what did her brother expect? Last night’s ghost-hunting notwithstanding, Geoffrey was usually an intelligent and level-headed lad.

Last night’s ghost-hunting…

…and this morning’s ghost finding.

“Enough!”

Her temper stirred unexpectedly by her brother’s sangfroid (and, in all probability, the brandy). Last night she’d trailed him into a graveyard. This morning she’d tried to hide a cadaver from him. She’d done everything to protect him! Yet here they were, she with a bump on her splitting head for all her troubles and he wanting to see more ghosts.

“I am not about leave a body adorning our library simply to determine if his spirit haunts the poor man’s corpse!”

She huffed into the ensuing silence. She dared not glance at the maid’s opinion of the upstairs bickering. Her outburst had felt good, right, and justified. It expelled a little of the morning’s building tension.

For a moment, Geoffrey said nothing. He appeared stunned. Then his face gained color, flushing his cheeks cherry red. In a small voice he said, “There is no need to be purposefully offensive. To use the unfortunate gentleman’s circumstances for such design is repugnant. I cannot believe you think me unfeeling enough as to satisfy my curiosity in so vulgar and morbid a way.”

Well!

It wasn’t often she received a proper rebuke from her younger brother.

A rush of shame made her blanch. Of course Geoffrey would not be so callous. He was curious, precocious, sensitive. His newfound mortal curiosity was a natural thing. His fertile mind was likely fueled by the troubling news they’d received of their elder brother, Daniel and their parents’ subsequent hasty departure. Undeniably, Amanda had been anxious and worried. What must it be like for a young boy? In their parents’ absence, she’d focused on protecting Geoffrey. But she hadn’t taken the time to help him understand. She’d certainly missed the wood for the trees.

Amanda felt properly chagrined.

To his credit, Geoffrey resolutely continued, “What I meant by my words was that if the constables send men to pick up a body at our residence, the gossip will be all over London before nightfall. Then, Amanda, think! It’s your first Season! What will happen if all society associates you with a strange man found in your home while you were without a guardian?”

Geoffrey was trying to protect her. Again.

She blinked.

Shelby gasped.

The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Amanda weakly offered, “I have a guardian. She’s simply not in residence as of yet.”

“I doubt that it would matter much to the ton even if Great-Aunt Celia had been here this morning to chaperone.”

“It’s quite true, miss.” Shelby piped up for the first time. Her teacup was refilled, looking slightly more golden in color than the dark, breakfast tea should. The maid nodded, sagely. “Gossips’ tongues slice to the quick and high society is fickle, indeed.” Her Ss blurred together ever so sibilantly.

Amanda swallowed. There were some things that one might be able to survive upon entering into society. Spilling lemonade down one’s gown. Tripping upon a country dance. Singing off key. Misquoting Shakespeare (perhaps not). Being associated with a dead male body in an empty house whose only occupants were the staff and a twelve-year-old boy?

Societal ruin.

Geoffrey had posed the pertinent question: What happened after they rid themselves of their uninvited guest? Amanda hadn’t thought of the following consequences, just the immediate ones. Wasn’t she supposed to be the practical one?

“We might be able to quell the gossips. Great-Aunt Celia is very adept at these things. Perhaps I could come out next year, that would give any gossip time to die down…” She winced at the poor choice of words.

Her brother was already shaking his head. “Father’s position in society rests on a knife’s edge as it is without throwing another scandal in the mix! And it could take months before he’s home to subvert any indignity associated with his name.”

“He’s right, miss.”

Well! Amanda threw her hands into the air, her temper returned. “We cannot leave him there! Nor bury him in the garden and let his family worry and wonder what happened. What, exactly, would you suggest we do? Hide the body?”

“Hide, not at all. His family must have peace of mind.” His voice broke. Amanda pictured Daniel’s laughing eyes. Yes, the family needed to have closure. “I’m suggesting we reposition the body. Much like the two of you planned to move him to avoid my sight, we simply transpose our guest to a place where he will be more… expediently discovered. Without being linked to us.”

“That’s the way of it, young master!” Shelby exclaimed, raising her teacup to him.

If Geoffrey had been the eldest, the way he put forth an argument would have turned Parliament on its head.

The body wasn’t theirs. The body must be found. Still, Geoffrey hit upon a salient point: did it matter if it wasn’t found in their library? If society knew whence the body had come, it would put her father in an extremely difficult position. He’d only recently succeeded to the barony and his brother had burned a good number of bridges. Would it do any harm to try and ford one stream?

Geoffrey could see Amanda waver. So he pounced: “Great-Aunt Celia should be arriving by nightfall.”

If Great-Aunt Celia arrived before they acted, they would have no choice. Celia would overrule any decision. She would act. Boldly. Sometimes without much thought for the consequences to others. And Amanda knew exactly how Great-Aunt Celia would act. She’d cry the entire city of London to their doorstep (possibly charging tuppence for the privilege).

“I suppose…” she cleared her throat, “I suppose it would not do any harm to move him. If a man were to collapse in the middle of a thoroughfare, he’d have to be repositioned quite similarly.” Or so she told her conscience. “Where would you consider to be an ‘expedient’ location?”

Shelby whooped and leaned forward (amazingly without sloshing any tea). “I know just the place, miss! A li’l park, right this side of the cemetery, easy ways from the garden gate. Secluded, like. An’ the only one goes there this time o’ day would be… me! So I can find ’im again, all natural, for the watch.”

Enough French cream for the maid! Amanda slid the brandy out of reach and offered instead, “Help yourself to a biscuit.” She practically held the plate under the maid’s nose. Before lowering the plain china, she ensured the girl devoured three.

“So, we have a location, we simply have to move him hence. Though I’m not sure how. It was a daunting prospect for the two of us to drag him across the hall.”

“Don’t fret, miss.” Shelby at least swallowed before speaking. “Me brother will help. He worked the docks, though you wouldn’ know it from his frame. Looks all skin an’ bone, but he’s stuffed like a sausage with muscle.”

Amanda hesitated. Though she appreciated Shelby’s discretion and that she championed their outrageous actions so far, she hesitated to enlighten others of their situation. But what choice had she?

“Is he able to get here before Great-Aunt Celia arrives?”

Shelby laughed. “If he can step lively from the kitchens, miss.” She put a finger to her nose. “Rory’s my brother, you see.”

As shocking as the morning had been, Amanda was surprised to feel surprise.

“Rory? The footman?” (Footman, cum coachman, cum servant of all-work. Much like Shelby was the housekeeper, upper housemaid, lady’s maid, servant of all-work; Maria was the under housemaid, laundry-maid, scullery maid, servant of all-work; Badcock was the steward, butler, valet; and Cook was… cook. The Pruetts may economize, but none would dare scrimp when it came to food.)

“Aye, miss.”

“Well… if you could secure his assistance without too much explanation? Though that hardly seems possible at this point…” Amanda slouched against the couch back.

“I’ll fetch him to his duty, miss!” Shelby said, brightly. She rose from her perch and Amanda was pleased to see she walked a reasonably straight line to the door.

At the doorjamb, Shelby paused, hand resting on the knob. She hesitated long enough that Amanda worried over the fate of the biscuits (she really should have kept a better eye on the liquor). Before she could offer a bucket, the maid turned abruptly, an awkward smile slanting her lips. “You mustn’t worry, miss. About Rory—or me. You see, well, it’s difficult enough to get a good situation, but with two relatives together? Impossible!”

“Yes, I see.”

“Not quite, miss. We try not to let on and it won’t affect our work none—your father made that clear—but as I said, Rory’s my brother… and Maria’s his wife.” Her sheepish smile grew as she continued. “Cook’s our mum. Though it might not last long, and the pay… well, it ain’t much, miss.” Amanda could imagine. She helped with the family accounts. “Your father offered us a cheery house with positions for the whole family. We wouldn’t do anything to threaten being together for a time, none of us.” She turned, opened the door, then paused again, lips puckered. “Well, save Maria. She means nothing by it, but that girl’s got a tongue that wags faster than a dog’s tail. I’ll not go tellin’ her about this and make sure Rory shuts his bone box, too. Come to think on it, if mum heard there was another body under her roof…”

She walked out of the room, shaking her head.

Amanda sat, feeling numb.

Then a hand filled hers. Geoffrey’s thumb stroked the back of hers reassuringly. “I think it is for the best,” he said.

She patted his hand and leaned against his shoulder. He was almost as tall as she, now. No longer the little hellion who came up to her waist begging to be swung. He was, instead, offering comfort and advice in a most unusual situation.

“I feel responsible,” she said. “I hope we’re taking the right course of action.”

“You’re not. And we are.” Geoffrey sounded confident.

“Well, we have some responsibility. The man is in our library. Though, I wonder how he entered the house.”

Geoffrey tilted his head in thought. “There was such a huge commotion due to your injury last night that it’s possible the man came straight through the front door!” Geoffrey offered.

“You think he made good use of my diversion, why? To rob this house?” Amanda laughed. “He chose a meager target, I’m afraid. Poor man.” She sighed. “However he came by his fate, it would put my mind at ease to know that we have done all we can. Perhaps…” She suppressed a shudder at her sudden thought. “Perhaps I should… well, examine him. See if he carried anything to identify himself.”

Geoffrey mumbled into his waistcoat. “I will not offer to help your search. I don’t want you thinking me morbid and I… I don’t think I’d care to see a body again.”

“Oh, Geoffrey,” she squeezed his stiff shoulders. “I don’t think that. It was very wrong of me to imply such a thing or plant that notion in your head.”

He was quiet for a time. Amanda said nothing about the single tear that dropped from his cheek.

“Will you at least tell me what you discover?”

She nodded and kissed the top of his head. “I will tell you.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then he turned her palm upwards and placed a small potion bottle in it. Her headache medicine. Amanda blinked rapidly.

“Thank you.” She fluffed his hair. “Now, be off with you. Make yourself scarce in your bedroom for…” How long would it take to transport a body? “For two hours. At least.”

Geoffrey was at the door before she remembered, “Take the book by Homer from my room. I think you might enjoy the Odyssey a bit more than what you’ve been reading.”

She didn’t have Cicero and her brother needed an adventure, not more ghosts.

As he left, Amanda opened the bottle and dropped a dollop into her tea. She eyed the brandy for a heartbeat, but decided against any more liquid fortification. After draining the cup, she stood, took a deep breath, then left the drawing room to head back down the hall to the library.

Each step was more hesitant than the last. The key felt heavy in her hand, though it clicked smoothly inside the lock.

She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Her heart fluttered in the kind of nervous anticipation caused by experience. She knew what was beyond the door. Just like her brother, Amanda didn’t much relish the idea of seeing it again.

Which was silly! All this tension and she had seen everything there was to see in that room (which wasn’t much), including things which may or may not have actually been there. But a man had only one spirit. So, unless he had decided to haunt her library in floating, glowing form, she should see nothing but a body when she entered.

Nothing popped out at her as she opened the doors. There was no unearthly shimmer. Only a dim glow emanated from behind the curtains. The metamorphic chair sat in the corner. And, in front of the fireplace on top of a rug, the body.

Alone in the room, she felt a mixture of calm trepidation, not a blind panic or fear. The man rested peacefully on his side. She approached him as she would someone napping.

It felt only right to address him.

“Sir,” her voice barely above a whisper. “Do forgive us our actions. I hope you understand. Now, if you can provide me with information on your identity, I will find anyone who might be waiting for you.”

She firmly rocked his shoulder, letting him down onto the hearthrug. For the first time she had a full view of the man’s face. He was still unknown to her, but she was shocked at how serene he appeared. Late twenties, she suspected, though death might have eased his wrinkles. His face full of bristles, black curling hair to match. His upper cheek had a deep, mottled bruise near where it had been resting on the floor. Perhaps he’d tripped and hit his head as he landed like Shelby suggested.

“Forgive the informality.” Amanda began to reach for the man’s vest. She hesitated. “It is quite improper form, but I must introduce myself. I am miss Amanda Mildred Pruett, daughter to Lord Edgbaston, formerly of Easton Hall, and I am about to check your pockets.”

So she did. She avoided the area about his heart which had burst to flame. Amanda justified the evasion by reasoning that anything in that pocket would be burned to a crisp—there were violent scorch marks around the fabric that might still have been smoldering—but the truth was, superstitious or not, she simply didn’t want to touch where a man’s heart had spontaneously combusted.

The jacket yielded nothing but his house key, two walnuts, some crumbs, and a sixpence. Shoved into his vest was a watch, though it was not attached to a chain. It was the only other thing upon his entire person. And it was a very fine watch. A bit old, perhaps, but beautifully polished silver. Amanda sat back to examine the face.

A tap at the door shocked her.

If anything else could shock her today…

Tempting Fate again, brave Amanda?

“We’ve come, miss. I’ve got Rory with me.”

She scrambled up to unlock the door. Shelby hadn’t understated her brother’s appearance. He was short and wiry thin. Without a word, he gave a brief touch to his forelock, crossed the library, and heaved the man over his shoulder easy as a sack of potatoes. He waited patiently while his sister carefully draped a sheet over the bundle. Shelby held back the curtains for her brother as they left through the garden together.

The library was, once again, empty.

Amanda brushed her hands against her skirts.

She dared not ask, What now?

The answer came with a tremendous pounding on the front door.