Page 10 of The Scholar’s Spy

“Why of course,” Judith said. “What good would a family home do for us? Besides, there are debts that must be paid, and Sophia’s dowry must come from somewhere. Not to mention a means of supporting—”

“There will be nothing left of him,” Abigail said.

“I miss our father too,” Judith said slowly. She moved forward and took hold of Abigail’s hand, interlinking their fingers. “But he is still with us, in our memories. And in our hearts. Besides, there is also the handsome plaque at St Michael’s to remember him by.”

It is not the same, Abigail wanted to cry. None of it was. Staring at her sister, she found what she wished to say pointless. Instead, Abigail dropped Judith’s hand and walked over to the oven, warming herself against the cooling surface.

“I don’t wish to ever leave here. I love Lyme Regis.” Another lie—she had often dreamt and hoped for adventures, as she had told Mr. O’Sullivan. But she liked the idea of this place staying still, of her home remaining a constant. The idea of a wild exploration overseas, where she might be able to see amazing discoveries from across the known world flashed brightly before her eyes. It would be wondrous to see those things, but to know that her house remained behind, familiar and comforting. Her home.

“I am not sure if we can afford to—” Judith said.

“Please,” Abigail cut her off. “If Mr. O’Sullivan can—if I manage to make five pounds then—” From Judith’s pained expression, Abigail realized it would need to be a great deal more. “Ten pounds then.” It was a princely sum, but surely if Mr. O’Sullivan stayed long enough, if they between them found enough fossils and curios it might be possible. Or better yet, they might find something worthy of submission to the Geological Society in London.

“Perhaps.” Judith’s eyes flickered back to the ledgers. “I will do my best.”

Abigail forced herself to reach for her sister’s arm and to give it a squeeze of thanks. She did not always find it easy to bestow affection as her sisters did, but she knew that it meant something to her family.

“Thank you.”

Judith nodded, heading toward a chair. “If Mother was here, she would say you should make sure to wear something pretty. And a suitable hat. Wear something of Sophia’s. She will hardly miss it,” Judith said without turning around as she set about making a simple dinner for them.

It was Miss Schillers’s night away visiting her elderly cousin, so without their cook, the two of them were fending for themselves. It was normally a hearty meal of buttered bread with a good Cornish cheese and some sweet pickle, that would never have been consumed with their mother present. Yet since Mother was away, Abigail could admit she rather liked these meals.

Abigail hadn’t pictured forcing herself into one of the frilled and floral gowns from Sophia’s secondhand collection, from various shades of rose and peach. Then again, she recalled all too well that Mr. O’Sullivan’s initial impression of her had been that of a man. It might have only been for half a minute, but it was enough.

So, perhaps a touch of femininity might be in order. An image of Sophia’s obvious beauty danced before Abigail’s eyes. For the first time in a long while, she felt the stirrings of envy. Such emotions she thought she was long done with. But it occurred to her then, if she had been born as lovely as her older sister, then surely a man like Mr. O’Sullivan would never have been confused over her sex. He would have been struck instead by her beauty, swayed by her grace, dumbfounded by her loveliness…

Then again, Sophia would rather have been felled by a beast than caught rooting around in the muck looking for fossils.

“I doubt I will find anything that is right, or I will make it too dirty.”

Judith finished buttering the bread, cut several slices of thick rich yellow cheese and then added all of this onto a plate, and placed the offering before her sister. “If the dresses have been left upstairs in her wardrobe, then they will be deemed out of fashion, and so you might as well use them. Besides, you will look very pretty in her white and purple dress, I would say. Certainly, a darn sight better than me trying to wear such a pale color.”

For a moment the image played before Abigail’s mind, of her dressed up in her sister’s borrowed finery, walking down the cobbled beach toward a dazzled looking Mr. O’Sullivan. How he would smile at her, with a great deal of admiration as he took in her new ensemble. How he might—no, he would be charmed by her. The idea gave her a tiny fraction of hope, where none had existed before.

“Perhaps I will have a look,” she said, unable to shake the idea of Mr. O’Sullivan’s smile being directed toward her in the same way all men gazed upon Sophia.

Chapter Four

A strange sight presented itself to Robert. He had been expecting, nay looking forward to seeing Miss Fossey in all of her male attire, with her sharp abrupt behaviors, that small cleft cut into her blunt chin, and all of the odd mannerisms she had displayed yesterday. But instead, he was greeted by the sight of Miss Fossey in a dress. With all of the appearance of a regular young woman completely confused him. In truth, he almost did not recognize her, ready to walk past her on the beach as he searched for the unusual prospect of Miss Fossey.

“Mr. O’Sullivan.” She had to wave him down. The lavender sleeve of the dress lifted in the air to wave at him, stopping him in his tracks. She wore lace. A bonnet with a trim.

She pursed her lips as he stared at her in surprise. Her appearance was a change he did not welcome. He had been prepared to regard her as a criminal yet she donned the gown of a debutante he might meet for a stroll, working against his set of rules he deemed wise for their interaction. As a regular looking woman, she warranted none of the suspicions he had considered previously.

“How do you do, ma’am?” he inclined his head in a slight bow.

“I am well, although you are late.”

“It was not the smoothest to—” Robert glanced back at the little town, with a huddle of buildings with blinking lights and wandering merchants and servants. He rubbed his eyes. After she had left, Robert’s exploration of the cobb had let him down and along to Monmouth Bay, where he’d checked through lobster pots and found a few empty oilskin bags and one sodden and unreadable signal book, to tell him he was certainly investigating the right area. There were a few scratches on it, which were not recognizable and a passing reference to the Punch and Judy show, perhaps caverns and performers had passed through Lyme recently.

He had stayed up late learning as much as he could from the talkative Weirs who ran the Dower Royale. But the more they talked, the more Robert realized how insular Lyme was, and how little chance he would have to worm his way in. At least he had been able to purchase a detailed map from them. It showed the coastline, which he hoped would give him a good perspective for further sites to visit. But all of this had left him sore eyed.

“Your vision bothers you.” He found Miss Abigail close to him, her hand alighting with surprising gentleness on his.

“A little.”

“Have you never bought a pair of glasses?” She was close enough for Robert to detect concern in her gaze. Reluctantly, he reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted the pouch for his glasses. “You should wear them,” she said. It almost sounded like a command.